Evelyn: Don't worry about 'why' when 'what' is right in front of you. (The Shape of Things)

Monday, August 28, 2006

[New story] Back to life...


"Without leaps of imagination, or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning." - Gloria Steinem - Chapter sixteen

back to reality... or not. This is so unreal...

You can't imagine what it's like to be here, now, when just 3 weeks ago you were in Ro. It's so different... maybe in a good way. I'm starting to figure out more and more about how things work around here, and, you know what? I think that if you FEEL on track, you have a greater chance of actually being on it. And I feel that one can do a whole lot of adaptation, and ... change the world?! Maybe?! It's just ... a chance. Everyone's different here. You can be anyone. Nobody will see you as being "too unusual". They're all unusual.

Americans are practical people. Maybe they're not as smart or cultured as us (or the Europeans), but they certainly have a pleasant, relaxed way of living. Sure, when you go to someone for a problem, he only knows either how to help you, or who to send you to (usually you end up in the second case if you don't know how the system works). Maybe you find it silly to get sent from office to office, because they don't communicate, they don't know each other that well, and they are only taught what they need to know... but the way you're treated makes up for that. If in Ro there's that "get the hell out of my way and move on to ya biz" attitude, here... people smile at you. And... that's weird, sure, but, you know, it actually makes you feel better?! And, like it or not, people are weaker here. "The law" cares if you are morally agressed (and Americans are sensitive to that), while in Ro, it just don't give a damn :D.

We could learn education, but they're really bad with math. I mean... really, really bad. And our children are gonna be the same by how the Romanian education is evolving... :(

My mom's taking care of a little boy now, some friends', and I went to see them today. I have always had that feeling that I don't know what to do around little children. You know, they've got these... analogies for every word they know... like... liloo meant ambulance, or anything that makes a siren-like sound. He understood Romanian, he even knew a few words, but mostly he "talked" in English. He's only two years old. We watched cartoons together (at least those I understand better :D). Children are fascinating...

Anyone who can read this better write me something, cause I'll be really waiting for a sign... any sign, especially from my Romanians. Just imagine what it's like to hear so little from the place you're so far away from, all of a sudden. I miss you all...

I like my math classes (even though I got an 8/10 on my last homework - but I have a reason for that, I did it in 30 minutes from the teacher's book, cause I had to give it back to him asap), they're fun. Even though it's easy yet, ... And I like it that I get to learn Java in my Computer Science lecture&lab. And today I was in a Introduction to philosophy class... I hope I'll be able to enroll, cause it was kinda full; but it was really nice. Teachers here are much more enjoyable people, fun to be around; they like to make jokes, speak lively, tell from their own experience... personalize. There's only one other place in the world I felt this warm (and fuzzy; speaking of you, where you at?): my high school!

I know: it's only been a week since I started college, but I already feel different than I felt in Ro, in high school. I think I'll make my life full here too. I like to have a full life; sports, math, computer science, english and philosophy... maybe something else, but these are my most certain passions.

Romania, where are you? (Scooby-Dooby-Doo)

...

You are not alone. I am here with you. Whether you like it or not, we are stuck together. In sickness, and in health, we were born ... to ... BE. And we were born together.

Whether we like it or not, we are here to live, all on the same planet, and we have to understand the world around us means the actual world - not some living fantasy, not "the people of today only". It means a LIFE. If you just go from human to human and leave nothing behind, you are... nothing. Either morally or ... as a presence, as an entity, you should BE. To be remembered is not necessarily a good thing, but it might be, if you do it right.

Today in philosophy we learned the comparison BEING vs BECOMING. We, each of us, is a being. Every being is different from another. And a being cannot be created. God is the only one who can create beings... that's what separates us from him. No man can think the non-being. That's a rule - you can't think NOTHINGNESS. I think that's very interesting. See, we have this picture of nothing: it's usually dark, to some people white... and that's kinda it. Sure, you can imagine it another color. But if nothing were to BE, wouldn't it be in black&white?:)
Absolute being is absolute reality. The reason we can't achieve absolute being is that we're always hindered by the becoming. To become means to change... Oh, you should hear these passages. Wait a sec, I have the book, I'll copy some passsages:

{from Indian philosophy}
Rg Veda (read Rig Veda) - Hymm of Creation

1. Non-being then existed not, nor being:
There was no air, nor sky that is beyond it.
What was concealed? Wherein? In whose protection?
And was there deep unfathomable water?
{Here, the idea of nothingness being first, and then... the idea that the fundament of existence is water, also found in the later Greek philosophy - Thales}
[...]
3. Darkness there was at first by darkness hidden.
Without distinctive marks, this all was water.
That which, becoming, by the void was covered.
That One by force of heat came into being.
{Came into being... interesting. By heat? Just think about it - over 3500 years ago, these people had some kind of Big Bang theory of their own!}
6. Who knows for certain? Who shall here declare it?
Whence was it born, and whence came this creation?
The gods were born after this world's creation:
Then who can know from whence it has arisen?

7. None knoweth whence creation has arise;
And whether he has or has not produced it;
He who surveys it in the highest heaven,
He only knows, or haply he may know not.
{Here we have the unique idea that God was created after nothing. Not even He existed before... And also that nobody can tell anything about this creation - it's just a speculation.
The final two lines show the fact that the human being's quest for the answer to "How did it happen?" is contempt, happy and satisfied even with the idea of having tried, having asked himself that question.}

Tell me if you find any of this interesting... We also studied a bit of Tao, Thales, Confucius, Pithagoras...

// By the way, I just saw Big Momma's house 2, and definitely recommend it :)

Hello Romania! I'm back to life. And I'll be on my feet, I hope. Searching this place for the most I can make of myself, I suppose... I just wanna let me be... me. Fuzzy...

"Nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small it takes time - we haven't time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time." - Georgia O'Keeffe - End of Chapter sixteen

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Thursday, August 17, 2006

[New story] "Most of us are just about as happy as we make up our minds to be." - William Adams (explorer)



Chapter fifteen

Perhaps I meant to choose this title as for a new beginning... Actually, the most meaningful part is the word "explorer". That's how I feel like. That's how I hope I'll act out to be...

Gee, this is a new life. Hey, you all! I just joined USA for college! I could think very well of a "I will always remember" list right now... Maybe I'm not gone from Romania for good, but I'm surely not returning there soon...

It's been a week. Hey, you know what? Even if there's a lot of shadow, and the image is blurry... I know it will be well. I can see patches of light. And it's a new start! And I haven't lost anything, I am not alone. I will never be...

I have the courage to step forward and say: "YES, I am going to start a new life. YES, I shall be myself at all times. YES, you will always be with me..."

I miss you and I miss my home.

I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time: here I go, again on my ooooooooown.... you kno the song?

Okay, so... I'm back. I'll be writing l.s.s. part two soon...
I can see patches of light. Can you?
Can you?
...
We're here together, me and you, cause I'm taking you with me.

I wish I had more words... but I don't. I'll find someone(thing) that does. Here, just an excerpt:

From “The Metamorphosis”
By Franz Kafka

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his dome-like brown belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes.

What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human bedroom, only rather too small, lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Above the table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out—Samsa was a commercial traveler—hung the picture which he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and put into a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady, with a fur cap on and a fur stole, sitting upright and holding out to the spectator a huge fur muff into which the whole of her forearm had vanished!

Gregor's eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky—one could hear rain drops beating on the window gutter—made him quite melancholy. What about sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, he thought, but it could not be done, for he was accustomed to sleep on his right side and in his present condition he could not turn himself over. However violently he forced himself towards his right side he always rolled on to his back again. He tried it at least a hundred times, shutting his eyes to keep from seeing his struggling legs, and only desisted when he began to feel in his side a faint dull ache he had never experienced before.

Oh God, he thought, what an exhausting job I've picked on! Traveling about day in, day out. It's much more irritating work than doing the actual business in the office, and on top of that there's the trouble of constant traveling, of worrying about train connections, the bed and irregular meals, casual acquaintances that are always new and never become intimate friends. The devil take it all! He felt a slight itching up on his belly; slowly pushed himself on his back nearer to the top of the bed so that he could lift his head more easily; identified the itching place which was surrounded by many small white spots the nature of which he could not understand and made to touch it with a leg, but drew the leg back immediately, for the contact made a cold shiver run through him.

He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one quite stupid. A man needs his sleep. Other commercials live like harem women. For instance, when I come back to the hotel of a morning to write up the orders I've got, these others are only sitting down to breakfast. Let me just try that with my chief; I'd be sacked on the spot. Anyhow, that might be quite a good thing for me, who can tell? If I didn't have to hold my hand because of my parents I'd have given notice long ago, I'd have gone to the chief and told him exactly what I think of him. That would knock him endways from his desk! It's a queer way of doing, too, this sitting on high at a desk and talking down to employees, especially when they have to come quite near because the chief is hard of hearing. Well, there's still hope; once I've saved enough money to pay back my parents' debts to him—that should take another five or six years—I'll do it without fail. I'll cut myself completely loose then. For the moment, though, I'd better get up, since my train goes at five.

He looked at the alarm clock ticking on the chest. Heavenly Father! he thought. It was half-past six o'clock and the hands were quietly moving on, it was even past the half-hour, it was getting on toward a quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not gone off? From the bed one could see that it had been properly set for four o'clock; of course it must have gone off. Yes, but was it possible to sleep quietly through that ear-splitting noise? Well, he had not slept quietly, yet apparently all the more soundly for that. But what was he to do now? The next train went at seven o'clock; to catch that he would need to hurry like mad and his samples weren't even packed up, and he himself wasn't feeling particularly fresh and active. And even if he did catch the train he wouldn't avoid a row with the chief, since the firm's porter would have been waiting for the five o'clock train and would have long since reported his failure to turn up. The porter was a creature of the chief's, spineless and stupid. Well, supposing he were to say he was sick? But that would be most unpleasant and would look suspicious, since during his five years' employment he had not been ill once. The chief himself would be sure to come with the sick-insurance doctor, would reproach his parents with their son's laziness and would cut all excuses short by referring to the insurance doctor, who of course regarded all mankind as perfectly healthy malingerers. And would he be so far wrong on this occasion? Gregor really felt quite well, apart from a drowsiness that was utterly superfluous after such a long sleep, and he was even unusually hungry.

As all this was running through his mind at top speed without his being able to decide to leave his bed—the alarm clock had just struck a quarter to seven—there came a cautious tap at the door behind the head of his bed. "Gregor," said a voice—it was his mother's—"it's a quarter to seven. Hadn't you a train to catch?" That gentle voice! Gregor had a shock as he heard his own voice answering hers, unmistakably his own voice, it was true, but with a persistent horrible twittering squeak behind it like an undertone, that left the words in their clear shape only for the first moment and then rose up reverberating round them to destroy their sense, so that one could not be sure one had heard them rightly. Gregor wanted to answer at length and explain everything, but in the circumstances he confined himself to saying: "Yes, yes, thank you, Mother, I'm getting up now." The wooden door between them must have kept the change in his voice from being noticeable outside, for his mother contented herself with this statement and shuffled away. Yet this brief exchange of words had made the other members of the family aware that Gregor was still in the house, as they had not expected, and at one of the side doors his father was already knocking, gently, yet with his fist. "Gregor, Gregor," he called, "what's the matter with you?" And after a little while he called again in a deeper voice: "Gregor! Gregor!" At the other side door his sister was saying in a low, plaintive tone: "Gregor? Aren't you well? Are you needing anything?" He answered them both at once: "I'm just ready," and did his best to make his voice sound as normal as possible by enunciating the words very clearly and leaving long pauses between them. So his father went back to his breakfast, but his sister whispered: "Gregor, open the door, do." However, he was not thinking of opening the door, and felt thankful for the prudent habit he had acquired in traveling of locking all doors during the night, even at home.

His immediate intention was to get up quietly without being disturbed, to put on his clothes and above all eat his breakfast, and only then to consider what else was to be done, since in bed, he was well aware, his meditations would come to no sensible conclusion. He remembered that often enough in bed he had felt small aches and pains, probably caused by awkward postures, which had proved purely imaginary once he got up, and he looked forward eagerly to seeing this morning's delusions gradually fall away. That the change in his voice was nothing but the precursor of a severe chill, a standing ailment of commercial travelers, he had not the least possible doubt.

To get rid of the quilt was quite easy; he had only to inflate himself a little and it fell off by itself. But the next move was difficult, especially because he was so uncommonly broad. He would have needed arms and hands to hoist himself up; instead he had only the numerous little legs which never stopped waving in all directions and which he could not control in the least. When he tried to bend one of them it was the first to stretch itself straight; and did he succeed at last in making it do what he wanted, all the other legs meanwhile waved the more wildly in a high degree of unpleasant agitation. "But what's the use of lying idle in bed," said Gregor to himself.

He thought that he might get out of bed with the lower part of his body first, but this lower part, which he had not yet seen and of which he could form no clear conception, proved too difficult to move; it shifted so slowly; and when finally, almost wild with annoyance, he gathered his forces together and thrust out recklessly, he had miscalculated the direction and bumped heavily against the lower end of the bed, and the stinging pain he felt informed him that precisely this lower part of his body was at the moment probably the most sensitive.

So he tried to get the top part of himself out first, and cautiously moved his head towards the edge of the bed. That proved easy enough, and despite its breadth and mass the bulk of his body at last slowly followed the movement of his head. Still, when he finally got his head free over the edge of the bed he felt too scared to go on advancing, for after all if he let himself fall in this way it would take a miracle to keep his head from being injured. And at all costs he must not lose consciousness now, precisely now; he would rather stay in bed.

But when after a repetition of the same efforts he lay in his former position again, sighing, and watched his little legs struggling against each other more wildly than ever, if that were possible, and saw no way of bringing any order into this arbitrary confusion, he told himself again that it was impossible to stay in bed and that the most sensible course was to risk everything for the smallest hope of getting away from it. At the same time he did not forget meanwhile to remind himself that cool reflection, the coolest possible, was much better than desperate resolves. In such moments he focused his eyes as sharply as possible on the window, but, unfortunately, the prospect of the morning fog, which muffled even the other side of the narrow street, brought him little encouragement and comfort. "Seven o'clock already," he said to himself when the alarm clock chimed again, "seven o'clock already and still such a thick fog." And for a little while he lay quiet, breathing lightly, as if perhaps expecting such complete repose to restore all things to their real and normal condition.

From "The Metamorphosis" from Franz Kafka: The Collected Stories, by Franz Kafka, translated by Edwin and Willa Muir. Copyright © 1946, 1947, 1948, 1949, 1954, 1958, 1971 by Schocken Books, Inc. Used by permission of Schocken Books, published by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone." - Audrey Hepburn - End of Chapter fifteen

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