PseudoNeoPostModernism

It’s been two months since I’ve dared login. Sadly, I have nothing to write about. Perhaps there is nothing going on in my life worth mentioning, perhaps I’m just tired of writing about the things that do happen, or maybe I’m just bored of writing about the inane ramblings that flow through my head every once in a while. I’ve become unable to word out my inner equations, inarticulate and awkward, I fumble around the english dictionary like a little girl out into the big, scary unknown. Lhasa sings her soul out but to no avail. I sit and ponder what to impress you with, watching the cursor blink impatiently. I come up with nothing, I become slightly annoyed, bite my lip and close the wordpress window. I’ve done it so many times, I see it as some sort of daily ritual. It’s almost fun.

I’m waiting for my Wacom in order to get this portfolio back on track though. I deeply hope that it is the answer to my creative and emotional rut I’m currently in. I swear, sometimes I get the impression that living sucks the life out of me.

In all honesty, I find this very post futile.

You wake up and go to the subway. How many people do you pass by every time? How much time passes by you during your five minute journey downtown? How many of those people are like you, worried that the world is going to hell and sick of their unfulfilled lives? How much will you miss those five minutes a year or maybe ten years later? How many more mornings of walking alone in a sea of people await you?

The escalator moves slowly upwards, carrying a large crowd towards the start of their new day. When at the top they start running towards the exits. Where are we running to? What are we hurrying for? Why so much bustle for things that give us no true satisfaction? Why do we push and shove the ones around us in the race towards nothing spectacular? What do we really care about?

You float around, alone and silent, and you watch the world turn and churn, and in the clarity supplied by the feeling of not belonging you see what the world truly means. How every person walking by you has a face, a glimmer in their eye, a trace of empathy, overshadowed by this race that we are taught to run no matter what.

A dead pigeon lies stiff on a marble bench. People walk by it without noticing. Even the street sweeper picks up the garbage yet leaves it behind. No one sits on that bench despite the lack of seating space. An elderly woman holds a box of baby rabbits at her feet, selling them as cheap as possible. They dig into one and other for warmth. A sick dog begs for food near a group of old men reading newspapers. It is invisible and you feel privileged to be the only one to see it. A lone woman with dead eyes stands next to the fountain, half of her face bruised and her cheeks flushed. No one dares to look at her as if they are ashamed of her misery.

Across the fountain you see me. I am the dead pigeon. The rabbits. The dog. The bruised woman. I am everyone you see on your way to the subway. The gypsy selling flowers at the corner. The old man asking for change. The three-legged cat sleeping near a sewer. The divorced mother of three that sits next to you in the train. The kid without an eye that cheers himself up with thinking he’s like a pirate. I am all the stories that people do not want to know about. All those five minutes that you will miss dearly in the future. All those worried, hopeless people. All those cold mornings.

I’m not part of the race. You come sit besides me on the marble edge. You look into me and we both become invisible. For you the race is over. You grab my hand and we fall into it, like a fever.

I’ve been working my ass off. That’s the reason I have pretty much abandoned this blog until now. I’ve been doing nothing but working while still trying to have a social life. I’ve been doing Tulcea-Constanta for a while now and I’m so tired that I don’t really want to do it anymore – not that I have any choice or saying in the matter. And it’s strange because I’ve always loved being away from home and now I find myself yearning for more time spent with my family, my pets, my friends from Tulcea. I think the exhaustion is getting to me and making me so unstable. And believe me, I’m unstable, I feel sad almost constantly for no particular reason, I have no will to live outside my mind, I can’t get it together. Everything seems so bleak and useless and I’m sick and tired of me being like this. I want the old me back, the one that didn’t care and that wasn’t constantly depressed.

Oh Lord, I want this to be over, the sooner the better, and my exam is on the 31st.

I’m old. I feel old, and I am older than I look. I’m 19 today, more precisely, I will be 19 at 10:22PM, August 4th 2007. I’ve never had a birthday without the need to talk about the people in my life or my life up to that moment. This one is no exception. I know many people. Friends, acquaintances, people I’ve known for less than a day, an hour, 5 minutes. People I’ve talked to in train stations, subways, airports, cabs, bars, during exams or waiting in line for something. All sorts of people, the ones that drink expensive vodka and the ones who smoke cheap cigarettes, depressed, anxious, happy, inert, all kinds of people. Some of them liked me, some didn’t, a few hated me. I liked most of them, either way. Some I cared for deeply. A few I loved. Some I hurt, some hurt back, some hurt first just for the hell of it, mostly willingly, a few without realizing. To make a more detailed list would be kitsch, unnecessary and completely idiotic. And yet I find thinking about them in retrospective absolutely charming. I like to replay things in my head, hoping that those moments would just barely replay in my heart. And sometimes, it does skip a beat or two. And all these people I’ve known have helped me in some way or another. In an struggle to define myself – a need that has plagued me for too many years to count – I like to think that I am the collective effort of all these persons who have been in my life even for the shortest of moments. The truth is, I can’t define myself. I have no sense of self because I see myself through all these eyes that I’ve mentioned before. I need the people around me to keep me from falling apart, from disintegrating into bits and pieces of a person that I’m not sure exists. I need them to draw my contour, to help me be something. Who am I, if not something for everyone but nothing for myself. But I digress. I don’t regret meeting any of these people. Though I know for sure that some regret meeting me. In 19 years of being, I’ve done many bad things. I will refrain from making a list, yet again. This is not a confession. Nor an apology for that matter. I’m sick of those. What I’ve done these past few years, to me, to my friends and to others around me needs no apology, as I need no apologies from them. We’re all parts of each and everyone else’s evolution, and we shape each other like clockwork. And sometimes all the things that I’ve been through seem overwhelming. And I feel depressed and sad and angry and on the verge of regret. And the more I immerse myself in those feelings the more they accentuate until one day they become unbearable. And then I purge myself by forgetting. It’s a cycle that almost comes natural to me. But each time around, I refuse to regret. I do not regret any of you. And I’ve already said too much. And to tell you the truth, at 19 years of age, “sometimes the past seems too big for the present to hold”.

That the wonder of the world lies in one’s ability to discover it bit by bit, over and over again.

I have so many things to say about this particular event that it’s hard for me to begin. Over the past two years and two ONEs I’ve met and befriended so many wonderful people, who have made my experience there and at home richer, fuller and happier. There is no way of thanking them other than reciprocating and hoping that my presence and spirit helped them enjoy their time spent there. Though I’d like to begin a detailed account of everything that marked this year’s ONE as one of the best – and, sadly the last – however I’m going to leave that to Gomez’s wonderful Cronikutza. That being said, I will only point out some of the best moments; the first was of course when I saw my tootsie again for the first time, hugged briefly and fledly in different directions only to meet again and catch up about two hours later at the amazing 4 star home that had been appointed to us. And when I say 4 star, I mean four fucking * conditions, which we all found hard to believe were real but upon inspecting our roo toms, the discovery of three beds, shower and bathroom for every room, running hot water and otherwise new furniture made our jaw drop in awe. Unfortunately this establishment wasn’t big enough for the entire ONE to fit so people ended up on the other side of town in a place that triggered waves of Pitesti nostalgia. Lodging aside, I am not going to get into discussing the food since that would take forever, and I’m gonna jump directly to the wonderful booze-filled night in which we finally managed to brind the three most important elements of ONE together: the booze, the music, the people; and something beautiful was born. I’m not saying the days leading up to the last night of Resita were boring, I personally had fun the whole time I spent there, but that last night of dance and drink and funk was a wonderful ending for a wonderful thing. The only part everyone regretted was it being an entire generation’s last year as participants, and a plan to storm next year’s ONE unofficially began taking shape. And the promise of that happening is enough to wipe away my regrets of ONE having ended and of being home again, away from all those wonderful people who brighten any room, be it 21, 59 or 309.

After almost a week, of which four days spent on the road, I’m finally back home although in a way I would have liked it to last longer. For those of you who have no clue where I’ve been or why, I’ve been to Italy for the 9th edition of Mediashow. This year was even more fun than last year and the fact that I won 1st place and got a brand new Toshiba Satellite L30 laptop ain’t too shabby either. Starting with the rather awkward and tiring journey that now seems hella funny (though I will not be venturing into a 2 day trip by bus anytime soon), the beautiful scenery, wonderful cooking, interesting people and totally fun night involving tzuica (that’s right folks, I am reffering to the traditional romanian drink), I’m kind of sad that it lasted only three days.

I must really start taking notes when I go on trips because I always want to write about them when I return and I never can remember the little things that occured to me at the time. In any case, at least this time I took pictures. So take a gander.

So much to do, so little time, I believe my life has resumed playing on fast-forward. Italy, Resita, driving, the Bac, college, the classes, the toil, the fun, the despair, I shudder to think of all that awaits completion. My stomach is constantly churning with excitement and doubt and fear at the same time. Will I make it? Will I pass these tests? Will my future be all that it could? I can feel my heartbeat in all that pulses around me, in my throat and in my chest, I’ve never been the one with nerves of steel and mineral water in my veins and so I can’t help but sustain my anxiety through self-doubt and endless questioning of the chances of success. And I’m living it to the fullest.

I work as a hobo. And I do it well.