Tuesday, 26 May 2015

I want it all. And I want it now!

Whenever we arrive to the conclusion that there is only one thing missing that hinders our happiness, panic sets in. Looking through the holes in our neighbour's fence, we realize that the piece missing from our puzzle is the neighbour's stunning display. And bang! Over the roof goes our desire to obtain as soon as possible what we see in the display. But the exact replica. Or, to be modest, it wouldn't hurt if we obtain a better replica (so as to take revenge for the hole in the fence).
In a nutshell, a piece will always be missing from our puzzle. I have everything, but I don't have kids. I have everything, but I haven't found my match. I have everything, but I don't have a job. I have everything, but I don't have enough money to go on trips. I have everything, but ... And what if we could juggle with this sentence?! I don't have kids, but I have everything else. haven't found my match, but I have everything else. I don't have a job, but I have everything else. I don't have enough money to go on trips, but I have everything else. I don't have ..., but I have everything else.
It's though keeping calm when your inner self is a child that squirms on the floor, hysterically crying over a lollipop that is in the hands of another kid. A responsible parent would never grab the lollipop from the kids' hands and hand it to her/ his hysterical kid, squirming on the floor. It's a matter of principle.

Tuesday, 19 May 2015

Furdui Iancu is everywhere

It's easy to lose yourself while walking through the streets of Tyumen. The cherry plums are in bloom, and the smell accompanies one from one corner of the street to the other, having one sole rival - music. Small speakers throne high from the poles, murmuring sweet arias. What can be more enchanting than to walk under blooming trees, listening to Frank Sinatra?!
Yesterday, though, a change occurred. I was waiting for the extraordinary transformation of red into green, at the crossroads, when a deep voice interrupted my daydream. For a short moment, I thought that it was a song sang in Romanian. The singer's voice was similar to the one of Furdui Iancu's; the same vibrant sound and, I imagined, the same facial expressions. Who is Furdui Iancu? Well, I'll tell you what's written in my registry - my mother's favorite folk music singer. Probably this explanation doesn't do much for you, does it?! Inevitably, I arrive to a conclusion - every country has its own Furdui Iancu.

Monday, 4 May 2015

The Three Jolly Tiddlekins by Vlad Mușatescu

Today marks 93 years since the day Vlad Mușatescu was born. I couldn’t let this day pass by without celebrating his memory. I have learned that experiences turn into memories and they are the most precious asset we’ll ever have. Dear master, I want to thank you for all the smiles your books have given me! Each and every one of us can be the character of a comedy, we just have to stop taking ourselves so seriously. I smile therefore I evoke you.
Excerpt from Chapter I
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Finally, after killing, in cold blod, the last of the mosquitos flying around my flat, after unwillingly listening to the noise of trams, buses and all other means of transport making their morning rounds, I was waiting for the Sandman to come. My eyes were focused on the screen of the clock, just to make sure that the Sandman arrives on time. And he did. Around nine thirty.
Just one tiny detail, it wasn’t him. Somebody else was knocking at the door. And doing it with such force and obstinance that I thought for a moment that the building would fall down. As a matter of fact, had this person use the doorbell, I would have been more satisfied. Because it was out of order. To be exact, it was so from the moment that my aunt Ralitza forced her finger into the place were the button was missing.
              ’Who is it? ’ I asked in a sweet voice, even though I was boiling on the inside.
                ’Well, who do you think it could be? It’s me, Ralitza, your aunt! I have been yelling since seven o’clock, and you don’t hear me... ’
Of course, I urgently invited her in. I was afraid the neighbours would lynch me. Extremely intrigued, I immediately asked her:
 ’I don’t get it, aunt Ralitza! If you have been here since seven o’clock, why haven’t you knock at the door, instead of yelling? ’
My aunt squinted at me, and then explained:
’Al, sonny, it’s not human what is happening with you, and neither with this building you are living in... At what door was I supposed to knock since I was stuck in the elevator? I was blocked between floors, and just five minutes ago I could get out...’
Jiggered by what I was hearing, I asked aunt Ralitza to excuse me for a moment, until I got dressed. When she, benevolently, agreed and gave me a piece of advice:
’Listen Al, sonny, it would be perfect if we went into the kitchen after you got dressed... Due to so much excitement, I could even eat expanded concrete.’
’All right! We’ll do that... And what is your heart’s desire?’
’Well, nothing complicated; just something to eat... Some sandwiches, let’s say five of them, with cheese or bacon, and a glass of water...’
’Don’t you think it’s a little too much? Maybe you should keep a diet, like I am...’
’Mhm! You might be right. Then I’ll have the sandwiches, without the glass of water!...’
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