I like being challenged and doing things I think I cannot. It brings me joy and it gets me that dose of energy and adrenaline I need. That’s why, tonight, while I was looking through my Facebook news-feed, a question popped into my eyes: In literature, who saves whom?
The question came right on time. The past few weeks brought me back to a place where writing is my escape, so I think I have an answer for that. I really do not care about how it is for other people, but for me…the characters I design are the ones that save me. That’s how I survived in highschool, knowing my place was not in the math classes, not in a place where reality struck hard. I was a human person, as funny as that may sound. I loved literature, I loved art and everything that came with it. And I thank God for all the scientific stuff I studied that helped me understand the logic part behind everything that makes our lives beautiful.
He was the first one that saved me. My first hero, well sculptured and full of life, a twentysomething on the verge to leave his hometown, in the last ten minutes he spend before deciding he was just going to take life in his hands and flee the town. Then came others I have never put on paper because I was too afraid of what they could have done to me. Writing is not a safe thing to do. It can eat you alive and if you are not strong enough to fight it…it will. I am saved on daily basis by all those that run through my mind.
Yesterday I had a really long day, a good day that made me smile and write, all in the same time. I needed a vacation and got a full mouth of it and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this time on my hands. So I did the only thing I knew best: I wrote. The english version is not quite there yet, but I do promise I will try and make it good for you, my readers. Until then I leave you with this Romanian blue-print of what I hope to lead somewhere. Although, knowing myself, if I post it, I won’t finish it.
Zilele curgeau una dupa cealalta fara prea mare bagare de seama. Bucurestiul anilor 2000 devenise un loc in care Dumnezeu nu mai calcase de mult timp. Putinii care inca se mai bucurau de cafelele tarzii alaturi de El duceau o viata prea simpla pentru a face o schimbare. Lucrurile nu stateau in loc si, ca un Atlas pregatit de razboi, Arcul de Triumf incepuse sa se cojeasca sub lipsa de credinta. Singurele lumanari care se mai aprindeau acum luminau beciuri si poduri atunci cand Enel-ul decidea sa opreasca brusc curentul si mirosul de tamaie mai impregna doar peretii unor Biserici uitate de timp. Asa este, intr-o tara unde exista prea multe biserici pentru fiecare om, Dumnezeu decisese ca nu mai are timp de pierdut. Se spune ca la impartirea tuturor lucrurilor din cer romanii au ramas ultimii si au primit munca. Cateva sute de miliarde de ani au fost suficiente pentru a o uita si pe ea undeva, departe de inima muntilor, probabil ingropata in mare.
Totul venea cu incetinitorul aici – pacatul ceresc s-a numarat printre lucrurile care au ajuns in ritmul lor in inima Bucurestiului. Ne bucuram mereu de lucrurile are socau generatii inaintea noastra inafara granitelor si sufeream la mult timp dupa ce tot restul lumii terminase de lins rani. Asa eram noi si ne bucuram. Zece ani mai tarziu aveam sa ne plangem de urmarile unei crize economice care nici macar nu avea sa ne atinga pentru inca cinci. Dar credeam ca daca avem televizoare care sa ruleze BBC si CNN aveam tot dreptul sa spunem ca traim in aceeasi epoca ca restul populatiei.
Zilele curgeau una dupa cealalta la fel cum raurile se varsa din izvor in izvor: necontenit. Cand nimeni nu se oprea sa le admire ce rost avea pentru ele sa ia o pauza pentru a fi traite. Nu, viata trecea dincolo de oameni, prin oameni, cu un tumult care ar fi putut sufoca pe oricine.
So, tell me: who saved you?