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...

Definition of the unlikely

The sole purpose of this article is to help me define the peculiar position I have found myself in. It turned out to be way too complicated to think this through. Therefore, the only way to make this mess a constructive logical chain of actions and reactions is to write my way through it as always.

The problem in itself is quite simple and for most people not so unlikely to happen. On the contrary, it is one of the most natural things (what is or is not natural is very subjective but for this particular case I chose to call natural what is most common among people in general).

I have become very deeply attached to a place.

To something exact and concrete... not an abstract idea, surrealistic world or a twisted lifestyle. Until recently, taking into account my perspective on life, I considered such an event very unlikely to happen.
Not that I am such an experienced traveller... when I think about it, it has been solely four years since I left for the first time and I have seen only very little. The thing is I was never truly bothered by the idea of departure. It never occurred to me I should be.

Since I let my decision to leave to US slip into pool of public consciousness, people approached me saying ‘I don’t understand how can you do it’, ‘I admire you for doing so’ or ‘Aren’t you afraid?’. While, what I really did not understand was their reaction. I am aware that till then I have spent my entire life living in the green house in this valley and that maybe setting out alone on the other side of the world, leaving my whole family and friends behind, to go and live with strangers should spur also other emotions beside the crazy excitement... the kind of fear one has to indulge in or the air of naturalness spreading through my body.

Yet I did not perceive any of my departures in any way complicated or difficult. Of course I was nostalgic and sad; however I always took that as normal part of life, too obviously normal to get under my skin. Maybe I was already swallowed by the vision of where I was going, although I would rather incline to the concept of relativity in regard to our environment. The place in itself was never a pivot of my fascination with travelling. The truth is it was the actual act of throwing yourself alone into the unknown and learning to swim, overcoming yourself, crossing the line of your (so far known) abilities... discovering... experimenting... jumping into a dark well which bottom you cannot see... struggling... purposefully hunting for challenges... being in hell, heaven and purgatory at the same time... learning to live in world you know nothing about. This kind of insanity posses an alluring irresistible charm...
Thus the place was a setting which importance was defined by the scene that took place in it. At the moment of goodbye I would cry for all that was to be left behind but the second I set my food on the road, slammed the door on a car or boarded the plane, I never looked back. It is somewhat difficult to say this to anyone because to get the idea across without choosing the right words makes me sound a little coldblooded. It’s just... I do not like looking back. What is done is done, the good and the bad. It is like the end of a chapter. The novel has to continue... Looking back causes trouble.

Nevertheless, I sit on my bed and I cannot concentrate on life. I feel like a page torn out of a book. As if I was tossed into a novel of an author who likes to infuse two or more storylines and jumps from one to another and you are forced to concentrate on something entirely different in the most inconvenient moments.

When I was leaving this time I did not feel like crying yet twice I had to restrain myself from looking back. For quite a few weeks the fast approaching thought of leaving dragged me into the state of unease... the last look on the city from the plane just torn me apart.

So unlike me! (And I claim to know myself very well... ehm... maybe far too well)

However it may be this emotional anomaly was the trigger for my brain to sort out the situation. Therefore, after some thought I limited ‘Definition of the unlikely’ to three moments that seem to be the essence of an essence of the primary causes of all this mess:

1. The walk

Wonderland

2. The dance

Insanity

3. The sunrise

Happiness


All I want to say is... everything that fascinates me about travelling can be (after all) found in a single place... which is an interesting insight and I myself am startled at the thought. It makes me wonder even more...

One mystery leads to another....