Combining The Awesome AND The Legendary (A&L)

I wrote this as a Birthday present but I decided to post it as well because it’s the truth. And truth is rare nowadays, so when it is said it should be said out loud.

For vast majority of the population this day might just seem as any other but I may assure you, things are never as they seem and this day is not an exception. Exactly 22 years ago, hidden in the forests of northern Slovakia (actually, it was in the hospital, but for the sake of the story I might be forced to enhance some details... to protect Katarina’s identity) a little girl was born (which was the second historical event that happened that year... the first took place in the evening of April 8^th).

This little girl (let’s call her Miss K), was born with an awesome but (for many years to follow) hidden potential because all of the great potentials start out as hidden and have to blossom their way into ignorant world. Her eyes were green, her hair rich golden and simply beautiful, however that would not stop her from complaining about them for the rest of her life which would really drive crazy one of her unnamed best friends who wishes to stay anonym... (although they did not posses healing powers and pretty much stayed golden even after being cut, thus she never had the opportunity to grow them long enough to employ them for bungee jumping or catching young sexy thieves.. so in retrospect I start to understand her hair related sorrow).

Growing up in untamed wilderness of Slovakian nature (an enhanced detail), seeing lovely, nonetheless only very limited part of the world, Miss K marked with strong A&L syndrome felt misunderstood and alone during her childhood and early adolescent years. However, these unfavourable circumstances armed her with modesty (sometimes really but really out of place), hardworking nature... and lots of build up energy and enthusiasm and certain amount of craziness (but those last three would manifest themselves slightly later...). In any case, thanks to all that, when little girl grew up to be a fair maiden, she was ready to kick-ass.

Once upon an awful, life-and-afterlife-demanding unnamed high school- Hlinska 29- our paths crossed and that my friends was a Beginning of an incredibly long lasting legendary hell of an End, which has no intentions of ending at all. First three years, we got along without knowing that much about each other but then as it is in life... a bit of wine and lot of talking to the right person at the right time brings out the awesome and the legendary to the spotlight it deserves. Well, innocent conversation turned into evil plans planning... caramel latte turned to Tchai-tea latte... and wine turned to... well wine stayed wine J.

Miss K is one of the most interesting people I have met in my life and I think it will stay that way. She is one of those few who carry that certain quality inside, a reassuring quality of a strong human being. Sometimes she makes people nervous, mainly because she will never let you see behind the scene... you never know what she is thinking (well, except me but that took years and years of practice, lots of wine, coffee and ice-cream... plus we are genius minds who think alike) .... All you are left with is all-hiding smile, like a barricade you will never get behind. Nevertheless, you end up trusting her very quickly without really knowing why and you will be right in doing so.

What I want to say is... during a life time, you might come across all kinds of people. Some you like, some of them not so much... but among those hundreds of fading faces is one or two or three who are adding flavour to everyday life... who make cheap wine taste like heaven... who bring the A&L syndrome even to the worst moments....so, if you happen to come across one of those people do not let them go. Miss K is one of THE kind for me.

She struggles and fights and never gives up even when she is really tempted. Situation like these are difficult for her. She says she is a pessimist but I never believed that. I think she was born a dreamer... an optimist who was very unfortunately forced to think ‘realistically’ (which is nowadays-for some inexplicable reason- a synonym to ‘pessimistic’). I always admired her and I told her so many times but I do not think she believed me because as this kind of very special A&L people usually are... she doesn’t realize her strength or, in other words, she is way too realistic to admit a person like her could exist (and this is one of the main reasons I am writing this) because Miss K whether you want it or not, whether you agree or not, this is the truth and you know that I am always right!

When one of my other friends heard us speak to each other she was shocked: ‘You are so mean to each other!’ she said... We laughed... Well, it is true a little bit. When you find a friend to whom you can tell anything, even the worst kind of joke or a commentary that should in no case cross mind of a young fair lady... a friend with whom you can stay quiet without feeling awkward... a friend to whom you do not have to apologise for your moods, tastes, twisted ideas or way too inappropriate remarks... a friend with whom you can have a ‘I know-exactly-what-you-are-thinking-girl/dude’ glance even over the phone... a friend with whom you can ruthlessly pull each other’s leg, make pranks and use the worst language without being offended, judged or considered a psychopath/nymphomaniac/snob/pathological liar/or any kind of other –maniac ... stick to them... It is highly probable you will not meet anyone quite like them again...

So, Miss K, I am sorry if you thought that one day you will get rid of me! NOT GONNA HAPPEN!! Muahahahahahahahahaha.....

Miss K has an aura of a Femme Fatale (again everyone else knows that except her)... well she is refined and wicked... but also so good-hearted every single Saint in heaven will cry hysterically at her death bed... And the business world (or any other kind of world she will decide to conquer) will fall into the crisis just out of sorrow... and thick heavy unreadable biographies will be written about her (like the one about Warren Buffet!)... Or I might even write one... (Oh imagine that!! A book about her written by me??? So destined to be a bestseller!)

Of course, Miss K, you are aware of the fact that you are also totally obnoxious and like whatever.... J But it’s your birthday so I will leave that evil part out... just for today...

Love ya!

 Happy birthday!

Now go and kick-ass!

As Buzz Lightyear once said: ‘To infinity... and beyond!’

World as we (don't) know it

Have you ever felt cheated of reality? Have you ever... or actually... have you never... had that moment. Yes, exactly THAT moment which should have been yours, but somewhere, somehow, something went wrong and your story begun to unfold differently in an unknown parallel universe?

Do not get me wrong, I do not believe in destiny. I have never believed, not even for a shortest moment, that there is a path designed for me or for you to follow without questions. The idea of that is preposterous. However, we predetermine our reality by decisions, those taken as well as those never thought of. Whether we are brave enough to admit it or not, we march on through the ‘settings’ of our choice, the way WE decided to. Nevertheless, I do think certain events happen for a purpose. Events we cannot influence or change. They happen often without rationally explicable reasons either to present us with new sets of options or to make us act, move forward... to challenge us, to give us the possibility of venturing where we really desire going. They happen, they cross our everyday life without warning or permission, without agenda. Simply put, we are helpless, we cannot prevent it. What is ours is the reaction.

How do you react?

What do you do?

We live in a universe. A universe where everything is part of a cycle, where everything is connected, where one thing influences the other which changes another which transforms the next... An assumption that we have our own particular little destiny worked out for us before we even become part of the cycle is rather egoistic and very, very improbable. What I like to classify as a form of ‘destiny’ are precisely the ‘random’ events. I dare to suppose they do not happen to us, they happen to the world.

Not mine, not yours, not ours...

So...what do you do?

***

 
I wrote those few lines some time ago and now I am not quite sure what exactly my point was. I guess it was that sudden strong presence of parallel reality which could have been if...

Please, do not slip into assumption I was resorting in ‘what if’ waters of regrets. Following my No Regrets policy is neither easy nor always possible. (Mainly because it requires taking crazy actions and making beautifly foolish decisions that one might regret later... although I prefer that kind of regret than the one of not doing anything at all.) Nevertheless, it is necessary to reflect at all times, to never stop asking... which one of the possible actions/reactions would I regret the most later on and, most importantly, whether I am able to take full responsibility for all the outcomes of chosen action... the best as well as the worst.

Not an easy choice.

People often tell me I lack sense of self-preservation. Well, I would not agree on that. I think this is a purely conflict of terminology and its definition which in case of the word ‘self-preservation’ might slightly differ from my perspective. However, taking the word in its basic sense as the preservation of oneself from danger, harm or injury, I see their point. It comes down to what you actually consider dangerous or harmful to yourself. As far as I am concerned I act perfectly in accordance with this primary human sense. I do not want to be preserved. I am not a mummy. I want to be shuttered to pieces... damaged, repaired... taken apart and reassembled... whatever... a good way of separating rubbish from things with solid potential. No, thanks, I do not want to be preserved...

But I went completely of the track... again...

So, where were we?

Parallel reality... right...

I think I know now how to explain myself.

Being at the right place at the right time! Have you ever experienced the feeling? Now, imagine feeling you are at the right place at the right time... under completely wrong, wrong circumstances. Everything around feels so amazingly right, yet there is the chivvying sense of wrongness in the air and that once possible reality is locked in another dimension unable to exist, yet refusing to be forgotten.

I have never felt like that before ant it is unbelievably annoying. Nonetheless, it makes me wonder... What happens to all those possibilities once we refuse to pursue them? Do they continue to unfold in parallel universe? But then... if new realities are created at every single crossroad... with milliards of people around the world it would be a pretty good mess. Plus, if there were realities with all the other possible outcomes of our actions than what would be the point of making a decision for if there are parallel realities, I do not think any one of them would be any more real than the others. EVERYTHING would happen anyway.

No... I do not think that would work.

However, if this particular piece of my story is still haunting me in this rather peculiar manner, maybe that crossroad is bound to come around again... maybe in disguise or in a way I would never expect but still...

Although I am not so sure I want that.

Or do I?

Whip it!

            Every time I venture abroad and Easter holidays come around, the discussion about related traditions comes along with it. Normally, that would not be an issue... but since I realized that the most simplified version of Slovak Easter traditions is: The girls are waiting at home. The boys come, beat them with wooden branches and throw ice cold water on them. ... I think tiwce before I say anything :) ..  

The first time I let those few sentences leave my mouth without really thinking it over and saw those puzzled expressions around me, I myself realized that domestic-violence-involving traditions are a little screwed up... of course, I have never thought of it that way. How could I? There is a perfect explanation for all of it! Nevertheless, since that moment on, I refuse to talk about concerned topic until I am fairly advanced in the language and my explanation sounds little more meaningful and acceptable.

So, please, do not run away and just let me explain!

As far as I am informed, in western world, Easter is all about chocolate eggs hunt and Easter bunnies. No offence but in Slovakia this is MUCH more FUN! Trust me... ;)

Let’s start at the very beginning. Majority of Slovak population is catholic so the religious aspect of this time of the year is clearly significant. The holiday usually falls on March or April and celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I do not think many of you know this, but the date of Easter depends on phases of the Moon. Thus, what we know as an ‘Easter Sunday’ is always the first Sunday after first full moon of spring- after March 21st. The reason for this is rather clear, I guess, taking into account phases of the moon are constant, therefore more reliable than any calendar.

The list of traditional symbols connected with this period does not end with chocolate eggs, although I have to admit they are really tasty and play a significant role in all this. In many cultures the egg embodied promising source of life. It was a symbol of fertility and life which were naturally associated with arrival of spring. Thus, despite the fact that Catholic faith explains ‘egg’ as a metaphor for closed Jesus’ tomb and his resurrection (at least that’s what I read... somewhere), I am a little reluctant to believe colouring eggs was formerly a catholic tradition. It makes much more sense to me as one of the heathenish traditions that was kept and accustomed to catholic faith.

However, in Slovakia we don’t only dye eggs with one colour... Neatly, we get rid of the inside by piercing two tiny holes on both ends and blowing it out... this is extremely difficult since the holes must be as little as possible and you have to be careful not to crush them. Then, they may be decorated with coloured wax or some other pretty interesting techniques. When I was little I was fascinated by them! (I was also fascinated by chocolate eggs, but that is another story... ‘casue those were never meant for girls... Here, Easter is sort of unfair in regards to the genders)

Among other symbols, there are fire, candle and cross... all of them enjoying religious meaning of their own but I want to get to the fun part more quickly so if you are interested in more details... just google it!

The most consequential symbol is a whip... a whip made from willow branches, made by boys, hated by girls (which you can see on the picture).

Most awaited day of Easter is... Easter Monday.

The day of feast!

The day I feared since I was a little kid... only because (by force of nature) I happened to be a girl.

A role of a girl on Easter Monday is very simple. We are supposed to wait at home, with supply of eggs and colourful ribbons waiting to be whipped, be poured on with cold, very cold water. The boys would come and the battle would begin! The whipping and water were to keep ‘the young fragile maidens’ healthy and beautiful for the rest of the year. After being soaked and whipped, the girls would tie the ribbons at the end of the whips as a sign of forgivness (that’s what I heard... but I am not really sure about that, as far as I was concerned nothing like that passes without appropriate revenge ;) ) and present ‘the young gentlemen’ with eggs...

In the past, a large group of boys would come from house to house going around the whole village... Nowadays, it’s mostly kept and carried on in family circles and close friend. To be honest, this peculiar tradition is becoming less and less common, especially in the cities.

That makes me sad... but I live in a villige and my sister dances in a folk group... so having all the boys and musicians from the group to come over very Easter, we are sure to have quite a show... a real battle even!

As a tradition it may be a little crazy but it’s fun... How often do you have a reason for all-day-long water battles?

As I said, when I was little, I was really traumatized by this whole event, especially thanks to certain family members, who would come on purpose insanely early, took us half asleep out of beds and threw us in the shower... Well, at least until the day we grew up, learned to wake up early and started to fight back... over the years we developed several strategies. I mean... I don’t mind getting wet but I am not gonna be the only one!

364

           It’s little after midnight. I am lying on my bed staring at the ceiling time to time illuminated by passing cars. As if by command my phone starts to demand attention with quiet but nevertheless persistent ringing. Again and again... one after another messages flow into my inbox letting restlessness spread through my body. I can’t ignore it any longer! Reaching out into the darkness, I search for the cold smooth surface of my phone hiding the chaotic pile of notes. I quickly scroll through the messages....

So, this is it.

It’s my birthday. 

For twenty second time in my life:

Day number 1!

I feel strange. Technically speaking I am older now. Older then I was half an hour ago, but that short half an hour ago I was only 21. I am older, but I don’t feel different. I am still the same person I was few minutes ago.

I am still in my bed, still in the same room, still staring at the same ceiling.

Then what has changed?

Aren’t we supposed to ‘mature’ with age?

I do not feel any wiser, smarter... I don’t even feel older.

The only thing that changed in the past hour are those few messages on my phone that made me cry a little... sudden inexplicable embrace of happiness... only here, hidden in the darkness of my room where no one could see I feel everything much more profoundly than I ever let know.

Thus, if nothing had changed, except a short emotional intermezzo, how can I be sure I am older?

The only day this incomprehensible advancement of numbers makes a significant difference, the only time the Day 1 really matters is the one when you turn eighteen. One night you are a child, the next, you are an adult, an apparent member of society fully responsible for your actions... with right to vote, with right to drink... with right to decide for yourself. And yet, you are no different from that carefree child from night before...

Than what makes me so different from being twenty one?

Well, in theory, the answer is really simple.

It is not the famous ‘Day 1’ that makes me twenty two. It’s those 364 days before it.

We rarely realize that the moment we reach an age, we are ceasing to be it. On the next day after your birthday... you start to create a person you will be when you get once and again older.

So, I guess, I really am twenty two... and comparing to who I was on the day of the twenty first anniversary of my first day.

I do feel older, I do feel different, and I do feel stronger... And most of all, I would not exchange one of those 364 days that brought me to this very moment... to this room, to this apartment, to this town, to France... and I cannot wait for those other 364 to come along, to take me to other rooms, other cities, other countries... In a way I cannot wait to get older. :)

I have never quite understood what is the big deal about getting old... older I get, closer I am to the person I would like to be, closer I get to living life I always dreamed of living. This simple fact is so fascinating by itself that thinking of age steeling my  youth seems rather foolish.

 

Get older.

Just one day at a time.

A little closer.

Don't Panic!

          The spring has arrived. The sun is shining and my level of vitamin D is sharply increasing parallelly with my good mood- quite obviously. Spring brings everything to life.  Colours...  even dying hopes! Somehow, flooded in sunshine, the world seems more peaceful. Fresh air, like a hallucinogenic drug, spins our head around and makes us step out the door ever-so-lightly.

Though, speaking of obvious, this reminds me of something I once read in a very peculiar but nevertheless quite amusing book, The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy. One of the characters of not so earthly roots said that humans are rather less intelligent beings who indulge in stating or repeating absolutely obvious facts as, for example, ‘The spring has arrived’. In practice, we were said to waste the vast part of our conversations exchanging random, generally shared and, most of all, unimportant knowledge. Perplexing, insulting but not so far from being true.

Although, we cannot forget, this comes from a book where the Earth was a computer generated project in order to find the question to the most desired answer to our existence. In fact that very computer was built to provide us finally with the ultimate answer to this question, however when he happened to succeed and pronounce the answer which was 42, no one was quite sure what exactly the question was. Thus, the answer became useless. Here is where the Erath comes to play its role as a simple project which was supposed to reveal the question exactly after ten milliard years of existence... Therefore, the Earth was constructed and designed by the best architects in the Universe. However, human species, no matter how crucial the project was, were broadly considered a really bad joke. To conclude, the experiment failed. The Earth was destroyed one day before giving the answer... the question, I meant.

What I wanted to get across is that no matter what this book says about endless stupidity of human race, none of it can be taken personally since this little creation is a preposterous parody ironically produced by human mind. I always had rather ambiguous relationship towards it. I never knew whether I liked it or not mainly because even though humans were supposed to be stupid the rest of the universe seemed even more so... And, inevitably, you ended up asking yourself what is the purpose of it all then? Thus, if you got pass the awkward sci-fi story disguise, it was almost philosophical in its absurdity. When I read it, I felt like that book is mocking me for even reading it. In a very twisted way it makes the readers ask themselves the question.

However it may be I did not remember the part about uninspiring human conversations by accident. I remembered it because it made me angry or, at least, I found difficult to accept that stating certain obvious facts was stupid.  I am not saying all the conversations we engage in are smart and intelligent  but stating facts is necessary mainly because not so many of them are obvious. We are not stupid, we are different therefore everything including us is subjected to relativity. We are not machines built to serve a mechanical purpose with in a convenient package with free technical user guide. We talk, discuss, repeat, ask, question, ponder, wonder, scream, whisper, state, claim, deny, demand, offer, give, accept, think, rethink, act, feel, fear, hope, loose, win, reason, enjoy, create, recreate, destroy, repeat, tell, retell, discuss, state, repeat, sing, pray, awe, imagine, contemplate, consider, recall, cry, anticipate, believe, speculate and rethink and repeat... repeat...  repeat...

Yes, we certainly do and yet it’s all but stupid. That is exactly what is so excellent about it... we repeat, we learn. Not all we do is useful, not all we do is good.  But we learn... and my naive little mind believes that one day the only obvious things we will repeat will be current weather conditions. Spring brings sunlight and sunlight... Well, sunlight tickles your mind and lures you into the wild of optimism.  

I know, I know... weather is one of the really obvious topics and it would be advisable to avoid mentioning it too much (and I am referring to myself right now) but I cannot control it. Unfortunately, like in the case of a romantic hero, the nature corresponds with my, ehm... tempestuous moods. So, mentioning weather now and then (or simply said: sickly often) is just part of the deal. :)

She lazily stretched on the grass and exposed her face to the rising sun.

‘Spring has arrived...’ she whispered quietly, letting the words linger as if she wished the moment never ceased to be true.

The Story and The Cloud

          I started to work on a story. I am quite aware that there is no time. Not now, when the solid rock under my feet is being challenged by seismic activity of the strongest calibre and my mind’s weather conditions are that of a furious snow storm. Zero visibility. Complete chaos.  No one can be sure how the scenery is going to look like when it calms down. There is a chance it might never be the same. Well, despite all that, I have to write this story. It is a personal quest and maybe the only piece of puzzle that really matters. It is true there are topics lined up in my head waiting to be discussed, analyzed, and written down... ideas which were supposed to be subjected to this process long before my story. However, I cannot force myself to stop returning to this story which, so far, managed to resist my effort to tie it down to a sheet of paper. I ponder over the details, nuances... in endless attempt to gain a clear picture of who, where and how is going to be the foundation, the trigger, the plot, the end of this. I came to believe that fiction presents for me the only way, the only chance to get back on track. Back to my reality.

Lately it seems as if a big grey cloud was hanging over the Earth. The type of cloud that follows you around nomatter how hard you try to hide or to run away. The type of cloud following cartoon characters with annoying perservance. When I was little I always wondered how is it possible that the could is simply everywhere... even inside! It made me feel deeply sorry for affected characters. I've always considered it the worst scenario possible... worst then having a little mouse hit you with a frying pan or a hammer... In this particular case, Tom would have one or two lumps on his head and, perhaps, colourful spirals in his eyes for a moment... but that was it! He shook it off and continued chasing Jerry with even more enthusiasm. On the other hand, if the storm cloud decided to follow you, there was no escape from permanent, exasperationg downpour of raindrops which would sooner or later made you (or affected animated friend) equally permanently miserable.

Now, many of my close friends, and maybe the whole planete as well, are being followed by such phantom cloud... or at least so it appears to me. A cloud full of earthquakes, nuclear catastrophes, civil wars, tsunamis, unresolved relationships, car accidents, broken hearts, unmet expectations, unfiltered emotions, sleepless nights, endless waiting and mysterious health conditions... It’s raining around me and inside me... on everyone... and it continues... drop by drop... The secret ingredient is not force but persistence. It is indeed a strange period. Especially considering the spring is slipping in. The weather is lovely, trees are blooming and grass is getting greener... My favourite season is pushing away fading reminiscence of winter and yet the world seems to be stuck in another Dark Age.

I really do not want to sound fatalistic... it’s been raining far too long. I am tired of it. That is why I need that story. I need to write it, I need to finish it. I need to do it now... while having no time, while being rained on. Every minute, I am feeling the tension. I am living the tension. It is there when I fall asleep...  it is there when I wake up... The story will never be itself without it. It needs this tension as every building needs foundations. Simply, it needs the tension to exist as much as the tension needs me to represent itself. It is time for me to pass it on.

I know you feel as if it will never end. I know all has seemed unconquerable for a long time... I know it is difficult to keep your head up... but do not comply, do not surrender... do not listen when rain whispers of neverding sorrows... if there was ever time for ‘civil disobedience’ it is now, I guess. Let’s make a revolution.

I revolt with all will power I have left against haunting cartoon clouds which indulge in stalking! There is no place for this phenomenon in the real world... not even in the fantasy one!

So I write...

The story.

Inside-out

As farr as I can remember, It has always seemed to me that what is happening inside me is more real than the reality enveloping me from the outside. The sofa I lie on, the slow and persistent ticking of the clock, the voices carried to me from downstairs... my body set into this picture... all that so preposterous and far away in comparison to the stories that take place beneath my skin.

I have experienced this feeling many times, but I don’t think I was ever able to fully understand it because all we are taught as soon as we come to this world full of shapes and definitions, is to believe and live what can be seen.

I can see my body but I cannot see myself.    

It may seem, perhaps, strange but the stories flowing through my veins are the blood which keeps my heart beating. The world inside me, consumes me. It is more solid and true than any other words spoken outloud... more than anything or anybody around me.

Stories have mind of their own.

We are responsible for our imagination.

***

I stumbled upon this while cleaning up dusted shelves of my laptop's hidden territories that were drowning in forgotten and mostly unimportant files. The curious thing is that it took me over fifteen maybe twenty minutes of intensive Google search till I was willing to accept that the author is me.

I do not have a recollection of writing it. Every time a situation as this one comes around, an unpleasant feeling wraps its sticky fingers around my mind. I know we are not capable of remembering every single little moment of our existence... earlier or later most of our memories slide into sub-consciousness, to dwell there quietly until a random trigger disturbs their peace and they flash on the surface as an inexplicable déjà vu or a very distant memory. However, how is it possible that some things we are able to forget completely... forget so thoroughly we would argue with the rest of the world we have never ever done or said such a thing?

You may think it is not so rare to forget about few lines scribbled couple years ago (I looked it up. The entry was created in December 2009, during Christmas period. I named it after a book that, if I am not mistaken, I might have gotten as a present around that time. I don’t know why I named it after it because those two things have not much in common... maybe something in that book was a trigger that provoked me to write...) ... but I have a peculiar relationship with written products of my imagination. Usually, I remember exactly why I wrote it, how I felt, what room I was in, what was the weather that day, whether I was hungry or not... So I think I have a right to freak out a bit.

What if I forgot other more important things? Maybe this is the reason why it should not matter who we were but who we are just now.

All I can do is trust myself...

Because as I (supposedly) wrote... What is inside me is more real than anything or anybody around me.

Stories have mind of their own.

We are responsible for our imagination.

;)

The Disciples of Disciplne

It is half past four in the morning.

Considering the last ten days in Edinburgh and a journey that greedily stripped me from my feeble energy supplies, I should be fast asleep for at least fifteen hours. Apparently, that is not happening. First night in France (by many considered a dreamland) and I sit on my bed deprived of sleep, abandoned by fatigue. It seems to me, I am not getting any dreams tonight.

To be truthful, I am not that surprised I find it quite challenging to fall asleep. The analysis, to which I subjected my life over the holiday period, offered me a conclusion which is not entirely according to my taste (mainly because it is absolutely necessary and inevitable). Tonight, the crusade is falling from the pedestal down to my feet swirling the dust just to let it settle on its distinct outlines.

I am giving up.

I am here to surrender.

There is no more I can do to hold up my resistance.

The indispensability of discipline has brought me to senses... eventually.

Forgive me the theatricality with which I write about the simplest moments of my life but I cannot resist no matter how much I try. It sounds better. Therefore, even a moment you would like to erase...  delete from your mind because till it is there your brain is beeping: Memory full, allowing nothing else to be downloaded from that sea of information floating around you, loses its dark higher powers. Giving to these moments a form, a style I dare to like, turns them into easy downsized version of their actual gravity and I can listen to it... clink on ‘Next’ button and continue living.

After three paragraphs about nothing I could actually get to the point. But in order to finish an article that provokes the effect that I had in mind in timely manner requires discipline. I might be eloquent speaker, cunning opponent, astute girl who constantly reaches for perfection whenever possible while prancing hand in hand with capricious luck... so much, that once in a while you might even get an impression that I am smart. But the one thing I never had (and still not have) is Discipline. Not a tiniest drop of it in my blood!

The truth is I have been withholding myself from success as far as I can remember, subconsciously but nevertheless voluntarily. All the exams I underwent, all those tests I passed, the projects I planned, ravishing little battles I won were all results of procrastination, not discipline. I have never properly studied when it was necessary or worked on a project as long as needed, or wrote when I should have... I could have written so many stories by now if only I had the discipline to do what I wanted!!! And still I always reached good and time to time even excellent results... results of single night’s effort. Now, you might think I am over acting and that I should be grateful for that. I suppose I should be thankful I was born with certain amount of undefined talent which is still not entirely clear to me. However, how can I be satisfied with myself if I the two chips I am left with to gable my way to happiness are suspicious talent and moody luck. That is certainly not a way to win a poker game. Only imagine! What would I actually be capable off if I gave it a try?

Perhaps ONE try is all it takes to fall into grasp of long forgotten religion... one taste of satisfaction, one little taste of real game... Maybe that’s all it takes to become a disciple of discipline.

Therefore I decided to do some research on the topic. As I was googling my way through the tangle of ideas people have expressed about discipline, the message that came across was quite evident. There is no way around it... well there is NO WAY without it. Not a way of life without limits to happiness I decided to have and which many people label impossible just because it requires to wonder beyond limits.

Certain German author or a playwright Carl Zuckermeyer wrote: ‘Half of life is luck, the other half is discipline- and that’s the important half, for without discipline you wouldn’t know what to do with luck.’ It contains more truth that I would ever dare to admit. I do not know what to do with my luck... but to let it pass by me without... well without taming it with discipline and creating something more than a one night’s shadow of rarely exercised talents.

From a different basket, H. Ross Perot, an American businessman said also something worth noting (mainly because it is as well an inevitable inconvenient truth). He claimed: ‘Something in human nature causes us to start slacking off at our moment of greatest accomplishment. As you become successful, you will need a great deal of self-discipline not to lose your sense of balance, humility and commitment.’

Slacking off at our moment of greatest accomplishment?

A phrase that should not sound so familiar and yet it does.

Loosing Balance?

One of the easiest things to do...

Loosing humility?

Tempting...

Disappearance of humility is another very popular phenomenon that accompanies Mr. Success wherever he decides to wonder. However, with this particular trap I never experienced that much trouble. Those who know me would laugh at the previous sentence. I have to admit, humility is the last quality you would connect with my name and behaviour. I believe I am good, but I am also aware that I am not the only one. It is simple; I suffer the painful blows of learning process. The more I learn, the more I realize that technically I do not know anything.

So, you might hear me say my well known: ‘I am soooo goooooood.... ‘

I say it often, and I say it with a hint of arrogant pleasure... nonetheless it is my moment of humility rather then arrogance. I have seen, read, met and experienced things and people and places far more imposant. On the other hand, the greatness around you does not take away the importance of your own achievements no matter how insignificant they may seem at the time. Therefore... yes! Be humble, but do not over do it!

  Loss of Commitment?

Truth...

It easy to get what you want... it is much more difficult and perplexing to maintain it.

Every time I think about this I flirt with an idea of leaving everything behind, finding a little house on a lake shore and live my live in peace... sitting on a bench under a cherry tree, looking at the world with simplicity it deserves.

As soon as I picture the image in my head... as soon as I draw the last strokes, I know I will never do it. Not this way. Because as another voice once said.. There are no short cuts to any place worth going.

It is time for me to learn some discipline.

I got no more excuse up my sleeves. 

Time to shake things up ;)

The Seen and Unforseen

The house is silent. Everyone is deeply asleep but I cannot compel myself to close my eyes. The sleep is not coming just yet and even though I try to ignore it at first, I know what kind of night awaits me. I hear my sister murmur something as she roles over in her bed. For a while, I listen to the mysterious creaks coming from old wooden timbers of our house that sporadically interrupt the silence. When I was little, the noise terrified me. Now, however, I could not imagine falling asleep without it. Those creaks are the silence of our house.

***
Quietly, I sneaked out of the room and, captured in the darkness, tried to find my way to the kitchen. The silence seamed to intensify every little noise provoked by my insecure movements. However I knew my way around (maybe far too well) and it took me just a fraction of a moment, to cross the hallway and stir the unusual stillness that reigned in our kitchen. The night was playing with my willing imagination and forced me hurriedly reach for the windows and unveil the venetian blinds that separated me from the outer world. Subtle moonlight spilled over the motionless furniture and let me examine the room carefully. All was exactly the way we left it, although night deprived everything of its lively colours. On the table, burned out candles complemented the still life composed of empty glasses and unfinished bottle of red wine; undeniable evidence of our late night talks. In that moment, smile replaced my irrational uneasiness. I picked up my dad’s sweater carelessly lying on the chair and put it on, deeply inhaling that familiar mixture of smells.  After a little hesitation, I poured the rest of the wine into empty glass closest to me and slid my feet into the comfy slippers left under the table. The glass door opened with ease. As I set my foot on an untouched blanket of snow covering the terrace, the cold air travelled through every inch of my skin. I shook it off, ignored the persisting shivers, and sat down.

So it is Christmas...

I fixed my eyes and on the forest covered in glittery frosting. It stood there unchanged, creating an illusion of nonexistent stability, but I let myself believe in it for one night. I let it be mine, my stable point in the universe. To me it seems that winter (no matter how ruthlessly cold) and the omnipresence of Christmas drowns the world in magic and even though it is not my favourite season, it offers me indispensable point of retreat. I feel like a warrior returning home from a battle in far off land; unknown and perilous; to remind myself who I am and what I am fighting for. It is easy to lose sight of those things when you are out there for too long. For ideas are not excluded from Darwin’s theory. Sooner or later, it comes down to survival of the fittest. If you don’t embrace them with clarity, if you let your concentration falter...  they will evaporate under the pressing heat of enemy’s firing guns.

However, we are no longer in the middle of World War II, there is no one forcing us what to fight for, what to believe in, there is no defined enemy against who we unite and rise. We are not living in a fantasy world, where the territory of evil is clearly marked on the map and the quest ahead is clear. The world is the land of no one, without borders or signs warning us: Attention! Wet Floor! When I was younger, I used to wish to have that sort of clarity in my life... the enemy with face so I could reach over the edges of my own abilities, to fight for better world, to experience living. It never came and yet, I can say I experienced living... I reached beyond my powers... and in a way I continue to fight for a better world in my own twisted philosophical way.  All that happened in the land of no one.

It is true, we rebel against the society and its strict models of perfection as if we were its slaves forced to swallow seeds of wrath against the world and each other; slaves fighting for freedom because our unhappy life is the result of this slavery. As there was no other choice... as if we were threaten by death to want all that we are only asked to embrace.
Never more than this year, had it appeared to me more obvious and truthful. As if finally one night an abstract dream, in which a shadow followed me through the dark streets of an unknown city, came to an end. Fast approaching steps behind my back made my heart skip a beat, I tried to run but it was getting closer and closer...  I fought the despair but I found myself in a dead end, where at last, I would feel cold rough hands imprison my body and the blade slid my neck with ease, effortlessly ruining my existence. Then, as I fell to the ground helpless, the shadow, the phantom that followed me for years would kneel by my side gasping for air and I was able to see his face... my face... my eyes... so strange... so distant... reflecting the acceptance I refused to embrace.

The only person standing in your way is you.

If you want to see the face of your enemy, look in the mirror. What you will face is the worst kind of enemy. He knows your weaknesses, your worst nightmares... your dreams and your fears. We rarely realise this stranger works for us and responds to our orders only. It is easy to blame our failures on the government, the society, the church, family.... friends... much easier than taking responsibility for our actions. Ask yourself honestly, how many times it was your decision (or its absence) that made given situation more difficult or fatal?

We cannot influence things that cross our way... unexpected disasters, the way people act, fortune or misfortune... in reality we have no real power or influence over anything except of us. We are in charge of our attitudes. It is us who label things possible or impossible, good or bad, important or useless... If you cannot accept this responsibility, you will never be free... mainly because you will need the rest of the world to blame it on.

I sipped the wine slowly to help my body fight assiduous attempts of chilly wind to force me back inside. The only sentence lazily rolling over in my mind was: I am happy... This year I fought a lot, especially with myself in personal or professional sphere of my short existence. I won many of them. Curiously, I pride myself the most in my failures. On one hand, because maybe they were failures in results, but not in my acting... I did all that was possible and impossible... crazy and maybe unwise just because it felt so sinfully right... and it was. On the other hand these failed little battles taught me more than any victory and I do not regret I lived them, after all they are all mine.

I do not blame you, nor do I blame myself.

Strangely liberating...

For now I am hiding in the mythical ‘vacuum’ of Christmas, deprived of time. One day passes after another, whether Tuesday comes after Monday or Tuesday after Wednesday does not matter. They are all melting into one day without battles, bellowed challenges, worries, concentration... a day that lasts exactly right amount of deep breaths in and out... the right amount of late night talks with a bottle of wine and a head full of untold stories with my parents... with my friends... with myself...  the right amount of snowball fights, random hugs and dancing... just right amount to make the Earth stop turning in my personal universe and prepare for the unforeseen.

I love Christmas, now more than ever. I found a secret passage to the vacuum, thus I may spend the holiday in a time loop with the most important people in the world and the rest... the rest ceases to exist just for a while. I indulge with almost sinful pleasure in love for them, essentially because I realized long ago that this love is not an obligation, neither is it pure emotion. I love them with an irrational emotional outburst as well as with reason. I am not quite sure how to explain it... this feeling came to accompany me more and more often as I travelled, until one day it stayed for good. This emotion has a power to make me cry... which is as you know impossible. I am proud of being part of my family. Thus I indulge. I laugh with pleasure, I quarrel with pleasure...  and I have the time (or its absence) to realize it as if everything came and went in slow, slow motion.

Since I am naturally built by the bricks of curiosity and mended together by mortar of over-analysis, excluding current of time from my consciousness has not able to stop me from thinking. For one reason or another I feel like I am balancing on a needle point. One move and I will fall into an unstoppable current of events predetermined by the unconquerable law of gravity. I admit that this notion has a very fatalistic undertone but I cannot help myself in thinking I need to be overly careful with my choices this year. One thing I learned, is to trust my intuition, even though it makes these random notions so much scarier. The ideas in my head are starting to shape in reality. Will it ever work? Will I sit here next year asking myself the same questions or will they be forgotten, replaced... answered or unanswered? Who will I become in a year... in five years... in ten? Can I live up to my own expectations?

Who will I be tomorrow... in a week?

I am not so fond of New Year’s resolutions, although my naive mind is full of expectations. They might and might not come true... We will see... but till then, I will continue in the pursuit of happiness and maybe along the way I will change little bits of the world for the better... for now my only power lies in charge of my attitude.

Unintended

The only thing you can possibly do is to take a deep breath and dive into it. Once you jump, there is no way back. The ice cold water will cut through your skin, paralyse your limbs, and disarm your mind and body. When this hostile coldness envelopes every inch of your being, the question-Why did I do this to myself? -will burn brightly inside your head to continually remind you of your foolish decision.

In that precise moment of shock you will be lured by two choices leading to immensely different experiences. You may use the feeble remains of your strength to spring to the surface and escape the unfamiliar... or you let the shock vibrate through your body until it slowly disappears, you start to feel and regain control of yourself. And perhaps, when the cold will seem no longer alien, you will learn to swim in unknown waters... So, what do you do?

***
Well, what did we do?

When I wrote those few lines two months ago, my intentions were to flood the blank pages of my never failing companion, Mr Microsoft Word 2007 (who so kindly takes care of my sadly numerous spelling mistakes) with countless first impressions that overwhelm us every time we dare to step out of our ‘territory’.

Yeah, it would be an interesting read, I guess. However, before I had an opportunity to finish my arrogant epiphany on those peculiar stages of shock, surprise, refusal, depression, confusion or enthusiasm that affect others, I was swallowed by the ‘living abroad’ monster myself. To my own amazement, I was on the top of it all... calm and confident; I was skating on thin ice with mastered precision. This is what I was used to... It was a different stage but the rules of the game were the same. They always are. I walked the path step by step countless times and I was more than happy to help others to get through the first three weeks of hell... to safely guide them all to the ‘I am having the time of my life’ stage.

And so, I find myself in mid November, sitting on my bed and listening to the gusts of cold autumn wind pressing on the windows of my studio... some people gave up and left back home, but the most part made it and successfully slipped from ‘holiday fever’ to ‘Real life eventually happens everywhere’ perception.  And this is exactly the memorable moment I reach my personal sticking point. Everyone is fine, except me.

Nothing about this is real. I have nothing.  I see my friends mostly on the computer screen only. I speak five languages but I have no real practical skill or knowledge. I travelled and studied but in reality I did nothing that would seem to have a significant value. I have never dived honestly into a relationship because I always knew I will leave sooner or later. No matter how much I try to play it off, I still have a great difficulty to trust people. I cannot decide to stay somewhere without turning my back on someone close to me.  Most importantly, what I believed to be an effort to embrace life, turned out to be only a way of escaping it.  For four years I have been running away from reality... moving from place to place with such ease, people ceased to understand me. Not that I ever tried to explain myself. It is difficult to breath with realisation that my ‘no strings attached’ attitude has hurt a few people...

The reason for such a drastic melt down of The Ice Queen stands in the disappearance of the huge glacier of optimism that grew around me ever since I took my life into my own hands. I do not know where it came from, but I did not once doubt anything I set my mind on... and everything always worked out. If you read this, you probably think it is not possible for everything to be coming your way... well, trust me, it is (obviously not without problems... but even those are just a silly threat to that kind of bottomless well of optimism).  I built on it my entire philosophy of life.

However, few long, long days ago, it was gone, and I have never felt this lost and helpless in my entire existence. That morning I knew that I was misleading myself, my life was not going exactly the way I wanted it.

How come that during the time I claimed I had all wanted, I also brought my writing into a complete halt. As much as it hurts me to admit it, I have not written anything, anything at all in four years... I dismissed all the stories as not being good enough or I just let them stagnate till I forgot, so I would not have to deal with them. I might have been studying business, cultural differences, literature, history, film, psychology or languages... but that I did and do only for the sake of broadening my horizons... to better understand people.... to understand the language that I love so much that I express myself in unnecessarily long and complicated sentence structures, just to enjoy their lovely melody and rhythm when I read it out loud. I create bizarre metaphors in random conversations only to be able to use the words I find particularly beautiful in everyday life... And yet, I did not write a thing.

This is the only failure in my life that has a real power over me, that has strength to crush me like a little cockroach. So, you see, I did what I despise the most... I did nothing.

Secondly, the melt down revealed the hatred I felt towards Edinburgh. I loathe that city for steeling my liberty, I ability to leave everything behind. I hate it for changing feeling of homesickness from a time to time poke of memory to permanent omnipresent phantom that messes with my head no matter how far I go. I hate it because it took away my last valid excuse to avoid settling to a real life once more. I can no longer say ‘I haven’t found a place good enough’.
I need it. I want it. However, despite all I have been saying, claiming with a straight face and persuasive tone... it petrifies me to lose the comfort of ‘the deadline of departure’. What if my courage was only a result of absence of reality?

The truth is, suddenly, I don’t know what I want... I don’t even know if I have the guts to get it.

***
But then... then I talked to my best friend.

Actually, she talked to me starting with: ‘What the HELL?’

You know, listening to her giving me a passionate lecture... listening to that litany of why I have no right to think or believe those things... I was proud of her. I had to smile as my mind drifted into a series of flashbacks about me doing the exact same thing, saying the exact words with the same irritated passion to her and to many, many others I have pleasure of calling my friends.
And then, somehow, my ‘no regrets’ theory found its way to the surface and I smiled even more. Perhaps I did not do anything particularly significant, but I did live up to it. I do not regret anything... the things I did and those I did not do. All those moments... happy or sad, embarrassing or funny, preposterous or deadly serious... they are all there and I would do them all over. Maybe they are not so significant in themselves, it is important that I lived them. After all, they led me to a major breakdown that revealed the life defining BIG things I have neglected.

Ice glacier should not epitomize optimism. No matter how powerful that particular optimism might be. There is too great of a risk your mind will grow numb and your reflexes slow.

Well, it’s time to face the greatest fears... even though it means to write, trust and stop leaving.

This is the end of first Ice Age.... I guess.

The Outdoor Market on the edge of reality

I do not know whether this is some kind of plot against my will power or just product of my ever over-analytic brain that collects coincidences recycles them and spits back to the world brand new eco conspirations with a hint of egocentrism... but I have been exposed to unhealthy measures of memory radiation these days.  This time it has nothing to do with dust and spiders, on the contrary, I was attacked out in the hills, heading to the north, crossing the border...

The story I am about to tell does not have a beginning although my grandma’s need for dress to wear for a wedding of some distant family member (of which I am supposed to have much more information but with me being the way I am I can hardly keep track of my own life and people I see every day) could be considered a trigger that set us on a short journey to Poland.

It might be slightly difficult to grasp how my grandma’s sudden urge for shopping can possibly be a cause of my spiritual illumination therefore it would not be off the point to clarify some basic facts. In core of my present memory outbreak are Polish Outdoor Markets scattered in towns by the Slovak and Czech borders.

These markets enjoyed prosperity and stayed in the spotlight of public interest before revolution as well as throughout the 90’s. You could find there anything from clothes through food or furniture to flowers. People would get up early in the morning and travel long distances to get there before the rush hour of the rush hour. During the week following pay day, trains heading in direction of the markets were so overcrowded you could barely walk down the aisle. In those days the markets presented extremely large selection at extremely low prices. So, ultimately, it was worth the struggle.

However, to me all that is only a frame of a master piece, Pinocchio without a nose... cappuccino with no chocolate on the top! My fascination with the place was born long before I had an opportunity to set my foot on its grounds. For that little version of me that existed approximately fourteen years ago, the markets represented an enigma... a place with feebly defined outlines. Couple times a year, I would wake up into a quiet house with my mom gone only to be told she left to Poland with her sisters. That always made me so angry I even swore I will never speak to my mom again for not taking me with her... for a while, I would tragically indulge in sadness and self-pity before I became, once and again, a slave of my own imagination... by the time my mom returned I was so overexcited I forgot all about her unforgivable betrayal against her (at the time) youngest daughter. The whole afternoon I would not go out just set by the window quietly as not to miss a sound of a car pulling into our driveway. And then they came... with all those things without names...and so many stories that made no sense to me... but, most importantly, with all that candy! Not just any candy... the best caramels in the whole wide world called Krowky!

I remember my first visit only very vaguely... mixture of smells... people... flowers...the stands... vendors... how tightly was I holding on my mom’s hand in the midst of the crowd. So bewildered and fascinated. I guess I have it my blood.
Since then I have been there countless number of times but when we were driving up there today through hills I thought.... god I was so weird! :D

There were no crowds; only few people scattered among the lined up stands. The place seemed so small... and surprisingly, after all those years, exactly the same. The stall with tulips, roses and fraises right by the entrance to the food market was still there, exactly where my mind left it.

In a sense it felt like walking among ruins. Do not get me wrong! Not the kind of ruins that swell with unease every step you take, the kind that ties you down to crumbled reminiscence of former destruction. These ruins were like remnants of medieval castle, still living the stories one after another. And you know, it felt nice... to walk through that market, breathe in the smells... listen to random conversations... despite the fact that the enigma was gone for good.


It’s strange how much of the things that formed us we cease to remember...

Up in the A... Att.. Attic!

 No matter how much we tried to ignore it and live our lives ever so lightly the curse was hanging above our heads growing heavier and scarier each day. It was coming for us, we knew it but we continued to fall asleep and wake up with secure comfort of denial.

When, one morning, the door refused to open. That bloody attic was full! I am not speaking of fullness in its positive calming way represented by THE GLASS HALF FULL or FULFILMENT that we all seek but the frightening picture of cave being filled up with water pushing out last oxygen thus killing any even feeble chances for survival. Well, I guess there is no wander since I happen to have the most huggable grandma that is also obsessed with keeping everything until it does not either turn to ashes or is completely useless... I mean really completely useless because all broken can be fixed, being 'old' is not a reason, small may be passed to someone else... and some things just should stay in because... well, she definitely had a reason. Moreover, her behaviours were ever before supported by my uncle who shared this attitude especially in regard to books and old machines. On the top of it all stands my family's genetically integrated vice to tidy up as fast as possible therefore the attic became (so called) TEMPORARY solution.

This house was built by my grandparents having my dad and uncle growing up underneath its roof, subsequently me and my sisters as well... to be honest the whole upper floor of the house that is now our apartment used to be an attic... Imagine that! Thinking of it now... that space underneath the roof should be taken as a tiny version of its huge scary predecessor. All I want to say is... we are talking about 20 maybe 30 years of fullness.

Despite the fact that I had to spend 30 minutes in the shower trying to wash out spider webs from my hair and dust from my skin, there have been some interesting findings in the field of my ancient history that are worth noting.

Firstly I would like to introduce you into the carton box filled up with my early artistic works dating since the age of 6 till 8 which includes for instance my first ever magazine, small encyclopaedia of cats and dogs and a plastic mouse made from paper and stuffed with flour (so cool... although the inside was invaded by her living sisters... what a shame). I remember making that magazine not what I wrote so actually reading through it made me cry with laugher... There was an article involving one of the Slovak politician who according to my 'sources' publicly received a very embarrassing birthday gift from his wife as a revenge for the fight they had a night before... or one about a woman fighting for dogs' rights who tried to secure them private planes, so they can fly without supervision of their owner... not that they have to have one necessarily! I do not remember the encyclopaedia but it has a cool cover and some facts about cats that I didn't know... did you know that one of the five good reasons why to have a cat is because it does not take much space... and the second is because it is pretty? But really! I listed legends about cats since Ancient Egypt... I was awesome even as a child! :P

My dad's guitar!
I remember sneaking into parents' bedroom when I was little (he still played at the time), pulling out the guitar from under the bed and trying to play but I was too little to hold it properly. That guitar was sacred instrument for me. When I found it now it had no strings left and it held together only by a miracle. It went straight the bin but what can you do...

Picture of me on my first day of school! Tiny with two pony tails so scared of that hostile institution! I only went there because they bribed me with a colourful backpack a moment of weakness I regret till present day. ( I will upload the picture when I get a chance to scan it!)

I found a Contract that I wrote down to protect my belongings from my irresponsible older sister (who never put away my clothes and had a tendency to damage my stuff in general), made her sign it and had that document authenticated by mom! According that I could so sue her just now!

The Huge welcome poster you guys made for me when I arrived to USA! I was so exhausted after those 36 hours of travelling... the agency sent me all by myself when I had change flight four times... I felt like my English is no good... All the security checks... problems with baggage... till today I am not quite sure how the hell did I managed to go through it without missing any flight and arrive on time! So by the time I reached Sioux Falls, you can't blame be for passing you by even though the poster bore my name printed in huge blue letters! Still have it!
My first Halloween costume: Miss Sparrow!

Oh... How could I forget! I found the letter I wrote about myself according to which the family was supposed to choose me... Seriously what was mom thinking? She chose me?! That letter was nuts! I can't believe I sent that out on the other side of the world to be read by many many potential families... at least it found me an equally crazy match! :D

The bracelet! Andres, do you remember the handmade Ecuador bracelet you gave me once? I thought I lost it while still in US but to my great surprise I found it in one of the boxes with all the school materials from America (which I discover as well)! Speaking of them... I remembered the essay Mr Nelson made us write as a tribute to the Transcendentalism on our Ideal life... His enthusiastic commentary: 'Just Do It' is still deeply tattooed on my soul. (First adult person that ever said that to me on behalf of my plans)

I also found the fake Passport from French camp in north Minnesota that reminded me of my second personality... Dominique Robespierre, irresistible but dangerous Femme Fatale... which reminded me of my third and fourth personalities then those mentioned the poor forgotten fifth one... Who is supposed to keep track of them all I am A womEn of many faces!

The photo mix CD Jess made for me before I left! I watched it again today.... First time you played it for me it made me cry so much I had to watch it three or four times to actually see it. I miss you!

I had the pleasure of reading some of my early works... that was just too... indescribable?! However, I have to admit, some of them were not bad. Writing style and plots were good, characters not very complex though. But few poems were quite impressive... especially the one called (in translation) 'Dirty Dancing'... I was fifteen I had no idea what I was writing about but hmmm... it was really good! I captured the spirit...ehm... well!

I also discovered the newspaper's special edition from the Literary Festival in Zilina. It completely disappeared from my consciousness; I forgot I have ever done something of that sort. What I do remember clearly is that I was the only one from the workshop who got published two articles!!! (I would be proud but I read them again and I personally think they are very bad...) One important attribute is connected to this event which is my realisation I do not want to be a journalist at any cost... I would like to have my own newspaper/magazine though... that would be different... that has an attractive smell of liberty!

Then the script of the parody on Cyrano De Bergerac I wrote (in French; though only thanks to help from my professor because there were times when my French made people actually cry) for The French-Slovak cultural exchange project we did in our senior year! Katarina did you play in it as well? I found only one page of the script... the legendary one! The flower pot is bind to fall upon Cyrano's head and mortally wound him... (for major lack of male actors I was Cyrano) and the most exciting part... the pot actually cracked on my head bringing the audience to abrupt jump and made scream out loud of excitement and worry.... ok I am little overrating it... they were laughing mostly...

Speaking of my 'acting' I also stumbled upon the DVD from our prom... watched the singing classroom sketch. My favourite! I think that was the best we did... The role of nasty professor was always for me! I was enjoying every second of it! (Except that terrible yellow two piece suit that I wore... good for the scene but if I am to be a nasty professor in real life I would be amazingly dressed nasty professor!) Oh... good times...

The flower covered notebook...
Remember, Tánička? You made it for my birthday our first or second year of high school! You never knew what I wrote inside but believe me some issues are better off not being brought to spotlight... some of my evil plans... that was the beginning of all 'evil' in my life actually.. I forgot about it... See Katarina? It started looooong ago!

The French conversation book!
Katarina! Hope you are reading this as you probably will be one of the few... remember.... senior yea... That special time when I made you try the ecstasy awakened by subtle properties of caramel latte? You fell in love... and high level of sugar in our blood made our French class afterwards completely useless because we were laughing like crazy bunch of escaped penguins.

The Geisha Dress!!!
My second Halloween experience spent in Kent for a change! That night was amazing... although after that we assumed parties in Eliot are simply too bed to be true... but guys do you remember that English boy dressed up as a pink fairy that try to hit on Alyssa??? But that was the first time, I think, we have witnessed Lauren under the influence of alcohol, she was so adorable...
 And it took them THREE days to clean the floor in Eliot halls! Awful! I just hated that building... And the fire alarm that went off randomly at night making everyone get out of their beds and stand outside in freezing cold wind... and prison like architecture? That's why I think Parkwood was much better place to die! Although that didn't matter much as I was in Starbuck all the time anyway that year... Lenka?  That was the best essay writing place in town!

Then some curiosities... We actually had up there an ancient keyboard from the early PET computers, rusted metal spotlight last used like fifteen years ago... prehistoric radio (and really mean prehistoric... it took me 5 minutes to guess it is a radio)...  A bottle of salty sea water probably from our first holidays by the sea when I was 12... (An idea belonging to my beloved sister, I guess)

Some fist sized rocks... none knows how they got there

 My creative writing notebook form second grade on topics such as poetic description of your school bag... cannot forget to mention old transmitting aerial rusted and broken in two parts that scratched my leg... some very very old mobile phones as well... interesting sight indeed!

There were also some brainwashing communistic titles from before revolution as for example 'History of workers union' (also on how to be a good workman), How to set up your own party (communistic of course), one book also on Capitalism (Printed in ZSSR so I am not sure whether that's good... I rather did not open the book...) Quite interesting from historical view point... scary for human common sense. Thank God, I was born into life after all that!

It took six people and one entire day to clean that up! And I was the' lucky one' who was in the darkness of the attic the whole time... now it seems like any other room except this one has all the useless stuff that remind me of all the useful events...
I fail to believe that the 'normal room' look will last very long, we are way too disorganized in our personal lives... but for now it is actually a nice place! I deserve a Noble prize for this!

That's all I had on my mind...