My name is…

Fusesem intrebata de ce mi-am schimbat numele pe maretul facebook… Cand vrei sa scapi de trecut, il stergi, incet, incet. Mai raman urme pe care inca nu stiu sa le sterg, adrese e-mail la care sa renunt. Cu numele ala am fost cunoscuta pe forumuri. Eheee cate mistouri au fost facute pe seama lui. Nici in franceza nu am scapat de „8-8”.

Dar revenim la origini: Lela.

Asa-mi spuneam cand maltratam toate cuvintele. Asa mi-a spus sora-mea. Asa mi-au spus ai mei cand mi-am luat zborul din cuib, desi si inainte mai foloseau numele asta. Mi-a devenit drag.

Lela si Inda. Greu de separat, cum erau si Alexandra si Silvia. Mi s-a parut mereu ciudat sa aud un alt nume pe langa Alexandra, cand era vorba de o sora, mai ales mai mica.

Alexandra Lela. De ce sa renunt la origini?

( poate o sa reusesc sa schimb si numele blogului, inca o parte din trecut ce trebuie stearsa. Nu mai sunt Naru de mult timp. Sau poate ar fi mai simplu sa renunt la blog. Am depasit varsta.)

Terms and conditions

Fear not, beloved. Your golden cage awaits, filled with all you can wish for. I’m all you could ever need, this is safety. This is love.
––––––––––

How do you teach love?
What are the guidelines,
the terms, the FAQ?

How can you love?
What do you have to do,
the butterflies…do they…
just happen?

When do you learn that
your conditions
can never be accepted?

When do you find you have to
write that contract
together?

How do you detach the strings?
How do you follow,
how can you be followed?

Why would you constrict,
why would you obey?

How do you draw love?
How do you attract the loved one?
How do you make it yours?
How do you domesticate it?
How do you make it stay?
How do you keep it alive?
( 24/08/2013)

T_ _ en_

Ten is but a number,
that’s how it will remain.

Have I any regrets, is it just pain?

You know I’m good with details,
I know them all, those 24 hours.
It was at 3 o’clock,
we got it all wrapped up,
without the „you may kiss…”

How come it never struck you?

Was it all happy, was it all joy?
We each hold a different story,
just as we made very different ends.
This too shall come to pass,
today will fall into oblivion,
water will pass under the bridges I burnt,
things will remain untold.

Lies I tell myself,
lies you want to make mine,
lies that kept us apart,
lies that pulled you together.

I wish you happiness,
I wish you can smile again,
I wish you the life you’ve always wanted.
Never know my pain, never feel it,
it’s too much of a burden.
But for your sake, I wish you never feel.

An object called desire

I knew her since she was silent.
She knew me since I was mean.

She took my picture one afternoon.
I took her hand at a crossroad.

I have waited long for her to show up.
She waited for me to be late.

She wore dresses and all the pretty things.
I wore jeans and all my worries could fit in.

I had to learn to smile again.
She has to learn her worth.

She ran away for me.
I cried for help that once.

Her navel is my temple,
her hands are guidelines,
her feet teach me silence,
her mouth knows no hate.
Her back is the straightest I’ve ever known,
her knees, the loveliest sight,
her silence is the most patient.
Her skin holds onto dreams,
her hair shakes off the nightmares,
her legs scare off my demons,
her words keep me sane.
Her lips soothe my anger,
her arms hold me back,
her fingers draw futures.

I knew her when the world was no more.
She knew me as we begun to explore.
She knew me when pain was a state of mind.
I knew her as one of a kind.

My favourite time of the day,
my favourite colour,
my favourite place in the world,
my favourite odour,
my favourite quote in the book.
My favourite moment of silence.
( 19/08/2013)

Rigor mortis

Still as a body, I forget to move.
Legs are nowhere to be found
and the heart, ah, the heart,
does it still beat?

Strikes that come one after the other,
flesh is torn apart.
Another wound, another scar.

I am made of scars, bruises, scabs,
and wounds that never healed.
Each passage mattered, each kick
is deeply engraved in me.

My skin?
A mass of wrinkles, stretches, marks,
wounds and scars.
All can say out loud „I was there!”
Was I, really?
Gaps that stay unfilled,
Blanks that leave me colourless,
memories that use my skin
as parchment.

I’m shedding this skin as I go,
but the writings stay.
I step out of this body,
I leave it good for dead,
I leave it still and stiff,
To forget what it means to feel.

And then I go dead.
There is calm, there is peace.
There is void in this rigidity,
there is nothing to be felt,
there is nothing more to say.

One more blow, one more bruise,
One more word, another cut,
One more story, one more scar,
One more void, another drop.

There is a little bit of death
in each cut.
There is a little bit of hope.
There is some life left
in this trickle of blood.
There is despair,
that the pain won’t be enough.

There won’t be enough of me
for all that’s to be written down,
for all the pain this body
just can’t take in.

Scratch by scratch,
blow by blow,
bruise by bruise,
cut by cut,
scar by scar.
I destroy just to better build.

Memento mori.

(23/06/2013)

D day

Defy me,
Deify you.
Du hast mich.

Display publicly your affection,
Drive the nail to the bone.
Dust up conventions,
Dug up old scars.

Destroy the past,
Deconstruct the myths.
Desire.
Disobey.

Deal the cards anew,
Dream of despicable aces,
Discard the bully.
Decide upon: right or left? (or was it „wrong”?)

Destruction, you feared,
Death weighed upon you,
Denial was your answer.
Delightful misery.

Drumming fingers on
Dirty deeds.
Dire needs.
Dormant delusion.

Delay no longer,
Dwell no more,
Dumbfound dull destiny.

( 04/08/2013; 12 days in advance)

Nu imi regret trecutul, nu regret locul pierdut, vezi tu? Nu regret nici macar ca tiza mea are tupeul de a lua locul ce mi-a apartinut timp de 10 ani. Ma dezgusta, ma infurie si poate ca pana la urma ma amuza cat de jos pot cobori unii. Istoria se repeta: acelasi nume, aceeasi varsta, aceeasi situatie. Dar variabilele sunt mai multe de atat. Eu nu sunt ea, ea nu are cum sa fie eu. Deci ii las locul…din decembrie e al ei, nu mai e loc de intoarcere (nu imi sta in fire sa trec in urma scursurilor, mi-e teama de pete si de infectii).

Sa fie asta ultima plangere, ultima insulta. Sa imi vad de noua viata, de fericirea pe care o construim cu mainile noastre…nu ni s-a dat nimic pe tava.

Ne-am luptat cu noi insine si cu lumea, cu prejudecatile. Stiu ca o sa trebuiasca sa o facem in continuare. Stiu ca o sa trebuiasca sa evoluez si sa inchid cu un sut puternic, si usa asta. Dar o sa o facem. Pas cu pas, ne ocupam de noi. Una de cealalta. Am reusit sa raman in viata, si asta e datorita unei singure persoane, ce stie sa ma sustina in continuare si e convinsa ca nu merita sa fac toate „nimicurile” pentru ea*.

Avem o camera, un balcon… o sa renuntam la ele in curand, dar profitam pe cat putem. Uneori suntem singure pe lume, suntem doar noi. Cliché.

Dimineata. Cafea. Tigari. Rasarit. Teza. Regasire. Placere.

 

 

 

 

*”stiu ca atunci cand o femeie da de un barbat care o raneste, e normal sa nu mai vrea sa aiba de-a face cu barbatii.” Fraza a fost auzita sub diverse forme, in diverse ocazii. Nu e adevarat. Trauma nu are de-a face in toata povestea asta. Sunt constienta de alegerea mea. Am ales fericirea, multumesc.

Void

Am de lucru. Sau ar trebui sa am. In schimb, ma preocupa gandurile mele si incerc, nu sa invoc trecutul, punandu-l pe hartie, cat incerc sa il scriu si sa il las acolo unde e. Uneori iese.

Tabula rasa

You hated my hair, one way or another.
She now has what you want.
You hated my voice. I loved hearing yours.
Her childish whimper seems to please you.
You hated my clothes, nothing seemed good enough for you.
Inadequate as they may be, she has the right thing for your greedy eyes.
You hated my looks, I came to understand.
The greed in everybody else’s eyes must excite you so.
You hated my guts. I dared to criticize, to complain, to dislike loudly.
And you hated I had an opinion I could voice.
Your own lack of guts gets along so well with hers,
you’re both a sham.
You hated my fears, my inferiority complex, my nightmares, the threats I took for granted, my regrets.
Shallow, isn’t she?
Now you love to serve and protect,
and not throw in the trash the trembling one.
You hated my sincerity.
It’s better to say „black” when you think „white”,
to stab in the back when no one is looking,
to hit when the other one’s down,
to lie and deceive.
You ought to be pleased now. Façade.

You’ve made the worst of me, you’re tearing me apart.
Toying with your power, you want me weak,
you’re shaming me.
I feel guilty and distressed.
You got what you wanted, staying in shadows all along.
I had no patience, you said.
Look at it now, all that I took in, all these years.

Won’t you miss me,
miss all I knew (think of the Klan)
miss all I did (it would please you once)
miss all I was and you kicked away
miss all you loved about me?

Who are you, stranger? Slipping away from my sheets.
Who are you in the shadows? Bravely trying to put me down.
Who are you, son of man?
Who, what were you?
I know you no more, I fear you no longer.

(07/07/13)

Twist

Play me, oh, play me.
Cut my wings and watch me crawl.
Burn my feathers and let me fall.
Push me down to the ground,
step on me, squeeze me tight,
make the soil embrace me.
Take my air and ask me to laugh.
Cut my strings and make me walk.
Hit me hard,
fly me into oblivion,
mix up north and south for me.
Pull my veins and braid them nicely,
ask me if I lost my cold blood.
Pin me up on your wall,
like a prize you’d love to have,
forget me there, never dust me.
Drop me dead, check my pulse.
Hit me, am I still moving?
Lay me down,
I’ll be your first victim.
Silence me down and move to the next one.

(07/07/13)

Self

(18/06/2013)
I want you.
For the nights when you feel empty,
For the mornings that are hazy.

I want you.
To replace the mirror in which you see yourself.
To help you walk when your knees are shaking.

I want you.
When your body’s no longer material.
When the world crashes loudly right behind you.

I want you.
To show you beauty when you think it’s gone.
To show you you’re needed, when you feel you’ve let down.

I want you.
For the bitter morning coffee has no meaning otherwise.
For smoking will only be guilt.

I want you.
There are still cloudy days, and too much rain.
There are nights that are too long.

I want you.
Learning again how to walk, before running.
Learning again how to smile, before loving.

I want you.
For we need to discover new flavours.
For we need to meet new worlds.
For we need to find the places to hide, just to see better.
For we need to live on.
For we need to love on.
For we have dreams that haven’t shattered, we just need to build them from scrap.

I want you.
For our broken limbs that need mending,
for our broken shells that we still walk on,
for the misstrust we know too well,
for the desire we haven’t explored,
for the fears that still lie beneath our beds.

I want you
For we have to find ourselves.

„Which cat would you want to take?”

Asa a inceput sfarsitul. Incepuse de fapt cu tot felul de minciuni pe care le simteam (cand stii sa minti, stii sa si detectezi minciunile), cu adevarul ce a izbucnit intr-o seara de 11 septembrie 2010, cu locuri ce m-au marcat, pe care am ajuns sa le detest. Am detestat vara aia, am detestat lunile ce au urmat. Acum incerc sa rescriu povestea, incerc sa rescriu locurile cu amintiri noi.

Imi spusese asta intr-o seara, nici nu mai stiu daca era live sau era intr-un mesaj, ca de obicei… Dup-aia au fost si sfaturi de genul „cand o sa iti iei masina…”. Pe langa „si ce daca poti sa mori de la anestezie? I se poate intampla oricui”. Retin detalii ce par minore, ce ma afecteaza major.

Au urmat doi ani in care am incercat sa ma repar fizic si moral. Crize de nervi, automutilare (scarificare da mai bine?) si calmante in diverse momente. Mi-am prelungit anii de facultate, cum poti sa gandesti un proiect cand nu stii in ce limite ti se incadreaza viata? Am castigat prieteni, unii plecasera cand fusese mai greu, dar asa e viata si cativa cred ca am meritat-o din plin. S-a intamplat ca tocmai unul din noii prieteni sa ma faca sa retraiesc povestea. Era tot intr-o seara de sambata, in mod ciudat. Era 1 decembrie, desi era mai degraba 2 decembrie, pentru ca era 3 dimineata cand am fost pusa in fata scenei primitive (termeni de psihologie, prefer expresia asta, uneia mai vulgare). Am clacat.

A doua zi Denisa m-a tinut in brate cand eu plangeam in hohote si ii spuneam ca nu mai pot. Tremuram si nu mai stiam sa pun un picior in fata celuilalt. S-a sacrificat pentru mine si dupa o saptamana urma sa inlocuiasca unul din tradatori. Dar am ramas cu ambii tradatori in casa. Durerea era de nedescris. Fizica, pentru ca simptomele precedente au reaparut, cu dureri greu de descris (variau intre „cutite in stomac” si „pietre, bolovani si pumnale”), ce a dus la zile in care nu mancam, slabit destul de mult incat sa ma refuze la donul de plasma (asta ma doare cel mai tare pe mine) si o imposibilitate de a gandi la altceva in afara de ce se petrecea in spatele meu— deci si durere psihica. „Cum poti sa stai acolo? Cum poti sa ii suporti? De ce faci asta? Trebuie neaparat sa faci ceva! Nu mai fuma!” Atatea sfaturi… multumesc pentru ele, dar sunt futile, imi pare rau. Nu am avut de ales. Nu am de ales in continuare.

Cu alte doua ocazii am clacat si fizic. Intr-o seara, daca eram singura, as fi fost dusa pe cealalta lume, oricare ar fi ea. Calmante aveam, alcool aveam, obiecte taioase aveam, motive?! ha! motive aveam. Dubla tradare, combinata cu faptul ca am fost luata de proasta (cel putin asta a fost incercarea lor) ar fi facut ca asta sa fie singura solutie. Lasitate? Oh nu. Tremuram, imi clantaneau dintii in ultimul hal si nu mai stiam pe ce planeta ma aflu. Ultima data, acum cateva saptamani, am jurat ca nu o sa ii mai las sa ma aduca in starea asta. Nici nu are rost sa intru in detalii scabroase, in care vina tot mie imi revine si ca tot eu as fi ranit pana la urma. Cate nu am auzit!

Cineva ma intreba, ezitand, daca nu mai sunt sentimente. Raspunsul meu a fost sec: nu. Nu, in momentul in care cutitul ajunge la os, rupem membrul dureros si plecam, sangerand, dar plecam. Pentru ca asa e mai bine, pentru ca doi ani de agatat de sperante, doar ca sa fiu injunghiata pe la spate, mi-au ajuns. Altii au intrebat in diverse moduri (hahaha chiar si unul din tradatori) daca ma gandesc la o posibila reparare, daca un viitor ar fi posibil, etc. Nu. O data a fost de ajuns, dar am zis ca poate e ceva de reparat. Dar cand mi se arunca un „timp de doi ani am incercat sa fac eforturi si tu nu ai facut nimic”, imi vine sa continui „deci ti-ai spus ca cel mai simplu mod de a scapa de mine, ar fi sa ma omori, rapid si sigur”. Nu.

Viitorul meu se afla altundeva, chiar daca prezentul face sa fie greu, chiar daca depind in continuare de minciuna asta in fata legii.

A trebuit sa impac si lumea cu decizia mea ulterioara. De fapt, nu am incercat nimic. I-am pus in fata faptului implinit. Ma asteptam sa fiu respinsa drept eroare a naturii, drept una care nu e „intreaga la cap”, dupa cum ma intrebase mama. Nu e vina nimanui pentru drumul pe care l-am ales. Am ales fericirea! Daca ea depinde de aprobarea cuiva, cred ca e o problema. Deci daca sunt probleme cu cine imi poate accepta fericirea, usa e usor de gasit, e simplu sa iesi din viata mea, altii au facut-o cu atata usurinta. Imi iau viata in dinti si ma inarmez cu mai putina ura, mai multa rabdare. Ma schimb, ma adaptez si mai nou, incerc sa gandesc un pic altfel: nu mai trebuie sa fac totul singura, nu mai trebuie sa duc totul in spate, am pe cineva alaturi. Cum nu am cuvinte sa descriu durerea, nu am cuvinte sa descriu nici fericirea pe care o redescopar, invat iarasi ce inseamna sa contez pentru cineva, sa fiu iubita si sa mi se permita sa iubesc, fara sa-mi fie teama ca sufoc, ca sunt detestata, ca sunt nedorita, ca sunt neplacuta.

Nu o sa iau niciuna din pisici.