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.

;)