HelluvaGirl

Where do we go from here?

The question lingers as the longing of you settles early in my chest.

You have no more business coming back, and I don’t know when I will see you.

You said you didn’t want to lose me and invited to come to you.

As a friend.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

The next morning everyone is cleaning up before departing. There’s a number of volunteers who stay to remove the covers of the meditation mats, fold the ropes parting male and female territories, clean up and load the stuff to be stored away in designated cars. I broom the floor in our cottage and help out here and there.

When I see him, we smile.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

I approach him as he watches the serene sunset. There’s a girl lying curled up on the grass nearby.

I smoothly smile him into a small talk. I’ve learned those things pretty well. I can approach people in the right way – if I’m willing, that is. Otherwise – well, most of the time – I am perceived as #thecoldbitch

We share our impressions. Talk about takeaways. He sounds so normal – in a good way. And before we know it, the small talk turns into quite a deep conversation.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

I’ve noticed her on the first day and realised it was really her when we weren’t supposed to speak any more. She would sit right behind me in the Meditation Hall. The last person I could expect to meet here.

She excuses herself from a conversation and comes up to me. We laugh – without a reason, or just instead of saying hey, I’ve been trying to not look at you this whole time, how ridiculous that we meet here of all the places…

So tell me, what’s wrong with YOUR life that you are here?

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

On the last day they teach us metta bhavana. It appears to be a meditation I have been practicing for years without even knowing it had a name. I love it; it is truly my favourite part of Vipassana practice and gives meaning to it, connecting the individual path to enlightenment with the fact that we are all cells in one organism, and thus erasing the isolation aspect personal development kinda naturally entails.

When we finish our morning meditation, the Teachers announce the end of the Noble Silence.

I must tell you this: few times have I been as surprised throughout my entire life.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

As May unfolds, the sun begins to play around and I take my blanket out on the grass for a nap. All the other girls have been doing it for days now, but the weather is too cold for me, the ground is too hard and the air too noisy with all the flies. However, when it becomes warmer outside than in my cell, I give this nature thing a shot. 

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

get up at 4 am

briskly throw on the clothes folded out the night before

wait for the two minutes to brush the teeth in the bathroom

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

I wanna do something.

I wanna change things.

Like, myself.

I can feel the time sifting through me, and all that remains is someone I hardly identify with. It’s been forever like this.

You might think I levitate in our dim meditation hall, feeding off the spiritual energy of my fellow travellers, seeing otherworldly visions and chanting mantras? Well, a bit of that, too.

But what I in fact meticulously consider for no fewer than two whole days is which should I do first:

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

For the past couple of years, I’ve been having an inner struggle coming to terms with what I do for a living. I use a very small part of my potential. For a long while I’ve been touching the ceiling of what is expected from/available for me. Whenever someone asks me what I do in life, I pause and think about the essence of the question, guessing if I should just tell the name of the company (sounds good), or explain what I’m good at.

After several days of silent contemplations I come to the point where all the bullshit dissipates and I realise I’m doing what I can before I can do what I want. And thinking towards that direction, I feel that work isn’t my primary concern at all. 

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

I notice him on the first day while waiting near the cabin to talk to the Teachers. He is walking across the meadow carrying a huge backpack. A woman is strolling to the opposite direction and, as they meet at the rope marking the end of the moving zone, she stops, ready to lift her leg and cross over. He bends forward and presses the rope to the ground, looking up at her in silence. She doesn’t notice for a second and then, looking down, says in a cheerful voice:

Oh, that’s how we do it.

It is almost a question, coming from someone living in the world where gallantry is not taken for granted any more.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

As I sit in the meditation hall for hours and hours each day, I notice that the leg of the stool between my shoulder blades begins to feel different. The blunt pain inhabiting the depths inside my muscles surfaces on the skin and starts feeling like my back is seared with a lighter. This pain is on my outline, not at my core any more, and I can even find a certain pleasure in that physical sensation.

It is leaving me!

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

On the fourth day, we begin to practice the real Vipassana. For two hours straight, we sit addhitana – a meditation of strong will, during which one is determined to not move, change position, open their eyes, arms and legs.

This is the time I scream fuck it, I’m outta here! in my mind, terrified of the intensity of sensations I am supposed to merely observe. 

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

And then come the dreams.

There’s a whole world, and not just one.

I dream agoraphobic squares in strange cities where there is no sign of people. I dream backyards where the air whispers threatening promises. I dream piers in secluded townships. Wherever I go, there is always a thick sense of something watching me intently.

And I dream Pia.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

Funny how many questions arise when you have to live with a person you’ve never met before, in a tiny room, without speaking.

Does she want me to leave the light? Do I turn off the heater now? And when am I supposed to shower? The bathroom shared by our whole floor is always busy.

Wonder who she is, though. Is her husband with the male group here? Must be like 7 months pregnant. Probably some vegan yoga teacher who will deliver her baby in a shrine with scented candles and mantras. 

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

For the first three days, we just observe our breath. It is not required to sit in lotus posture, but important to keep the back straight.

Whatever posture I choose, it still hurts like hell. Feels like the leg of a stool is rammed in between my shoulder blades.

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

There’s a bunch of peculiar specimen at the registration tent. The types who cut their own hair, you know. Standing in the queue, I can sense some women wearing perfume, although it has been, among other things, specifically requested not to.

It annoys me a bit that we have to fill in the questionnaires once again, same ones we’ve completed online. I write half of the truth in the health section and get stuck at What’s your profession? After taking it too seriously for a while, my answer is WORDS. 

Disclaimer: This is a personal experience of a novice in Vipassana, presented as a series of insights, not an attempt to render advice or explain the technique in full extent, and should not be taken as guidance or a comprehensive course report. 

***

I can clearly sense his disapproval from short texts which, in seconds of trying to “shut up”, become messages of open concern. I smile. He must have been my father in the past life.

Why so long? Why 10 days instead of 3, which would be way more reasonable, given the “brutal” conditions? It’s as if you start running a marathon without any preparation and experience of running, he says.

Friend knows my rough patches. Some of them vaguely, some of them – in quite a detail. He must think I am desperately seeking a hideout. An exotic shortcut to a new me.

Minutes before I leave to Vipassana retreat, I take the food from the fridge and give away to neighbours (I just hate to throw it out).

Doing the dishes, I suddenly realise why I feel so calm and confident about the next 10 days of isolation and, as Friend put it today, sensorial deprivation.

What’s the best thing about a song? It presses certain emotional buttons, triggers associations and generally stimulates one’s imagination.

When I hear this song, I’m suddenly a teenager in love, with the whole world a promise, and the fact that Donny Montell has his looks makes my mind go this exciting path like it’s a walk in the park.

However, another remarkable thing is the official video of this hit and the choice of the female character. You look into her face – a party girl with the touch of femme fatale. Ok. Then the camera slides down and you’re like, wow what? She is sooo not a Barbie doll! Those are expected but never imprint for a long time in your memory. This one is not perfect – and just perfect that way. I believe this choice of cast was a very well-calculated move of Donny’s production and PR teams, and it’s a winning one. In the world of enforcing hardly-attainable body-image time and again – though hypocritically preaching against unrealistic standards – this girl tells us great nights happen even if you are plus size. And it’s not even a lie.

Let me just feel proud once again to witness Donny’s talent – he surely owns it!

So last night we had Best Friend’s farewell party. We did everything we said we wouldn’t, like going to the plastic fantastic Mojo club and ending up on a bench eating Hesburger’s… I know – how low can you go? I can go to Hesburger and not even feel bad about it!

But I want to tell you something amazing that happened last night.

So I come to the office thinking how I’m gonna tell him that I did something stupid last night, that I got some rags and a bra and felt it was such a lame birthday present to use daddy’s money for, so in the end I went on and bought those pretty plane tickets and how I’m gonna eat cottage cheese for months on end now because I’m poor (35 year-old woman speaking…).

But he wasn’t there.

And then it struck me he wouldn’t be there before I go to Vipassana next week, and when I come back he’s gonna be somewhere else for good.

I was asked what I wanted for my birthday. It got me thinking what I want generally and most of all.

1. I want to be where my home is. I want to feel that, where I am, is the place. Not where somebody else is. Ok, so I guess I want my home to be where I am, although a crib in sunny Barcelona wouldn’t hurt #soconsistent

I have considered Sagrada Familia as one of the commercialised tourists spots. Having entered it, I realised it was a sight everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime. Not only as a masterpiece of design – great design gets me weak at the knees any day. But it’s also about the vastness of one’s imagination, and the bravery to employ a number of people, loads of materials and decades of time to make it reality. I’ve never had a fraction of that drive but always feel happy to witness in somebody else.

We looked around and then sat in the area for praying. 

We have 30 minutes till our visit to Sagrada Familia. I take Pia to Placa de Gaudi where she instantly starts playing with the sand. I sit on a bench and ask a guy there whether it’s ok if I smoke. He puts away his book and says he is a smoker, too, thanks for asking. Where am I from? Ah, Lithuania. Welcome to Barcelona.

He asks what traditional Lithuanian food is and perhaps I could write the name down so he could look up. He gives me a neat notebook and a pen. I write half of the cepelinai recipe, including the vegetarian version. 

We share an apple in the sun on a bench at Parc del Laberint de l’Horta. The Labyrinth isn’t yet open after the seasonal maintenance; however, the park is available for visitors.

She hugs her Teddy Bear tight as we speak about something. 

I wanted this holiday to be easy-going. No excessive planning in advance (though I did a bit of homework, inevitably), no strict abidance to the plan and no consequential stress.

Happy to say it works. I just notice situations where I would begin to get nervous or hurry and I just don’t.

We went to the beach with Pia – it was quite a long walk for her via La Barcelonetta.

I always knew I’d love Barcelona.

I mean I’m a fan of cinema, and what the spectacularly-directed sights of the city in Vicky Christina Barcelona didn’t do, Javier Bardem did. And the spicy yet paradoxically idealistic although too real ménage à trois. And Christina’s phrase at the end, on the escalator:

 I don’t know what I want.

Anyway, I digress. 

It was a beautiful spring night a year ago.

Mrs. Nielsen was visiting. We soaked ourselves in booze, got into adventures all over Lithuania and had the time of our lives, as it happens when we hook up with her.

That night, we went to a concert at the National Philharmonic Hall.

She loved how easily things would fall into places when they were next to each other.

How she could actually fall asleep with him. Not just in the same bed but in his arms. And in the middle of the night, as she would move in her sleep, his first instinct was not to release her from his embrace but to pull her closer. And his shoulder never got tired from her head, or his arms never needed rest from holding her.

Friend sent it to me a couple of days ago, who I am very grateful to, although I did not anticipate to have a sad opportunity to share it with the world, which suffers from repeated terror and demise.

It’s another time of year that Lover rediscovers my phone number.

As I have decided to quit our usual drill a while ago – because if anything could’ve happened, it would’ve in 12 years, right? – I don’t pick up tonight. He thinks I’m partying again. On second thought, I text him.

To be honest, I feel like shit. Not because hungover. Got some bad news. Sorry for not being up for a conversation. One of those days…

Once upon a time, there were two planets.

One inhabited by a race who lived in harmony with one another, sharing love and intimacy, the feeling of belonging, and their hearts were bare. They trusted each other with the depths of their mind, enjoyed being together and lived in large flocks like tender, affectionate birds.

On the other planet, however,

The weather was perfect. Clear -2, full moon, a gazillion of stars and serenity like nowhere else. I looked above at Ursa Major and other constellations. He stopped to type something on his phone.

i can show you the little one

We were taking a night hike in the woods. 20 people, backpacks and a point B we could reach in three hours, if lucky, or never, depending on the map readers’ skill.

In the experiential training we got team tasks, like reaching an agreed destination point, meeting the second group, giving them a non-material present, exchanging routes and walking back, without maps this time, just relying on the traces the other group has left on their way.

There are loves that leave you out of balance.

Loves that make you smile years after they pass.

The ones you chat about with old friends.

The others that are better forgotten.

And I think some people, once in their lifetime, find themselves in a firestorm of unearthly nature.

Jan Esmann interview

After watching a portion of this video I had a strange dream.

***

My whole life, experiencing the loss identity I’d feel like shit. I used to be so convinced I was supposed to be something. Clear-cut. Turns out I should’ve revelled in this state of in-between, in the grey nothingness I’ve known so well.

Do you remember this?

She turns up the volume.

***

The funeral home is full of familiar faces. People looking around, recognising each other, coming up and speaking in low voices.

One of the girls, his friend’s wife, stands in front of me and says:

There was a woman. He did this because of her. It was complicated, they say. Nobody has seen her, though. I wonder if she’s here.

I want to fall in love.

The no-looking-back way, there’s-nobody-else-in-the-world-I-see kind of way. I want it to be crazy and sparkling with chemistry, and mutual.

I have been pressing myself to be practical with relationships lately. 

There are two types of reactions I get when I tell someone I don’t have a Facebook account:

1. “Really? Wow, respect!”/”OMG, me too!”/”You are so, so cool. I should get rid of mine as well.”
2. “Hmmm. Only idiots, creeps and antisocial types don’t have a Facebook profile. You don’t seem to be either of those, so get it together, woman!”

Last night it got to me, to be totally frank with you.

Who can tell whether we’re alive or dead? Either way, we live in the heaven or hell of our choosing. I live in my almost heaven with the elements of purgatory. They were the entrance fee. 

…and I have known the most vivacious of emotions – raging fire, burning ice, torrential water, scorched earth…. and yet they are all tame when compared to the glow of the moon and a gentle, yet unassuming, spark in the dead of night. Stars peppering the heavens again… Such is the power it has over me.

I am here. Stretching my pale arm across the universe towards the side I once left you be.

I flew away, leaving the ocean behind my back. Its endless surface was glimmering at the perennial moonshine, covered by vast comforting darkness, undisturbed by human sounds or the wind.

The smell of the sea – it follows you no matter how far away you go. It lingers on your skin and drenches into your spirit. 

The embrace of sleep becomes lukewarm.

I twist and turn in my sheets, pushing the awakening further away.

Anxiety burns in the solar plexus. Weren’t those pills supposed to help?

There are few things as eye-opening as meeting someone who is completely, utterly, essentially different from you.

Not only you see the obscure unfold before your eyes. All that you are (not) at the core takes a visible shape, too.

***

He is happy.

I took a little risk this morning.

My car insurance had expired last night and the girl was supposed to email me the papers today some time before noon.

I could’ve bothered to take a bus. It would’ve been a longer and much more inconvenient journey to work, albeit not involving the risk of getting into an accident and having to cover the costs out of my own pocket because my car wouldn’t be insured for those several hours.

There are people in our lives who eventually turn into concepts ingrained in our core. Their lives apart from us blend into our soul and add another shade to our identity. Their history is ever-present in the way we look at things, like a one-of colour in our sentiment. They saturate our perception. And there is no past tense for this.

After all the words, I feel I owe you silence.

Always been convinced I was special to you in certain ways. The only one. In several aspects.

Beginning to see I am not – do I dramatise it? Hm… I guess no sense. I’m just surprised how perfectly life draws a veil on our perception and timely conceals certain shades of reality from our judgement.

Fine by me.

You’ll see, one day you’ll smile at your child and tell her you are so loving because you didn’t get everything you wanted.

I was driving home, feeling nauseous. The sun was finally showing off, painting rainbows on leaden skies. A rare guest this spring, she acts like a schoolgirl skipping class.

I want to take a moment to say how grateful I am to be remembered by every single person today who is very important to me and whose attention is a gift in itself.

Like everyone else I enjoy a warm word and a kind wish on a birthday. It’s even more cool of you to reach me not being conveniently available on Facebook, not throwing a party or reminding of myself in any other way.

You made me think this is the best I could wish for. You made my day fulfilling and me truly happy.

The small things, huh. Never underestimate those.

I have come to know those tides now.

They rise. Time and again.

Each time in a different, more and more subdued way. Only a vibration of a deep underground explosion now.

I have a friend and we play a game.

It’s called Comfort Zone Project, or CZP.

I’ve never been a girl in a relationship. No.

But I’ve always been a girl in love. Always having a crush, always infatuated, inspired and high.

If I weren’t, it felt wrong. As if something would be missing. A part of myself numbing, my heart undergoing atrophy.

I have this poppy red lipstick that makes me want to have a job where it should be a uniform. Like a pencil skirt to a stewardess. Or a tie to a banker.

It makes me a different person as soon as I put it on – it makes me me.

Unfortunately, every single day I slip into something pastel and the most daring thing to allow myself is a feline flick. A modest one.

However, when I go out, I put the poppy red on my lips and find it the best accessory to my biker jacket and everything else black.

The day before

you love an illusion

                                                                           don’t you see how you’re just filling a gap

                                                      it is a ridiculous waste of life 

          he would’ve been here by now if he wanted

                                                                  you have to close one door for another to open

unless, of course, you don’t want a relationship?

All is true. And it’s a legitimate question. I can remember well the times when I said I wanted but did everything for it to not happen. I must be more consistent and conscious by now. Am I hiding behind this demeaning situation? Perhaps it is more convenient to me than it is draining?

It all starts with blueberry jam.

Pia’s recently discovered it with her oatmeal porridge.

You know, Love, when I was a kid, my parents and Mother Grandmother would make jam at home. They would pick buckets of berries, take a huge pot and cook it with sugar.

Why wouldn’t they buy it in a shop like we do?

Because there weren’t products like these in shops at that time.

Why?

Since I was a teenager, this song would arise very strong emotive associations which I’ve never tried to put into words before.

Tearing longing; feelings that outlast relationships or people, tragedies or impossibility; being left alone without a choice but to love…

Have you ever experienced strong feelings that were sort of… not yours?

I’ve never expected to feel this way, but now that I look in the mirror and see my face growing old, all the wrinkles and other signs of time, feelings and inner fights, I worry not.

So dark… My mind travels to places where one feels stuck, having no way out as if inside a closed matrix without a code to break.

This is how I live. This is how I love. This is mine.

***

Before his death, my Grandfather would spend his days lying in bed. Sometimes, I’d come into his room, sit beside and watch his face. The hazy look, wandering some distant terrains, as he was already on his way. I felt he could tell me something, reveal secrets I wouldn’t know, so I would lean in and ask him:

Your words. The ones I wanted to hear.

The ones I was meaning to say to you.

Not to write – I thought some of them ought to be said looking into the eyes before they were written in letters.

I thought if this superstition was disregarded, the higher powers would close the roads that lead us to each other, sink the ships we sail in the high seas, and the tiniest chance of our crossing paths again would be gone forever.

Everyone is gone. I’m alone in the room, in a ghost-like building that once must have been a busy place.

As I tick off the tasks of the day before leaving, my eyes slide to a phone number.

Why wait for Tuesday? They said a week but I’ll try today.

What’s your surname again? I can’t hear you well enough. Ah, yes – the results are ready.

Don’t ask me why or how, but once upon a winter my schoolmate persuaded me to join her on a visit to a fortune-teller.

It was an old lady who accepted whatever you gave her for a fee.

My girlfriend, one of those golden kids from a loving and functional family, owning a beautiful house, a sunny smile and hair to die for, listened as the fortune-teller promised her a university, a nice boyfriend, a strong family and a good life. 

With the geopolitical tension continuously rising, I often think about what lies ahead.

I have always been so afraid of war that when Ukraine events broke out, I began thinking where I would flee in case Russian aggression continued to move further. Mrs. Nielsen assured in the most serious manner she would have a refugee camp in her backyard if shit hit the fan. Seriously speaking, I don’t believe we would have time and means to fly away in the outbreak of war, but it was good to know someone would be waiting for me somewhere safe.

I am glad we have a long drive ahead.

Going on a trip by car is one of the best things in the world: you live the anticipation of arriving but even more pleasurable is the feeling of in between. You are not where you were, but yet neither where you’re bound to. It’s like hanging nowhere. I fell in love with this state of transition taking trains to see My Second First Love when we were 18.

Now the tension is high.

I really hate how much I love her songs.

Whenever I think Taylor Swift, it’s like argh, she’s everything I’m not: the Golden Girl, the American Wannabe, so Purrrfect – but take away her makeup and dresses, and she’s the girl next door I would never hit on. 

I keep wondering when those questions will run out… Why drag the subject to and fro? It has never been a matter of making a step, not for one of us, so why linger on something as empty?

Some of the above questions are addressed to myself, too (is that you or me talking?).

Victims are too comfortable in their own shoes.

They say God’s Love is measured by the scope of challenges he gives us.

If so, God must be growing real fond of me.

He keeps inviting me to his playground where his lethal breath is right about to shatter my life as I know it.

In a huge bell that is not moved, its ringing subsided, you still see the nature of sound within, and sense its longing to be awoken. The bell is only alive when it’s ringing. The rest of the time it is but the memory of sound, persistent vibration in between the swings. 

Whenever you are in pain or feel sad, remember it’s just your surface, Love. Instead of sinking in your sorrow, go looking for a place of light and happiness, where there’s no disease and anguish, where there’s only beauty and fulfilment, and Love.

I rock her on my lap, pressing my cold cheek to her feverish forehead. 

There was light music in the background. People were talking, trying to get a drink, watching others, going to the loo, flirting.

I was standing next to Girlfriend as we both were silent for a while. She is someone I can afford to be silent with.

And then time started rolling in a funny way. It didn’t slow down but it felt like light made of rubber*. I felt I was slipping into faces and things, drenching into everything. I watched people around me as the most astonishing feeling overtook me:

There are two types of stress I experience.

The first is latent and ever-present, and it makes me eat too much.

The other one overtakes my whole mind and the body is unable to consume a thing.

I look at couples as if they lived on the planet called Mutuality, and I was hanging in outer space, watching the strange species, feeling slightly sick.

I flinch hearing those people say the word “soulmate”. Do they even know the meaning of the word? It feels like nobody knows it but me. And I wish they didn’t find out.

You wrote “dead” and you invited the experience.

You asked if I would be there at the very end and you saw that I weren’t.

His eyes are warm. Smiling. Curious.

He takes a few glimpses at my face and I can see those eyes light up. They are captivated, passionate, demanding. At some point, as I sit looking at him, he shakes his head, excited.

You inspire me.

His hand swiftly moves as he sketches.

In hindsight, all those songs used to be woven with unacknowledged hope and thrilling expectation of what the future would bring.

Now they make me sad. No, I haven’t lost my way of faith: I will continue passionately until I have no passions. But I get very sad sometimes still.

He does the dishes, allowing me to sleep longer before we have to leave.

He makes my bed neatly like a monk while I’m in the shower.

He buys me things, saying it’s his pleasure.

So it appears I live in a huge place filled with deafening silence.

So much air…

The clouds herded by strong wind, the whole world outside the window and inside, right where I am. And it does feel like spring in the beginning of January, it does.

An echo of a feeling. Just an echo. Almost not there.

It’s been 34 days now.

The Teacher says it takes 40 days for a very strong and constant thought to submerge to our subconscious and become our guiding attitude.

I have been working on it for almost as long and I’m determined to continue towards that indefinitely.

When he holds me, I can feel his whole body slightly shiver. When he touches me with his hand, I get a strange feeling: as if some kind of energy is streaming into me. As if that point of physical contact is charged with some… presence. Never tried Reiki but imagine it’s something like that?

And… I know saying this makes me crazy but

We go ice-skating with the kids.

Pia remembers A from last summer when the four of us went to Bernardinai park together – they totally clicked. A looked after her on the playground as me and him were catching up on the bench, watching them from a distance. The children went hysterical in the car, making up poems with swear words, screaming with laughter as he brought us home.

She asked me recently “when we were going to see that big boy again” and now was really excited to learn that we were meeting up for an adventure – I have ice-skated when I was Pia’s age; she has never done it before.

He stands outside my house with a chic black bag.

This is for you. Danish candy. Do you like liquorice?

We hug giggling like kids.

At the restaurant, he asks me:

Wanna do this?

The worst that can happen to a woman, is being beautiful, smart and strong.

I’m a killer.

All of us are shells: different faces, names, appearances… But inside, we are all the same.

I used to be quite good at redirecting feelings from one shell to another.

Another thing I gave up. Seem to be brilliantly losing some of my firmly ingrained skills.

I guess this is how it is now.

There’s a meadow in front of my living room window. A large green area separating my block of flats and a church.

I can see the white cross on its rooftop whenever I raise my eyes from the dining table or smoke on the balcony, ever negotiating with my demons.

One Sunday in summer I woke up and heard something piercing the air outside the drawn curtains of the bedroom.

In the course of unfavourable events, a full stop is a solution required by a person who is unable to endure heartache.

It only makes sense why there have been so many full stops in my relationships and endeavours so far.

On one hand, I want to make the “right” decisions: be decent, non-interfering and honest; on the other – shutting myself out from something or someone, causing me to see that life is not primarily about the realisation of my personal wishes, does not stimulate my development.

So what do I do now? 

I comb my mind, looking for the manifestations of lethal attachments having consumed me entirely, and I let everything go, breathing it out.

I give myself lengthy lectures on my personal wishes being secondary, whilst the destined course of events, the divine plan primary and definitely not something to try and eliminate with a sack of explosives when the head fails to break the wall.

I believe it is pretty difficult for many to tell Love from a delicious mash of desire, pleasure and fantasy. Sometimes we stick to the make-believe so much that we tear ourselves apart chasing an illusion, a reflection of our own ego. We choose to be tortured by a deformed concept that has nothing to do with the sustainable peace, the potential of which is a given. The Love we are born from and return to when we die is something that can never be exhausted or disrupted.

Unless, of course, we refuse to cultivate it making use of every occasion, and by occasion I mean the loss of our personal interest against the God’s plan, the universal flow or whatever one prefers to call it. We show our true selves only when we can’t have it our way. 

Dreams can suddenly become so vivid after a full stop.

It was a long and noisy travel in search of something vague, until finally me, mother and sister found ourselves in a luxurious Malibu resort.

Here’s the Teacher’s opinion on compliments men and women ought to tell each other, which I found quite peculiar:

A woman tells a man he’s strong and smart and how brilliantly he understands everything – because he is stimulated towards those things when she tells him.

A man tells a woman she is sexy and beautiful – because her purpose is giving birth, and feeling sexual she is more willing and happy to serve that purpose. 

When I thought I found my purpose in life, i.e. to be happy, the essence of this concept in my mind included being in harmony with the world; feeling positive and grateful for everything I have been given by God and people; not only being the glass full to the top – but being a fountain.

I think I may have mixed the wording – or I simply see it clearer now.

I keep having this dream.

I kill a woman and try to get rid of her. Beside the fact that she is already dead, I tie her hands behind the back with a plastic wire. I put her into a black bag, face down, and into the trunk of a car. I want to get rid of her but the moment I look inside the bag again, she’s gone. 

I remembered my first Teacher tonight.

When father saw her book on my table at the age of 13, it was the only time he asked the question

Aren’t you too young for this?

I had a blast with Pia tonight: we picked a bunch of post-cards at a book shop and later wrote wishes to friends.

Well, she was writing, I was dictating the letters. But she would think of the texts.

The one to the Upstairs Boy opened with

I miss you lots!

When I suggested we wrote a post-card to him and dropped it into his post-box, she lit up and couldn’t contain herself, jumping with excitement.

I remembered an episode we had this summer.

Since I’ve been a teenager, I believed we all are, one place or another. Regardless of birth, death and every dimension in between, we are, all the time. 

And then I realised there would be no call. 

Do you think anything may be left inside?

I… I don’t know. This has never happened to me. I think you should see your doctor. Why haven’t you, by the way?

The setting looks like the City Hall during a national music festival. People in winter coats gathered everywhere; halls-turned-changing-rooms; everything’s a mess, everyone’s late; I stand in front of a mirror and look at myself. As I make a fake smile, my front tooth falls out. 

Do you remember what the cold sounds like?

It sounds like eternity.

Like every other time I’ve said I would never, I often feel I’m the one who wants you more.

As soon as I withdraw, step back, go away, I almost expect us to move on with our lives because the circumstances overall seem to brilliantly conspire against us.

I love timely comebacks from the most unexpected directions. I love life being a Japanese cartoon where every character you meet is bringing a message you need the most at that particular moment in time.

I love the parks and stadiums I stop driving by in the most unusual time of day. I step out and have a cigarette leaning on my car window, radio playing inside, and watch the autumnal bushes giving away secrets to the wind. It’s somewhat thrilling to appear in places I never purposefully go to. It makes me think what happens there all this time I’m not around, and something must be happening every day. 

You know that feeling when you meet someone and it flows?

Well, I have this friend (I dare say the word, though am quite careful to not overuse it generally). Apart from him being one of the most intellectual and sociable personalities I have ever encountered, the greatest pleasure to me is, when we speak, I can be as abstract as I like to be (#thinkingoutloud) and I’m always understood.

And then it dawned on me.

The Universe will take the deal as soon as I deliver: when I will drop the conviction you are the One.

The Book says: a man is the spiritual, wise, guiding element. A woman is the earthly, materialist, grounded one. It is manifested in both our bodily functioning and our aspirations.

You write like a man. Don’t you stop now

Genius once told me, being the first one to take a glimpse at my literary attempts.

I choose reality over fantasy, methodically performing acts that those next to me can perceive as involvement, though I cannot be sure if my patience will last another day or whether I will see any point the day after tomorrow.

I was floating in the heart of a tornado, unable to see a thing through the thick darkness of the black waves around me – yet I was at home: still, warm and safe. The eye of the storm.

I was diving naked under water, seeing unknown landscapes, plants and light that was different from that above.

The air was warm and dusk. The vibration under her belly-button resonated with the humming in the air.

She walked the street without looking around. She could see the dark tree foliage and the rest of the things above without moving her sight or lifting her head. The trees stood huge and silent. They were her allies, just like the air and the pavement blocks under her feet, and there was not a single human in sight.

When I can’t have it my way, I get angry and disappointed.

This is what I feel more and more often lately.

If what I reflect on the situation is the drilldown of my content, am I just angry and bitter? Is this what will kill it?

I’m at a place with a good perspective. I like faces changing in front of my eyes while I look at them from behind a glass. It’s safe place: not a springboard, not a house on fire, not a dwelling with an expiring rent agreement. I can stay here as long as I need.

Always thought that as soon as I knew what I wanted, life would become clear-cut.

I know what I want now, crystal clear.

Do you notice how men stand in queue to talk to you? They come up one after another.

No, there aren’t that many.

Of course, there’s an old lover who’s always there.

We were from the Beginning, if there was one. You and I.

We are everything, like everything else in the universe. Cells in the organism. Barely individual, just on the surface. Dive deeper – and there are no faces, genders, concepts, attributes, peculiarities. We are but particles of the force of life which I sometimes call God. Or Love.

You are with me wherever I travel.

You are in me.

Every sight I discover is drenched in your presence as if you were looking at things my eyes and experiencing together.

I want to hold your warm hand and share my cold with you.

I want to share the intimate silence that lives between us, accompanied by a touch and the awakened new energy streaming up the veins.

I want to share with you the moment of timelessness filled with the sense of bliss after which you know you can die without a single regret because it is more than you’ve ever hoped to experience. 

In my secret dusty catacombs, I sometimes sit and think if there are things I would not do for you. Disturbingly enough, I can’t think of them. I imagine situations, push the limits and see that there is still that extra mile I could go for you.

Imagine someone so handsome your eyes hurt to look at. Someone so good looking you instinctively turn away humbled as if you dived into bright sunshine all of a sudden. 

Don’t you love the chaotic rave of instruments? It’s so representative of life: the leading motive and the windy mess swaying around it. Sometimes the noise gets louder than anything else but the order in the chaos is never absent.

I began to think perhaps you are my destiny.

Precisely because you are everything I look down on. I have learnt that people whom I find extremely, disturbingly unlike me are the ones to teach me the hardest lesson. The one I need the most?

I remembered this really strange new thing that happened twice within the past several months within the total of 33 years – I felt like calling my father. No reason. No actual topic to cover, either.

But I’d call him still. He’d be surprised and fairly lost after realising I called because I only wanted to chat.

And then those other fantasies came.

To say I was a weird kid would be an understatement. With a foster-home haircut, I was often confused for a boy, too. When I saw my first film with Sophie Marceau, I realised a girl who didn’t smile could be beautiful nonetheless, so she sort of became a bit of a role model for a while.

I saw the trailer of Une Rencontre at 6 pm yesterday. Sprang out of bed, popped into the shower, threw on a dress and rallied my way to the cinema.

If you don’t know what to do, make a small step. Sometimes the change you want seems so vast from where you’re standing that you’d never collect the resolution to become it.

Do you know how sailors survive the sea after shipwreck?

I am revisiting places. The hardest part is digesting the fact which has just been thrown in my face in a manner that couldn’t possibly be more obvious – and therefore it is horrid – that I am in the same place I’ve been a decade ago. 

I remember a dream I had as a teenager.

I was diving naked under water and seeing unknown landscapes, plants and light that was different from that above.

Hello.

I’ve finished my phone call outside the business centre when he passed by. Looked a bit more slouchy and the dark hair had silverish highlights in places. There was still that Gypsy playfulness about the face, just like 10 years ago.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RMrltCDCwI

She’d always say how she wanted matching tattoos with this quote, and I never knew where it was from. Would just smirk that the internet was abundant with photos of people having it inked on their sides and backs, and that I wouldn’t join that army.

Years after, I get this song from her.

We’re not on the same page. In fact, we are two different books at the remotest corners of a huge library.

My heart used to be like a garden with sharp walls of pride and arrogance. For self-preservation purposes mostly, but that’s definitely something very noticeable when approached.

When we met, it surely didn’t feel like a wrecking ball. Nothing as brutal and destructive, or loud. Because that way, I would have noticed.

This morning after barely sleeping in a curled-up motionless pose for a few hours, after an attempt to finalise something crown on, with my macho buddies Rationality, Logic and Sarcasm, I see there are no walls around that garden any more. Just a hint of an old construction barely above the ground in places. But not more.

…and then someone on Twitter starts following me, whose profile says

I JUST WANT A BOY TO LIKE ME AND THINK I AM PRETTY AND WANT TO KISS ME AND GO TO CONCERTS WITH ME AND GO CAMPING AND WATCH THE STARS

I start thinking how much I envy her limits but then slowly arrive at understanding there is a dimension where we are no different at all.

I have been overestimating the amount of time I have.

We are born, we die. And though I’ve been approaching the simplicity and the marvel of the notion in my own pace since childhood, I still tend to get lost in distractions.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCvED0fSpwM

I can’t believe I found my all-time favourite fairy-tale film… Gosh, such production doesn’t even exist these days, and some would say thank God – but it’s my childhood memory that doesn’t even invite nano-3D miracles for competition. 

I know I’ve been here but every time it looks like a new place: no exit, nothing to take hold of, eternal.

Yes, I am in that transition period.

Sometimes I listen to my own pep talk of self-awareness, well-managed expectations and being cool about the universal flow that flows away from me, and think I’m just so full of it.

You often say I’m much more rational and composed than you but I suspect we both understand it’s mere etiquette and my #glassmountain

I met her in the beauty salon. It appears we have been going to the same Hairstylist for years.

She sat in an adjacent chair and was having her roots done while reading her Kindle. I was skimming through glance magazines – the beauty salon is the place for me to catch up on the latest gossip free of charge as I don’t buy it anyway, and to look for acquaintances on the last pages.

The Hairstylist made some tea.

Have a candy.

The change is ongoing.

Even when we speak truths less pleasant than the regular small talk, they do not disrupt our connection.

I was sitting on the terrace last Friday night, having a smoke for the first time after seven years, thinking about something I’d said that day.

My colleague and I were having lunch in the office kitchen earlier and talking something until I saw her round eyes raised at me when she asked:

Did you just hear yourself?

It is amazing how passionately we move towards some things that in the course of time appear to have been of a very different purpose than it seemed at the moment passing by. Some of them, though, leave you wondering about the possibilities that are given to you but not fully, as if we were kids and someone put a candy on the table,

When you speak of me as more radiant than a kaleidoscope of nirvanic bliss… I realise it’s flattery, but also begin to see how all this impossibility of being together makes sense. 

I have been employed as a shining star before.

Today I was asking myself and the Woman I Love: why can’t we have everything we want in one place, in one person? Why is it like that: everything you don’t care much about is for your taking, but all you desire is forbidden, close-to-impossible and/or too complicated? 

Having seen me walking around the office with my nose in the phone (#typical), my new Manager once said: “You know what Kris, you should really see a film called Her. It’s about you – if you were a guy.”

A year ago, an email came from someone I didn’t know. Though short and polite, it pushed me out of balance, as if a disturbance of a routine course. Like a computer game of cars being suddenly interrupted by My Little Pony cartoon due to some technical bug. 

See you on the other side…

These words linger with me like an omen.

What if, once upon a time, there were no stars in the sky at all?
What if the stars are not what we think?
What if the light from afar doesn’t come from the rays of distant suns…
…but from our wings as we turn into angels?

It’s like they say: life begins when you get fired, miss your bus or have insomnia.

Love is above decency, family, material welfare, betrayal and everything else.

You see a polished person and admire them having mastered the subtleties of the requisite performance expected from their marital, social and money status. But you also see through: it’s not in their blood. 

I open my eyes and slowly return from a sticky dream. In moments like these, I feel like a sick person on meds sensing he’s almost recovered – sleep is my drug, my sea. I can never get enough.

Yet I take a look at the ceiling and it strikes me: I jump out of bed wearing my dress-turned-nightgown and dash to the living room.

I took a CD from the pile of them lying scattered around in my living room – just to find it was scratched, too.

It’s very old. I burnt it when she left for Spain.

Everything that happens suddenly makes sense.

I had my second most terrifying experience today.

There was a kindergarten fest for the International Family Day. The backyard was embellished with paper flowers

I recently tweeted something childishly simple: that I finally knew what the purpose of my life was.

Being happy.

It does sound like… anything else.

I have a serious question to myself: why do I run into aggressive and/or defensive people lately?

I found a bump in my breast.

I always love to see her. There is a certain light around some people, like an almost visible cloud that makes you breath in deeper and smile as they approach. It’s an active energy, a positive determination that’s very catchy and uplifting. You meet them, and you instantly sense something special’s gonna happen. 

I think I have told you everything there is to tell another person, and yet it still feels like a vast Universe untold, and I am desperate I will never have a chance, or time; that I will die, and nobody will let you know why I don’t reply to emails.

Last night, I dreamed Genius again.

I’d dream him all those years since I dramatically moved to Vilnius, as someone once put it. Because it was the autumn I moved here that I met him, and it was 11 years ago.

What I do sometimes, having stepped into my empty home, is sit still in the hallway and watch the living room. I sit there in my coat and shoes, refraining myself from the automatic routine of getting undressed and involving into the modern dance of housework.

I sit for a while, looking at the place as if it wasn’t mine.

Just took a peak at my old photos. Some of the memories are striking.

If I could choose one picture and call it Divorce, it would be this one. 

You fight your war passionately, as if your life depended on it – doesn’t it always?

You suffer casualties and carry on.

You methodically pursue your  aim, thinking up new strategies and acting undercover.

After years you realise there was never an enemy there, and no actual war per se, just you and your ever-intimate relationship with the Demon.

And as you embrace Him, and smile openly looking straight into His eyes, and put your hand on His, and you walk together for a while as one, your gut tells you that being a survivor is forever travelling the geography of your wounds.

Šiąnakt stovėjau su drauge ir Pija šalia mūsų Pilaitės daugiabučio ir užvertusi galvą į fejerverkus siurbčiojau šampaną. Po 15 minučių svaigaus sproginėjimo iš Briuselio atvykusi viešnia pasisuko į mane ir paklausė: čia turbūt turtingi žmonės gyvena?

Ką tik gavau labai gražią pamoką.

Buvau susitikime, kurį galėčiau pavadinti vienu iš trijų labiausiai nevykusių per pastarąjį dešimtmetį. 

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTbuFirvlVc

Stovėjau iki paskutinio kadro, kad išgirsčiau galutines filmo muzikinės temos natas.

Gražios Kalėdos. Lauke +6. Vakar Kūčias šventėme su sese skaipu. Nesu įsitikinusi, kad mano vištienos salotose buvo 12 ingredientų – gal įskaičiavus citriną vandens stiklinėje, though?..

Pastaruoju metu jaučiu didelį dėkingumą. Dievui / sau / karmai / likimui / norams, kurie išverda būtent tokią tikrovę, kurioje gyvenu. 

To be with him, I would have to break myself.

I had a dream once. I saw an ocean and a sky of supernatural colours, resembling those of a sunset on the Earth, only they were bright orange, red, yellow and gold, and also blue and purple in places. It was hard to tell the sea and the sky apart as the sight was pulsing and waving as if it was fire and water and fresh air in one element. 

I know The Great Gatsby is old news; I’m sure most of you have seen it and many of you have run into all those quotes by Francis Scott Fitzgerald on Pinterest and Twitter after the premiere. 

This is not a film review.  I guess none of the ones I write are, really.

I feel it now.

I’ve been feeling it the past months; yet only now I know the words for it.

Godparents are people you wish your child followed spiritually, intellectually and destiny-wise. Role models, care-givers and guides.

I don’t know what my parents were thinking when choosing me the Godfather I had – or maybe there wasn’t much of a choice in the traumatised soviet generation in terms of spiritual guidance – spirits, though, being commonly abused.

I was looking at you the other day and for a moment, as we were silent, your eyes gained an expression entwining sadness, affection, longing, warmth, and I got lost in that sight, and I thought in the background of my disbelief: this must be the look of love, if love had a human face.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqIxCtEveG8

There is a certain thrill related to really opening up to someone, isn’t it? So game-changing sometimes.

To me usually – unintentional, reluctant and carrying unpredictable consequences.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0O0Avz-aO0

I wonder

Šiandien mano virtuvėje neįtikėtinai tylu. Visada viskas prityla, prieš grįžtant namo dukrai, bet šiandien yra kitaip.

Gal tai ruduo, gal tai mano mintys apie naujas galimybes, mano norai ir fantazijos apie tai, kaip viskas turėtų tuoj tuoj pasikeisti – nors ir pati nežinau, apie ką aš čia. 

Jeigu neklystu, jis buvo pirmas vyras, pasakęs man komplimentą.

Mokiausi penktoje klasėje ir kažkurį rytą nutariau, kad prie uniformos labai tiks mamos juodos raštuotos pėdkelnės. Jos buvo su įaustais auksiniais ir sidabriniais siūlais, tikros moters pėdkelnės, kurių neįmanoma nepastebėti. Pats tas prie rudos plisuotos uniformos penktoje klasėje. 

Galite penkis metus vaikščioti į tą patį barą ir nepasisveikinti, o sykį užsimezga akių kontaktas ir, žiūrėk, jau auginate tris vaikus.

Panašiai ir su knygomis – jos ateina pačiu laiku. Tiesa, ir žmonės, ir knygos veiksmingiausiai pamoko ir labiausiai praturtina tada, kai jau pats turi patirties, gebėjimo ją apibendrinti ir alkio mokytis bei pažinti dar. 

The narcissistic pleasure of doing the right thing.

I don’t have much practice in that; would do what I wanted most of my life, not what was considered right.

Tokiais saulėtais vasaros šeštadieniais aš norėčiau būti su savo šeima. Būti kažko dalimi. Keltis, ruoštis, važiuoti prie ežero, prie jūros, išskristi į kurortą – arba eiti brunch į Kitchen, nusipirkti labradorą, kepti cupcakes… 

Aaa, tai štai, kas jis 🙂 Mėgstu šitą dainą.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZg3ibOt964

Ką tik pasportavusi Maksimoje susitikau moterį, kurios vyrą iš pradžių palaikiau “Lauro lapo” šefu. Stovėjome prie Mamos kepyklėlės, aš jau mintyse čiaumojau kruasaną, tada pamačiau jį, tada ją, o, kokia graži žmona, galvoju, o tada ji man plačiai šypsosi ir aš suprantu, kad metas sveikintis, tik nežinau, su kuo.

Doubt is my middle name.

I doubt at a grocery shop, picking apples over oranges. I hesitate on what to wear at work the next day (after I’ve doubted about the employment proposal, having initially said “no”). I feel mixed about lipstick colour, radically different perfume types, is it yoga or is it aerobics, do I want to save money or enjoy the present day, but most of all, I doubt people.

Žinote tokią Alanis dainą “Ironic”?

Taigi.

Svajonių vyrų nominacijomis aš seniai nebesitaškau, tai čia būtų ta humoristinė dalis.

Kita dalis rimtesnė. 

We met after my brief text. I never extend my messages beyond the fact I’m back, and a question if he’s got time to meet.

I know that he will, whenever he can. He will make time, and thus, on my part, it is mere politeness to ask if he will.

He takes me to a bookshop cafe, the most stylishly bohemian place in town, empty of people on a warm summer afternoon.

I’ve been disciplining myself; I’ve been instilling the skill of discretion to the point of becoming afraid to write what I thought or felt, even in my private folders and journals. It was like my stream of inner voices was safer locked, muted, kept in a ward-sized plexiglass box which I’d pass swiftly in the evening hours, with no time or courage to stop while passing by and watch.

Yra tokia alkio rūšis, kai jautiesi išbadėjęs vien dėl nežinojimo, kada gausi valgyti.

Yra toks šalčio pojūtis, kai vaikštai užklydęs mažame miestelyje, kur nėra viešbučių, ir žinai, kad visą naktį neturėsi, kur užsukti.

Gali būti sotus ir šiltai apsirengęs, bet netikrumas dėl ateities – o veikiau žinojimas, kad viskas bus ne taip, kaip nori, sukelia priešingą jauseną, lyg jau būtum ten, kur šalta. Kokiame nors plyname lauke su daugybe stypsančių tuščių Snaigės šaldytuvų prastai užsidarančiomis durimis, pro kurias sklinda depresinė elektros lempučių šviesa.

Tau visas gyvenimas visada bus kaip pirmas kartas.

Gražesnių žodžių apie save, matyt, negirdėjau. Nors jie jau po truputį tolsta nuo tiesos, nuo mano vidinio pasaulio sienų, aprašinėtų vardais, įžadais, “niekada” ir “visada” – kai kurie jų perbraukti, ir ne po vieną kartą.

Žaidžiu savo mintimis ir norais. Kasdien vis aiškiau įsivaizduoju, kaip gyvenu; kasdien prikuriu papildomų detalių į savo siekiamybės paveikslėlį, pasipasakoju vis daugiau dalykų apie tai, kaip, kur ir su kuo noriu būti, ir tada – nuostabu, jog taip greitai – stebiu, kaip fantazijos skiautės nusileidžia ant mano realybės ežero. Vis mažiau stebėdamasi sau patvirtinu: viskas taip, kaip prasukau savo nesustojančiame vidiniame filme. Tai nuostabu.

Ką tik, jutube ieškodama lietuviškos muzikos, įsijungiau Tavo ir jos dainą.

Gal žmogus pastatytas iš garsų, kvapų, norų ir prisiminimų; gal iš tiesų mumyse labai lengva ištrinti chronologines ribas, sujudinti kai ką pamatinio, kad taip staiga, akivaizdžiai be prasmės priešintis mano pilvas susigniaužė nuo galingo prisiminimo.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fU00qvYuq24

Atitirpimas.

Pradedu jausti, lyg koks ilgai nefunkcionavęs organas įsijungtų į bendrą organizmo veiklą. Keista, kad jo tiek ilgai nejaučiau esant.

Kiek daug istorijų gali rutuliotis vieno, atskiro žmogaus viduje, niekam per daug neprisidedant, nežinant, nedalyvaujant.

Stebiu save, kaip filmą. Kartais toks atsitraukimas suteikia drąsos išlipti iš komforto zonos, minti savo baimei ant kojos ir pamatyti, kad tai ne visada baigiasi prastai.

Man patinka, kai kas nors sako: “Gerų švenčių Tau. Jums abiems”.

Žiūrėjau kažkurį šeštadienį sesers parekomenduotą The Secret ir juokiausi: atrodo, jau šimtus metų kartoju ten kaip didžiausią naujieną skelbiamas tiesas apie kokybių trauką, dabarties akcentavimą, minčių materializaciją, gavimą to, ko nori… Filmelis netgi banalus.

Pažiūrėjusi ant durniaus ėmiau kartoti visokias mantras. Tai yra, žaidžiau seką mintis –> žodis –> materija. 

The thick silence as I enter my home.

Step into the living room, slowly draw the curtains.

And, of course, think of her. 

Kartą, labai seniai, dar prieš Didžiųjų Išbandymų Laikus, nuvykau pas būrėją.

Mane bent kiek geriau pažįstantys žino, kaip negailestingai pasičepsėdama sukramtau visus tuos prislopintu balsu, dvasingais veidais bylojančius mediumus ir jų lekuojančius klientus.

Niekaip daug nesiteisinsiu, bet tada, matyt, baisiai reikėjo ramento ir aš leidau sau diskretiškai “pabandyti”.

Mes gyvenam ant kalno – kaip princesės, sakau jai kaskart, žingsniuojant namo. 

Jeigu leisčiausi vedama aplinkybių, dabar būtų tas pats etapas kaip tada – pasitinkant ir išlydint lėktuvus, imant taksoną iš vieno deito į kitą ir ramiu veidu pažindinant tarpusavyje meilužius.

Pasisiūlymų ežeras. Sėdim su Budėtoju sumerkę į jį kojas per karščius ant Susilaikymo liepto ir stebim, kiek daug bulšito aplink.

Paskutines keturias dienas varau tiek, kad jau šiandien profesionalūs berniukai, tampę paskutiniuosius mano baldus, išvažiuodami palinkėjo sėkmės olimpiadoje. Vienas jų net nenusijuokė, kai pasakiau, kad lovą būčiau susimontavusi pati, bet sunkoka (čia kas matė mano lovą, tas supras).

Tai štai, kur dingsta visas žmonių laikas – darbe! Kol dar nesu inertiška, pastebiu tą keistą disproporciją – o gal tai paradoksas? – dauguma žmonių daugiausiai laiko skiria pareigai, o ne žmonėms, su kuriais norisi būti. Kita vertus, gal dėl to tik labiau ir norisi po darbo skubėti pas Piją į darželį?

Su Direktore jau bendraujam на Ты. Darbe retai kada šitaip darau, nes man labai svarbi distancija. Bet kai kurie žmonės be didelių pastangų mažina mano baimę prisileisti. Ne vonią vandens, bet visus juos.

Vis drąsiau imu sau leisti jausmus, tad gal ir neatsitiktinumas, jog Mano Mylimo Poeto žodžiai, kuriuos vakar girdėjau lygiai po metų, pralaužė vieną kitą užtvanką. Tiek, kad kaimynė, iš pradžių davusi servetėlę, paskui paliko visą jų pakelį. 

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ovfz0AbTeo&feature=related

Pabaigos be pabaigos yra kenksmingos.

Užtruko daug metų, bet bent jau to turning up uninvited man nebenutinka. Karūna vietoj.

Visa kita pasimetę kažkur tarp eilučių, gerų manierų ir guodžiančios patirties: this, too, shall pass.

Neseniai pažiūrėjau Sorrentino filmą “Le conseguenze dell’amore”. Lyg ir geras, lyg ir ieškojau esmės per smarkiai ar per giliai.

(Nepagalvokit, aš gilus žmogus, bet ne iki šlykštumo. Kai sakau, kad labai gilinuosi į filmus, tai tiesiog instinktas, išsivystantis po gausybės jų peržiūrėjimo, kai pradedi ieškoti visokių atspalvių ir posluoksnių. Turbūt kaip išdarinėdamas vištą – whatever that is.)

Kai jau nutariau, kad nieko nesupratau, Jis pasakė: “Tiesiog filmas apie tai, kas nutinka įsimylėjus”.

Šiandien aš galvoju apie skausmo pasekmes. Banalaus fizinio skausmo.

Ar jums kada nors ką nors smarkiai skaudėjo?

Ar jums niekada nekilo noras atsikratyti piršto? Į galvą iš karto lenda bibliniai palyginimai, o aš kalbu tiesiogine prasme.

Turbūt reiktų pradėti nuo anksčiau. Nuo labai seniai, kai nutariau, jog visas ligas galiu išsigydyti pati. Taip ir darydavau. Ne iš puikybės, žinoma, bet iš didelio nusižeminimo. Liga kaip apvalymas, kaip vaistas, kaip… pirštas? Haha. Tas Dievo.

Apie tą nutikimą ilgai kaupiuosi rašyti – kai kuriems dalykams tiesiog turi ateiti žodžiai.

Paprastai ryte išėjusi su Pija iš namų pastatau ją ant šaligatvio, liepiu niekur neiti, atsidarau mašinos duris, užvedu, kad pašiltų, ir įsodinu Piją į jos autokėdutę.

Tą rytą ant šaligatvio buvo kalnas kieto sniego, todėl pastačiau Piją už mašinos gatvėje (“Tik niekur neik!”) ir nuėjau užvesti variklio. Sukant raktą šmėstelėjo, kad 2,5 metų vaikas gal nebūtinai klauso kiekvieno paliepimo ir kad reikėjo įsodinti ją pirmiau…

Ir tada aš atsisukau.

Sutikau ją po to, kai atradau tuos keistus aktus. Tada ji jau buvo nupjautomis krūtimis ir neplanavo dėtis implantų. Neįprastu būdu, rengdama parodas su savo pakitusio kūno fotografijomis, ji lyg ir kreipė dėmesį į vėžiu sergančias moteris, į gyvenimą po išlikimo.

Ne tik tai.

Danijoje nemažai tokių vietų, kur pasijaučiu it nykštukų šalyje ir po valandos kitos imu galvoti: o kurgi tikras pasaulis ir kaip į jį pakliūti?

Na, bent jau galima padaryti nuotraukų 🙂 

Jeigu kas mesteltų mane dvylika metų atgal, padaryčiau tai, ką padariau šiandien. Nestočiau į Šiaulių universitetą ir nestudinčiau to, ką puikiausiai mokėjau dar mokykloje (anglų kalbos). Gal nebūčiau stojusi niekur, padariusi study gap’ą? O gal būčiau pagalvojusi, ko iš tiesų noriu, kas man teikia malonumo, į ką noriu gilintis, o ne kurioje aukštosios mokyklos specialybėje išplauksiu su savo siaubinga natūra – вечно перспективная…

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4cyNK3BW7Q&feature=related

Jei kurčiau filmą, jis būtų veik be siužeto, bet būtinai su šiuo garso takeliu.

Šiandien pertraukiau savo niekuo neišsiskiriančią dieną susitikimu. Sena draugė, panašus ego dydis, trijų metų pauzė po didelio konflikto. Šiandien jau žinau: niekas čia nekaltas ir visi mes teisūs, bet pasimatyti buvo išties malonu.

Jau atrandu, kokios skirtingos yra laimės rūšys.

Kažko sukilo nostalgija Tailandui. O dar Mrs. Nielsen feisbuke senas fotkes su Moet’ais poustina…

Matyt, ne Tailandui – tai mano Kelionių Demonas kyla su rudeniu ir mano akimis ieško…

Kažko kito.

Režisierius pakilo nuo stalo su žodžiais „A va, jau atėjo.“

Atsisukau neiškart. Buvo smarkiai sulysęs, dar tamsesniu veidu, tik prakaulus jis atrodė ypač tolimas visiems susirinkusiems. Nuo vyno įraudę, nuo vartojimo patenkinti tų kitų žandai. O jis ką. Jis Poetas. Mano Mylimas Poetas. Visas pajuodęs ir anapusinis.

Balsas buvo kažkaip pasikeitęs. Aukštesnis, berniūkštiškas, kartais pajuokiantis, nors man, glosčiusiai tekstą akimis be garso, norėjosi daugiau intonacinio dramatizmo.

Skaitė, o viskas jau buvo girdėta. Kai ką, rodės, net mokėjau atmintinai – nors netiesa, neskaičiau jo daug. Tiesa, saugau visas knygas – su dedikacijomis, noriu pažymėti. Retai ištraukiu iš lentynos, nes jos – kaip įsikūnijęs švininis klausimas: „O tu dar rašai?“

Jo poezija yra tikra. Ji yra patyrimas. Todėl, kad ribinis. Kaip vaikas. Egoistiškas. Bet iki galo. Aš net nesvajoju turėti tiek drąsos. Na, bent tokį aš jį pažinau. Tai buvo seniai.

Nedrįsau prieiti. Žinojau, kad nepažins. Viskas, ką galėjau pasakyti, buvo taip nereikšminga ir mandagu.

Priėjau. Buvo draugų. Bardas.

Ar ne keista, kaip skiriasi artumas. Su vienais žmonėmis jis toks apčiuopiamas, bet įsimena ne tiek ilgai palyginus su idėjiniu, neišpildytu artumu.

Net Bardas nepažino. Tai geras ženklas – kad pasikeičiau nuo tų laikų, kai mano pravardė bohemščikų tarpe buvo Ledas. Atrodo, aš savotiškai net derėjau prie jų kompanijos. Kaip frykas, iš kurio nesitikėtumei raidžių pažinimo. Man atrodo, jiems buvo taip nuoširdžiai keista ir smagu, kad jas pažinau.

Pasakiau, kad noriu padėkoti.

Kai kas nori tau padėkoti, pasakė Bardas su jau šiek tiek šelmišku šypsniu. Nebe tiek mandagiu.

„Noriu padėkoti už skaitymą. Buvo tikrai labai gera Tave girdėti.“ Ką kita pasakysi… Juk tai ir yra tiesa. Velniop išieškotus dialogus.

Jis padėkojo. Nepažino, nesuprato.

„Linkėjimai Tau nuo Odaliskos“, paglosčiau petį. Nenorėjau šito sakyti, bet yra žmonių, kurie manęs niekaip kitaip ir nepažino.

„ČIA TU?“

Jam patiko mano eilėraščiai proza. Jis mėgo juos labiau nei mano surimuotus, suskaičiuotus, pasistengtus. Gal vieną tokį ir turiu. Lyg ir nesunku suskaičiuoti, bet niekad nenorėjau. Norėjau būti šiek tiek netvarkinga. Netaisyklinga. Todėl nesimokiau, neprašiau, kad kažkas mano kūrybą redaguotų, papildytų arba gražintų. Mano Mylimas Poetas kartą sakė, kad nesu gimusi būti mokine. Ir gerai – niekas man juk nepasakys, kaip tai daroma, kad ir kas tai būtų. Galiu eiti tik apgraibomis. Man kūryba visada buvo ėjimas apgraibomis, tas bejėgiškumas, apsinuoginimas, visiškas savitumas. Neskubrus odos nusilupimas ir leidimas čiupinėti gyvą mėsą.

Ir vienatvė. Nešiojimas, brandinimas, rašymas-braukymas ir paskui tas netikėtas vakaras, kai viskas sugula į žodžius, o kūną krečia neįprastas drebulys.

Pasiilgau to. Bet gyvenu su sąmoningu pasirinkimu nebūti viena, save išdalinti po smulkų buitišką gabalėlį kasdien mainais į sveiką psichiką, nevienatvę, normalų šeiminį gyvenimą.

Gal kažkas moka – aš negebu su šeima susieti rašymo kaip ieškojimo, užsidarymo, to vilkiško ratų sukimo aplink save, kad išspausčiau eilutę, kurią paskui subraukysiu ir suksiu ratus aplink kitą.

„O tu dar rašai?“

Bandžiau pasakyti kažką tikro, bet gal pernelyg jaudinausi. Be to, buvo žmonių.

„Nėra laiko, ar ne?“ Paklausė taip nepakeliamai mandagiai, taip lyg ne manęs, lyg ne peroksidinės blondinės netikru įdegiu.

Siaubas, kaip mandagiai. Kokie keisti gyvenime pasirinkimai ir kokios keistos jų kainos.

„Nėra laiko.“

O juk iš tiesų. Viskas yra pasirinkimas. Prarasti tėvus, draugus, sugyventinius dėl to, kas tik tau vienam labai asmeniškai svarbu – ir drąsa, ir vis dėlto ne mano pasirinkimas. Sakau taip, nes mane visada jaudino tas atvirumo, apsinuoginimo klausimas: nuoširdi, patirtinė kūryba vienintelė nuginkluoja. Ta fantazinė – jau kitas lygis, bet pradžia, kaip kažkas sakė, savos patirties išprakaitavimas – aš to bijau.

Žinau, kad pasaulis nuo vienos bereikalingos knygos-bandymo bus išvaduotas. Argi ne puiku?

Kartais, labai retai, ir vis rečiau – atsikabina kažkoks kabliukas, prasiveria durys ir vyksta tai, ką tik stebiu. Manyje. Tai, ką tik seku, o ne kuriu.

Kol kalbėjomės, laikiau Piją ant rankų. Nepamenu, kaip atsisveikinom. Man buvo truputį liūdna, kad esu taip toli nuo jų.

Tiesa, jeigu Pijos nebūtų, o aš vis dar siautėčiau Namuose Be Sienų, kas žino, ar būčiau arčiau. Kas žino, ar būčiau.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=murYvyEzpUM

Ši daina man primena tas valandas, kai jie mylisi melancholiškai, jau ilgėdamiesi vienas kito; jie neieško žodžių tam pasakyti, bet jaučia, kad pirmo akių kontakto karštis slopsta, pirmo prisilietimo magija sklaidosi. Tai liūdnas išėjimas iš nuostabios ir vertingos būsenos “čia ir dabar” – tai gal vienintelis prasmingas šalutinis įsimylėjimo poveikis.

Yra toks netyčiuko tipas. Tikiu, visi esame jų sutikę: gan talentingi, bet šokiruojančiai nepakantūs kritikai. Jų nevisavertiškumo kompleksas išsiverčia tokiu nachališkumu, su kuriuo net jei galėtum, tiesiog neleistum sau konkuruoti – na, bet jau aš mikliai pasijaučiu above it.

Esu sutikusi kelis tokius žmones.

Turiu vienintelį patikrintą stiprų prietarą: kaip sutiksi Naujus, taip ir praleisi. Todėl, jau nepirmąkart juos pasitikdama ekspromtu, visgi stengiuosi atlikti kelis svarbius darbus, kaip antai:

Neįtikėtina, kaip per kelis metus žmogus gali pasikeisti. Aišku, jeigu nutinka reikšmingų dalykų, tai lyg ir suprantama, bet vis tiek.

Neseniai gatvėje pakliuvau į tokią iki kraujo pažįstamą situaciją, kai du bičai šalia kalbasi apie mane – na, ne taip garsiai, kad girdėčiau 120%, bet kokiais 98% tai tikrai 🙂 Iš serijos, “Man labai patinka šita moteris”.

Buvau pakviesta į du Coffee Inn atidarymus ir po to lankiausi juose lygiai tiek pat kartų. Na, neskaitant dar poros sykių “Panoramos” knygyne su šeima. Žinau, kad vieta populiari, kad nuolat apgulta (nebe mano amžiaus grupės) progresyvios publikos… Bet man vienai ten nedrąsu lankytis dėl tos pačios priežasties kaip ir makdonalduose: aš nežinau, kaip elgtis, kai reikia kažką padaryti pačiai. Pavyzdžiui, į latę įsidėti cukraus ar kitų priedų, dar susirasti tą pagaliuką ir pamaišyti, užmauti ant induko dangtelį…

Nežinau, kodėl man taip sunku.

Rašiau priešpaskutinę dieną Bankoke. Paskui, maniau, ištryniau. Et voila – dabar atsiranda tai, ką rašiau svajodama apie šiandien. Laikas toks susipynęs…

***

Trečias kartas Bankoke per pastaruosius 2,5 metų. Guliu viešbučio lovoje, geriu chemikalinę rūgščią kavą, šeima su kompanija Kinų kvartale ieško aukso (tiesiogine prasme – draugai nutarė Tailande įsigyti vestuvinius žiedus).

Grįžtam. Esu laiminga ir įkvėpta, ir optimistiška (retai nutinka). Išsiilgusi.

Kai kas mano, jog grįžimas – pripažinimas, kad padarėme klaidą išvykdami. Ne, grįžtam ne dėl to.

Teisingai Jis pasakė: mes jau nebekeliaujame. Mes emigravome.

Tai faktas, kurio nebuvau įsisąmoninusi. O juk iš tiesų visi tie depresonai – tipinės emigrantų problemiūkštės.

Atskirtumo jausmas man sunkiausias. Pasiilgau draugų ir pažįstamų. Atrodo, grįžusi užatakuosiu kvietimais kavos ir nekavos. Vis flashback’inu, kaip neišnaudojau galimybės juos užatakuoti, kai gyvenome ten. Tipiška 🙂

Kultūriniai skirtumai – bene didžiausią verbalinės diarėjos pliūpsnį iššaukiantis momentėlis. Net nežinau, nuo ko pradėti.

Vienas pirmiausiai ir dažniau nei kitur pasaulyje į akis krentančių ypatumų yra kathoey. Tai transvestitai, transseksualai, vadinama trečioji lytis. Kai tik atvažiavome, jų sutinkame nuolat ir dažnai. Mane labiausiai nustebino tai, jog mažuose miestukuose, nedidelėse bendruomenėse, kurios paprastai būna konservatyvios ir prietaringos visur (think Lietuvos kaimas), tokių žmonių matėme ir aptarnaujančių kavinių staliukus, ir besisukiojančių viešbučių registracijose, ir nuomojančių būstą. Galvoju, kaip čia yra. Neišvengiamai mąstau savo dėžutėje. Lietuvoje, ypač provincialiose vietovėse, sudarančiose didžiumą šalies teritorijos, visokius gėjus mezgėjus “suėda”, nebent jie vienokiu ar kitokiu būdu sugeba įsipaišyti bendruomenėje ir sulaukia atlaidaus “tiek to, priimsim, kol nesišakoji” požiūrio. Įprastesnė reakcija – “kątublegaidy“.

Backstreet Books aptikau nemažą psichologinės literatūros skyrių. Be daugybės Freudo ir Jungo veikalų buvo ir mažiau žinomų autorių. Išsirinkau ryškiai geltoną self-helpo knygą raudonu pavadinimu “Happier: Can You Learn to Be Happy?”. Autorius – Tal Ben-Shahar. Nieko apie jį nesu girdėjusi, bet pasiėmiau. Pasitikėjimą sukėlė įvadas, teigiantis, jog tai populiariausio Harvardo kurso dėstytojo knyga. Pirmaisiais metais pozityviosios psichologijos paskaitą (nes tai pozityviosios psichologijos knyga) lankė 6 studentai. Antraisiais metais užsirašė 380, o trečiaisiais – 855, kurie ėmė į paskaitas vestis savo tėvus ir senelius. Netrukus pasirodė ir žiniasklaida.

Don Muang oro uostas. Tykus, lyginant su Suvarnabhumi, aptarnaujantis daugiausia vidinius skrydžius. 7.30 am, beje, ir jau po pusryčių.

Naktelė – viena košmariškiausių, mat kelionė iš Koh Phangan prasidėjo vakar 1 pm – plaukėme keltu į vietovę savitu pavadinimu Chumporn. Tiesa, nebe katamaranu. Per tas kelias valandas Pija įgijo kokias tris tailandietes aukles ir mano vaizduotėje jau iškilo nuostabi vizija, kaip aš jas visas ir nusisamdau.

O jau paskui autobusiukas iki Bankoko. Sakote, Lenkijoje prasti keliai? Tikriausiai nebuvote Tailande?

Daug galvoju. Per dieną galvoje persipina daugybė įvairiausių minčių – tai kaip alternatyvus gyvenimas išoriniam.

Skaitau knygas. Čia, Thongsala miestuke, aptikau visą Roald Dahl kolekciją!  Pasiėmiau porą knygų ir gailiuosi, kad jos ne po 1000 puslapių.

Kartais atsitinka įdomus dalykas:

Ką tik baigėme giminų lankymo turą po Lietuvą. Užsidėjome didelį pliusą ir dabar jau reikia suskubti ruoštis. Man staiga nebeatrodo, kad yra daug laiko iki kelionės. Deja, rytoj vietoje pasiilgtų draugų lankymo Kaune teks kraustyti daiktus…

Regis, visi esminiai klausimai išspręsti: baldams sandėlis yra, mašina išnuomota, vaikui darželis surastas, kremai nuo saulės nupirkti. Beliko prieš pat kelionę daiktus šast, šast į juodus plastikinius maišus.

Išvykstame kovo 22 dieną. Laiko visai nedaug, bet man kažkodėl visa atrodo taaaip toli…

Ir kaip mes sugalvojome kraustytis į tą Tailandą?

Įdomus dalykas. Beveik niekada nebūnu viena, bet giliai viduje, ten, kur niekas nemato, yra tokia pilkoji zona, kur esu tik aš ir niekada nieko kito nebus. Ta pilkoji zona nebe fizinė, kaip anksčiau, kaip tais sekmadienio rytais Namuose Be Sienų, kai po savaitgalio žygių ištisą dieną nepratardavau nė žodžio, mat nebuvo kam, ir perskaitydavau kokią neploną knygą. Kaip tais vakarais, ruošiantis iš namų su lūkesčiu, kad gal pagaliau nebebūsiu tokia viena, kažkas atsitiks ir mano būtis taps lyg ir kažkieno kito. Nieko neatsitikdavo. Na, bent jau nieko naujo.

Šviesinu plaukus. Man patinka. Jausmas, lyg grįžinėčiau į smagius senus laikus, tik be kraštutinumų. Dar niekad nebuvau šatenė 🙂

Matyt, kraustomės į centrą.

Atsitiktinai pavarčiau “Psichologiją TAU” ir aptikau straipsnelį apie darbuotojų motyvavimą, įmonės politiką, kuo vadovai gali paskatinti komandą arba, atvirkščiai, kas priverčia darbuotojus nuleisti rankas ir kelti sparnus. Žodžiu, vienas iš daugelio rašliavų apie karjerą, bla bla.

Mano dėmesį patraukė kitkas: šalia visų teksto punktelių buvo iliustruojančios fotografijos.

Yra poetinės dedikacijos ir šimtai surūkytų cigarečių.

Yra fatališkos traukos ir dramatiški nesuderinamumai.

Yra bandymai ir pergalės.

Yra linksmieji kalneliai ir dūžiai galva į sieną.

Yra pamokos ir yra “niekada daugiau”.

Dabar gi atrandu paprastus dalykus:

Guliu lovoje su gana keista kompanija. Šalia miega Pija, ant paklodės pūpso arbatos puodas, iš kurio beveik niekada negeriu, ir TYLA.

Tai, kas vyksta pastarąsias savaites, galima įvardyti kaip rutiną: pasikartojanti dienotvarkė su laiko pastumdymais. Tačiau kuo daugiau rutinos, tuo daugiau povandeninių srovių. Kuo mažiau vyksta išorėje, tuo daugiau vyksta viduje. Galvoju apie jogus, kurie metams užsikasa po žeme. Na, gerai, kad ir apie tuos, kurie užsidaro kalnų trobelėse. Galvoju apie Hesės valtininką.

Šiandien mane papiktino vienas straipsnis. Jame diskutuojama, kiek pėdkelnių pasirinkimas nusako moters vidinę kultūrą, įgimtą laiko bei vietos pojūtį ir gebėjimą korektiška išvaizda žongliruoti protokolinėse situacijose. Aš puikiai suprantu, kad egzistuoja karališkieji priėmimai, biuro aplinka ir Seimas, bet tokie “išmanėlių” tekstukai man dvelkia bandymu įprasminti stambius ir itin brangiai kainuojančius tomus, sukaltus apie protokolą, apie tai, kas, kada ir kaip galima.

Staiga mane sugavo mintis: ar tik aš netampu per daug normali? Tokia stabili, skaitanti knygas apie vaikų seksualumą, besivilianti būti geresne motina, jau dabar esanti labiau nei bet kada nuspėjama, o visas neatsakingumas – tai keli šimtai litų, palikti “Kristianoje” už mažyčius buteliukus; daugiau jokių žaidimų degtukais, jokių lenktynių ir nuo slydimo apsibraižiusių stiklo kalnų.

Ar aš to bent jau nepamiršiu? Nes jeigu nepamiršiu, tai vis tiek matysis – kažkaip neapčiuopiamai, bet jeigu pašnekovas pagaulus… Man atrodo, kad jeigu vieną dieną tapsiu visiškai normali, nebeliks manęs pačios. Ir viso to nemalonumo, dėl kurio kažkada buvo verta mane sutikti.

Kai su juo permiegodavau, jausdavausi neištikima viso pasaulio vyrams – ir tiems, kuriems tikrai buvau neištikima, ir tiems, kurių dar nebuvau spėjusi pasimatuoti. Mano svarbiausi ilgalaikiai nesantykiai buvo su vyru, apie kurį nieko daug nežinojau, o jis nepažinojo manęs.

Mes miegojome su fantazija apie vienas kitą. Dabar, kai tai seniai baigta (kas baigta?), aš elgiuosi kaip dama. Bet tai viskas, ką galiu. Sapnų nesuplėšysiu, vaizduotės neišsiperuosiu.

Baisiausia, žinoma, ilgėtis ne jo paklodžių. Galios.

Mano Mylimas Jis čia stipriausias – dar niekas nekėlė man tokios pagarbos, kad nebegrįžčiau pas Genijų. Mano Mylimas Jis atliko neįveikiamą darbą – įtikino, kad riba tarp tikrovės ir fantazijos egzistuoja, ir dėl Jo aš likau tikrovės pusėje.

Taip, tai pagarba. Bet meilė… Meilė nėra kryptis. Tikrai ne vienpusė kryptis.

Ką tik supratau, jog neatsitiktinai laukiuosi vaiko dabar, kai man 27-eri.

Šiandien perskaičiau vieną iš daugelio pastaruoju metu mirgančių straipsnelių apie vyrų ir moterų priklausomybę nuo sekso.

http://www.lrytas.lt/-12251706601223878407-p1-sveikata-desperati%C5%A1ka-priklausomyb%C4%97-nuo-sekso-ne-vien-vyr%C5%B3-liga.htm

Panašu, kad turime dar vieną madingą sutrikimą.

Aš girdžiu, kaip pro mane slenka laikas. Esu iš žmonių kategorijos, kurie jautrūs garsams. Ir negaliu ignoruoti.

Vkr sapnavau sapną: baigiau versti knygą, maluosi kažkur su žmonėmis visa tokia graži, išsipuošusi, kažkokia atskilusi nuo visos aplinkos lyg iš kitos planetos ir nežinia, ar viena suvokianti, kad tai tik regimybė… O viduje toks stiklinis  jausmas, kad aš dabar nutrūkau, pakilau į orą, manęs “prie žemės netraukia” joks darbas, o ateitis nelb aiški, ir tik laiko klausimas, kada aplinkiniai tai supras, perkąs mane ir mano apsimestinė (taip pat prieš save pačią) ramybė, savikontrolė ir stabilumas sprogs ore kaip ir pinigai, kurie dar liko.

Šnd aš baigiau versti knygą. Mane kankina nemiga.

Nuostabu: žiūriu pro langą ir džiūgauju. Nežinau, ar Jūs pastebėjote, bet yra toks laikas metuose, kai apsimetus, jog gimei prieš valandą, ir pamiršus, ką žinai, sunku pasakyti, ar šiuo metu ruduo, ar pavasaris. Nes šilta, bet ne karšta; šiek tiek vėsu, bet nežinia – vėsta ar tiesiog nespėjo įšilti. Jei galvoji, kad pavasaris, tai užkutena tas naujumo, šviesos pažadas, o jei įsivaizduoji, kad ruduo, apima susimąstymas ir žiemos gylio nuojauta.

Šiąnakt susapnavau, kad mylėjausi su mergina. Kadangi, savaime suprantama, niekas nenori detalių, pasakysiu, jog man buvo labai gerai, užtat ji neparodė anei menkiausios reakcijos.

Geroji naujiena: mečiau darbą – jau seniai niekuo taip nesidžiaugiau. Db esu ne kokia fakin suvargus techninių tekstų stenėtoja, o faina ir kūrybiška (grožinių) knygų vertėja. Triskart valio!

(Tik reikia kibti į tą knygą, kol leidėjas nekibo man į plaukus…)

Kas dar?

Maksima yra ryklys ir tas seniai aišku. Bet taip pat ir kiaulės. Įdomus variantas, bet apie viską iš eilės.

Vėl tas baisus jausmas, kad viską jau sužinojau, niekas nepasikeis, nieko įdomaus ir pažadinančio nebeatsitiks, o man iki užuolaidos liko 10 žingsnių. Praskleisiu – ir siena.

Šiandien suskaičiavau, kas man atsitiko per metus.

Išsitiesiu visu ūgiu ant grindų; norisi padaryti kažką neįprasto. Dabar jos beveik juodos. Aš viena.

Šiandien buvau Bare.

Vkr apėmė apokaliptinės nuotaikos.

Sėdžiu ant sofos ir inkščiu. Kaip db patiktų tailandietiškos rankos… Turiu galvoj pėdų masažą. Kojas maudžia iki kelių. Nepaisant to, diena buvo gera, nors ir 6dienis, o kėlėmės paryčiais – 8 am 🙁

Manęs neatpažįsta žmonės iš praeito gyvenimo. Tai baigia mane įtikinti, jog nieko ir nebuvo.

Kai manęs paklausia, apie ką yra koks nors filmas, visada pirmiausia išvardinu, kas tame filme vaidina. Nežinau, kodėl. Galbūt man įdomesni žmonės nei tai, ką jie veikia? Hm… Iš tiesų gal tik filmų atveju. Tik kai esu stebėtoja.

Tai štai, atsisveikinau su savo Draugeliu. Pabuvom drauge kiek ilgiau nei metus, o dabar jis iškeliavo į Daniją.

Niekada negalvojau, kad būti ištikima taip lengva. Na, kad galima to norėti. Ir kad toks nerealus grįžtamasis efektas.

Esu gyvenimo kryžkelėj. Norėčiau nepaminėti, kad kelis metus joje stoviu, bet tokia tiesa.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWwoEwpUcvo&feature=related

Ką tik suvokiau naują – savo – prasmę to, apie ką ji dainuoja!

Šiandien pagalvojau: ir kodėl aš suku galvą dėl to, kad mane vadina fifa?

“Nežinau, ar kraustausi iš proto, ar pagaliau grįžtu į jį. Gyvenimas, gatvė ir aš pati virtome teatru, į kurį gali žiūrėti, kas tik nori. Išlaisvinantis ir pavojingas jausmas. Viskas veda į tai, kad kurią nors dieną tikrai išeisiu į gatvę nuoga. Tik dabar pradedu iš tiesų kurti. Kūryba yra nuogumas ir laisvė”.

***

Rašiau tai beveik prieš pat reabilitaciją.

Senčos puodelio dugnas primena žolių priaugusį ežerą, kurio dugne nėra akmenų, pėdos maloniai smenga į šviesų smėlį, o vandens kvapas asocijuojasi su maloniais, bet nepažįstamais, todėl šiokią tokią baimę keliančiais dalykais.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRfcIFbGi2Y

Toks lietus galėtų kristi Ispanijos provincijoje, tuščioj Varšuvos aikštėj ar Šilutės rajone. Visur vienodas.

Yra tokia istorija apie aguonas. Galbūt kažkam ji pasirodys įdomi.

Kai perdavė jai ragelį, mano balsas iškart sušvelnėjo.

Kartą man Buvęs Vyras pasakė: “Su savo močiute kalbi taip, lyg kalbėtum su savo vaiku. Tu būsi gera motina”.

Iškart supratau, kad ji pasikeitusi.

Yra žmonių, kurie norėtų viską pamiršti. Visas savo patirtis.

Tada gulėjau ligoninėj. Tris dienas neleido valgyti, gerti. Dalia suvilgydavo vatos tamponą ir perbraukdavo lūpas. Prašydavau dar ir dar, kad bent keli lašai to vandens nutekėtų gerkle, o ji sakydavo: negalima. Keli lašai, ir tik ant lūpų. Tokie vėsūs ir, deja, greit nudžiūstantys.

Myliu sesę, mamą, tėtį, močiutę.

Ir dar kelis kitus. Juos noriu pasiimti į kitą gyvenimą.

Seniai seniai esu skaičiusi gerą tekstą. Įsiminė viena frazė: “Labai sunku atpažinti kelią, kuriuo turi eiti, ir žmones, kuriuos kažkada galbūt žadėjai pasiimti drauge”.