Today I read the blog entry of an Afro-American woman, talking about the American dream. She wrote about how full of hope she was when she moved from Kenya to America, how she thought she could make a better life there. Explained her goals, how she struggled in trying to achieve them… She wrote about everything she went trough.

As she got there, she was optimistic. America was the land of opportunity. She was expecting everything, instead she got nothing. First of all, it took her a lot to find a job. People didn’t want to hire her, because she was different. Finally she got a job in a market. She could clean the place after everybody was gone. She wasn’t allowed to show herself, but at least she had a job.

Finally she realized: Her life in Kenya wasn’t worse, but it also wasn’t better. The American dream is for those who afford to live it. An ordinary person couldn’t benefit such thing. But she didn’t leave America. She stayed there, hopping she’ll once have a better chance.

Reading her story made me think about her as a brave girl. It takes guts to go trough something like that and still keep your head high. It takes a lot of courage and strength to fall down and still be able to rise. But her story also made me wonder: Why do we try to leave our homes, hoping a better future awaits in a bigger city? What could actually make us feel like home?

I also find myself in a big city and I hate it. I would leave anytime. And one day I will. But it was my choice to be here. I wanted something more than I could get in the city where I grew up. I wanted a better job than I could find there, a better paid one. I wanted not to miss the parties I got used to. I spent 4 years here; it would be kind of hard for me to leave it. And still I can’t call it home.

Comparing her story to mine made me ask myself another question: If I don’t fell home in the city I grew up or in the one I’ve spent more then 4 years, where would I feel home? Is everybody in my situation or am I the only freak who doesn’t find her place? Will I ever be able to be happy, by being a “homeless”? And than I realized:

There are things that make me happy: having a chat with my friends, asking my mom for an advice, hearing my dad’s jokes…taking a walk in the park, seeing a movie, going to the theatre…learning to cook, cleaning my room, taking care of my flower… And most importantly: Hearing HIS voice and being in HIS arms…. And it made me realize there was my home…

This is for you…

I kind of hesitated to show you my page. I hesitated cause I thought you might not like it. And I thought you might think it’s a waste of time. It took me a while to let you see what I like to do, because I want you to be proud of me. And that means you have to like it.

This is to let you know how important you are to me. It’s maybe the most easiest way to make you realize you mean the world to me.

It’s been a while since you’re a part of my life and my heart is still beating faster every time I hear your voice. I know I love you, cause I can’t go to sleep without hearing your voice and I can’t wake up without knowing you’ll be there.

Thanks for making me smile, for listening to my problems. Thank you for calling me, for saying you love me, for making me happy.

This is for you….The love of my life…

this is about a girl...

Today I thought about relationships. Everybody wants to have one. Some people want a friendly relationship, other a good relationship with their boss… And most of us want a romantic relationship, based on love.

My best friend knew her boyfriend 3 years ago. She is the really calm type, who knows what she wants, but is to shy to show it. He is the opposite: He has no idea what he wants, still he’s trying to show everybody’s wrong. Their relationship wasn’t perfect. None of them is and that’s the beauty about them.

Things went slow. First he didn’t care, than he tried to show he didn’t care, later he came to admit that he loved her. They lived in separate cities, still they travelled together and after two years they moved to Cluj together. They found this wonderful apartment, the company where the boyfriend worked was paying for everything and the location was good too. They even planed to get married. This year. In a few months actually. Until one day.

Time went by, things were planned and then the Easter came. Every holiday is supposed to be a happy time you spend with the ones you love. Except this one.

She found out, after 3 years of relationship and after planning the wedding, that her parents weren’t accepting her. She found out that her 32 years old boyfriend still depends on his parents. And that he was cheating on her since 2 years. And than, after less than a month, she was dumped.

Today I met her for coffee. She was totally changed. And she told me that I’m only living the illusion of happiness, cause one day everything comes to an end. So now I’m wondering: Is she right? Does love really last forever? And if it doesn’t, why do we even fall in love? Are we really masochists who know how painful it will be when it’s over, and still accept the pain just for a few happy romantic moments?

And then I realized: I don’t want to think about that. Just because someone’s dream ended doesn’t mean I have to kill mine. Just because one relationship failed, doesn’t mean mine will fail to. It’s about the way you are. And most importantly: It’s about communication.

And I realized one more thing: Although me and my boyfriend are still a “young couple”, I came to know more about him than my friend did after 3 years. And after hearing his voice I realized how important he is to me.

It’s not about the things you say, or plan. It’s about the things you feel and how you handle your feelings… I am happy. And I will always be, cause my friends failure taught me how to keep my feelings alive and my relationship standing…

her story...

She walks on the street and I see her every day. She’s alone, she walks around, she never looks at people. Her hair is a mess, her face looks old , her clothes are dirty. She looks like she doesn’t want to live. But her eyes….

Her eyes are big, blue, shiny and clear. Amazingly clear. If you see her incredibly beautiful eyes you come to ignore everything about her that’s so ugly. The moment you see her you find her meaningless, but her eyes show something beyond that.

Ever since I saw her eyes I think about her a lot. Who is she? What did she do? What was her life before she ran on the streets all by herself? How many hearts did she steal with those amazing eyes? Did someone make her suffer and cry? What’s her story?

Maybe once she lived in a big house, with her husband and her children. Maybe she had everything someone could ever hope. Money, love, a family… Maybe she was really happy. Or maybe she was rich and beautiful, but alone. Maybe she was poor, the only riches she had was the smiles of the man she loved and her children. Maybe she was an intellectual. Or maybe not.

The truth is she lives on the street. The truth is people walk around her every day and for them she is invisible. Maybe that’s why she never looks at them, she just got used to being ignored and meaningless. But once she looked at me. She stared at me with her big, beautiful, blue, clear, hypnotic eyes. And since then I can’t get her out of my mind.

Now someone has noticed her. Now she’s important to someone. If one day she wouldn’t be walking on the street, alone and sad, with her dirty hair and clothes and old face, someone will miss her…

fuck love, show me the money...

Let’s assume I knew a girl. Let’s assume I knew a girl who’s getting married. Let’s assume the girl I know, who’s getting married, ain’t exactly the type someone would marry.

Let’s assume she actually couldn’t count the men she dated during her 20 years, cause she got lost while counting. And still she’s getting married.
Well, yeah, she’s 20 years old. Maybe I know her…. Maybe I don’t… Maybe many people know her… Maybe nobody ever heard of her…

She’s 20, she’s brunet, with short black hair, tiny red lips. She wears make up. When she doesn’t, people think she’s sick.

She’s fucking all the managers she get’s to meet, all of them married with children. She sings in bars, she follows them, she’d do anything to get at least in their bed, if not in their lives. She’s a man eater, although she’s got nothing special.

She’s being used every time, she cries because of her bad luck. She’s the victim, cause poor 20 years old baby girl seems unable to find herself the rich manager who’s family and life she’s able to ruin…

Until one day, when… Let’s assume I’m on my way to work and find out she’s marrying a manager after one month of so called dating. Let’s assume the guy is as old as her dad, he has a girlfriend since forever, he owes a house in Holland, in which he, naturally, lives with his girlfriend.

Let’s assume she finally did it.

And so I come to wonder: Who needs love, when there’s money? Who needs romance, when there’s interest?

This one’s just to let you, 20 years old baby girls, know that everything’s possible. So never give up your hope! That ugly old filthy rich married manager is out there, waiting for you!!!

once upon a time... and then you wake up...

I consider my name ain’t important. Either is my age. I will only mention that I live, study and work in Cluj, a city in Romania where everything is possible….

Everybody likes Cluj. They love it actually. Teenagers for the clubs and the late night fun, middle aged for the restaurants, churches, museums, architecture and many other things. Old people like it because they got used to it.

I kinda hate it. I mean it’s big, people run around all the time, having no idea where they’re going, 13 year old kids act like they are 25, old people act like they are still young. Nothing is like it’s supposed to be. Everybody is pretending, no one is interested in what you feel, what you need, what you do, what you’re problems are. Everybody wants to change things, no one actually does. So I come to wonder: In a city like Cluj is it possible to stay just the way you are, or are you pushed to change into what everybody wants you to be?

When I first moved here, I liked it. Actually I loved it. It was my dream to be by myself in a city where I could be found only if I wanted to. My whole life I studied hard to get there and I was extremely happy when my dream finally came true.

So here I was…18, all alone, no one to tell me where to go and when to be home. And I took advantage of every opportunity I got. I went out every night, I had fun, I met people. I was living my life, I was falling in love, I was experiencing new things and nothing could stop me from living my dream of freedom. Time went by, month after month, year after year and it felt great… Until one day….

July 14th… I will never forget that day…. The day I found a job….

Finding a job is always a good thing. You wanted it, you fought to get it, you know you deserve it, and when you got it, you’re so happy you think you’ll never let it go. Everything’s perfect: the office, the colleagues, the boss, the salary… The salary is obviously good, you negotiated for it…

Until the months go by and you realize the cruel reality: Nothing is perfect…. Nothing was and nothing will ever be….

There comes the time when fun has to end. You finish school, or are about to finish school, finish university, have to find a job and a career… That’s what everybody does. You can’t be different in a city that doesn’t allow differencies…

In the lack of time, lack of joy, lack of reasons to enjoy you’re life, you settle down. You go to work, come home, eat, take a shower and go to sleep, so you’ll be able to wake up for work in the morning. You’ve got a job, you’re what everybody wanted you to be, except yourself… And so I answered my question….