The journey of fear

I found my old Romanian blog. From years ago… 10 or more who knows, I lost the notion of time or I never had it. But, man, I had balls. I could rant about everything like a motherf#cker and not give a damn. I was poring my heart out til the last drop. It was liberating. And I was never thinking about who reads my blog, or if I did, apparently didn’t give a rat’s ass. Now I care and that’s so bad for my writing.

I guess it’s happening. We become scardy cats (to avoid using the p word) when we grow up.

Did you see kids? They have no fear. Oh water! I’ll go. Oh Fire! I’ll go. Oh snake! I’ll touch. Oh electricity! Bring it on. They just go for anything because fear is a notion that’s not yet known or implanted into their system. They don’t know it so they just go on, head first into everything.

Then, teenagers. They know fear but they are rebels. And being a rebel counts more than being afraid. So they do things out of rebellion and then, if nothing wrong happens they feel invincible. And it teaches them that if they dare they might as well succeed. There is actually no other option in young minds except success because they don’t know yet how to rationalize or be defensive. And it’s not such a bad thing. Lots of them turn fearless leaders.

And then, after these stages, you just become more and more afraid of.. basically.. everything. You think everything is a calamity and there you are stepping on your dreams, your impulses and sometimes your heart and just keep yourself on the safest side.

This is what we’re taught, right? Don’t quit that job that gives you a good income. Don’t break up with that person you’ve been since highschool. Don’t take any kind of risks.

But… what if I’m unhappy with all the above. What if I want something else, something new. And then your brain goes like “Nonsense! Shut your heart and let me be in control. Don’t let emotions control you!”. And you do it, you get stuck there forever, knowing damn right that you can be somewhere else with somebody else in the middle of adventure and yet you just go for the same routine. We tame ourselves to the extreme. Who knows what life will bring if we just make that one move, that one step…

And sometimes we build fear by comparing ourselves to others. This is the fear of not fitting in. We look at others and we decide that we want to be like them in certain situations because we believe they hold some unknown recipe to success, forgetting that we might have our own way of doing things right just by being ourselves. I could never be too ladylike for example, and many times I heard that I act like a man. But hey, I don’t mind it. And if I don’t, who the hell cares. I’m too loud, or I jump too much, or I make faces, or I climb trees. So what? I curse and I say nasty jokes in front of everyone. Sometimes I probably look moe like a man than a woman but it never bothered me that much to change it.

And then people will tell you “Oh but men like women who are.. you know… frail and delicate, and they behave like ladies”. Meh! None of my boyfriends ever complained. So there you go! It depends on what you want to see. And men anyway they have a tendency to say something and do the opposite, so let’s move on.

This is one above of the examples, and it’s a true story. I heard so many people complaining that I’m too rough or too careless about the above mentioned feminine traits. Ah, well, too late now! By the way I’m also very sensitive in the same time. I can cry immediately and effortlessly. I’m many things, not just one. A lot of people lose the bigger picture and focus on some details only. An it’s fine again, because these people are the ones that follow their role-models, or whatever society rules, burying their own selves under masks and layers of deceit.

It just bothers me that we lose that sincerity of feelings and emotions that guides all our actions when we are young. The more we grow the more complex is every decision we make. We have a reason, or more, behind everything, and sometimes it’s not a pleasant one. We are fake. We start with us, we practice on others. We’re not genuine anymore. Genuine. This is what I was looking for.

I hate situations that force me to be somebody else. I know in life we have to make some compromises but I want to think of them as “some”. I don’t want to become somebody else. And I think that my own personality will do just fine in a very wide range of situations. I don’t know if it’s strong, but it didn’t actually left me until now so…

Moving on. I’m not saying to keep being rude if you are a rude person by nature. This will be the misunderstanding, I feel. I just think that if you are smart enough you know how to correct your flaws without erasing your entire hard drive. If you get what I mean. I don’t believe in “It’s me, take it or leave it” but I also don’t believe in “I need to act more like that” (when “that” means copy paste) and I also don’t believe in “People say/think/want you to be…”.

And all of a sudden we are a world of easily offended people and our egos hurt the most, and we have to be politically correct because who knows what sensitive string we might touch. This is also a form of fear, of constraint, of limiting the free speech, own opinions and originality. We are in boxes. We have walls. We see the ceiling and we can’t fly. Because “who knows what might be out there, better stay here where we are safe”.

Why don’t we just have a look ourselves?…

It’s all love and late night writing shenanigans. Peace!

Broken mirrors

It’s not the same for everybody. Whatever might trigger something inside you does not necessarily trigger something inside them.

You see, when you pressed your cheek so naturally against mine, because the place was loud and we had to talk close to each other, that meant for me. Maybe for you it was something you do when you’re attracted to somebody but for me it was such an intimate and infinite emotion. Your lips are moving and I feel the motion of your face against my cheek. And when you finish talking you squeeze my arm a bit. Sometimes, when I ask you something you just pull me closer with a steady hand. And my body flows toward you.

At some point my face is looking straight when you talk to me and we’re not cheek to cheek anymore, your face is on my face, so close to my lips, not even talking next to my ear anymore… and I would have it like that forever. You talking against my face. You and your cheek against mine, that hand around my waist. And when we’re not next to each other our eyes meet swiftly and there’s THAT look. That damn look and damn you for understanding it too.

And sometimes it’s like you’re analyzing me. Or undressing me. I guess the latter… I hope the latter. And when our lips first touched it was fire. We couldn’t even keep them together, we couldn’t even lock the kiss but we keep on trying and you just wreck my brain functions. On and on and on. I don’t even know how I’m kissing you but it’s so natural, so effortlessly. I can barely see your face, but I want to see it, so we take brief moments just to look at each other and understand what’s happenning. And it’s happening. I guess my face reads exactly what yours does.

We have to stop. We have to go back. It’s hard to go back and pretend I didn’t kiss the soul out of you. You look, I look. It’s not swift anymore, it’s intentional. And I read on your soft lips “you are in trouble” and a devilish spark plays in your eyes. Oh mister, trouble it is!

I just feel like grabbing your face and bring it close to mine and just stare at you for a moment before I kiss you. Movies in my head. Movies in yours. Pretty sure the same plot. Maybe different scene order.

And I try to find topics so I can bring your face next to mine. And you keep on answering with your face smashed in mine.

“I’ll take good care of you”… and just like that I have no knees, I have no connection to the world outside. Just like that, I am that piece of exaggerated romantic shit that I’ve always been and you got me with silly words like a pigeon trap. There’s nothing I love more than alluring gestures, intuitive hand touching, body language and word innuendos, because my brain is so alert when it comes to these things. It’s awaken by them even though it’s slowly sinking in imbecility.

God, somebody save me. God, have mercy on my soul. My mind has sinned. Still does.

And then you obviously think, because of the great talent we have of ruining things, “does he act like this with everybody”, “it’s like a game he knows too well”, “he doesn’t mean any of it”, etc. And then I’m down. The weight of these words crush me. They just cancel every single thing I said before and now there’s no way back… Can’t ignore them anymore. Stupid thoughts. Stupid, stupid thoughts.

You’re dancing behind me and I’m slowly grinding against your body. It’s intense and it helps me that I can’t see your face…because I can picture it. And I know why you’re moving away. I turn and I see your face. I was right. You’re biting your lip. Unconsciously I’m biting mine.

And then again you’re thinking “what is it different for him now” “how do I make it different”. I have to be the best, because I always do, because it’s always like this. This is what it is. And I am. I don’t always have the chance to…

And there was no chance with you. Who knows when I’ll see you again. There are galaxies between us and this mind of my own that will ruin all of this. That will question to death the authenticity of all these moments. Especially that you’ll not be around to prove me wrong. And then… then, what’s the point?

I wonder what did YOU feel? I wonder if you acknowledge my face moving when we were talking cheek to cheek. I wonder if you felt that fire, the electricity of our fingers barely touching.

Why did you do it then? Is it a routine?

How can I ever be happy like this. How can I stop ruining moments with thoughts. I ask myself.. and the only answer lays in that vanity we have, the one that whispers “he worships you” and makes you feel so powerful. And it stays. The thoughts stay and the vanity stays too. You’ll have that set of questions running on and on in your mind and then vanity will come and say “enough! I felt it, it happened, no need to doubt it!”

And you feel better about it, and about yourself. Yeah, it’s true, it happened. There it is, the light at the end of your f##king tunnel. And for a while you are back on track. It’s so twisted and so hard to describe this feeling, this insecurity that keeps on digging, like a cavity, into your self-esteem, into your mind, into your heart. Fewer thoughts you produce, the happier you are. Are these thoughts a result of your traumas? Let’s not f##king go there because I will never finish this. I have a few people to thank for that for eternity, I believe.

Anyway you’re such a dear memory to me. You will be that kind of memory that makes my heart warm at times. What kind of memory will it be for you?

It’s all love and evening writing shenanigans. Peace!