The Shadow of the Wind… Barcelona

June 10, 2017 at 1:39 pm (Uncategorized)


“This is a place of mystery, Daniel, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. I will tell you what my father told me, though. When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands. In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner.”


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Painting portraits with words:III

April 22, 2017 at 1:39 pm (Painting portraits with words)

He was inspiring in many ways. And that was not necessarily a good thing, but it was not bad either. Tall, attractive, with wavy-messy, wiry, thick hair, cut in a close enough to be fashionable, but not obvious Johnny Bravo haircut, had strange mustard eyes and beautiful full lips framed by a beard and mustache, he carefully completed his skinny look with an open smile and show of confidence. The confidence a man has when he knows he can have most women he wants and they have no clue until they realize it is already happening and they underestimated him.

He didn’t like it when told that he is skinny, but tried not to show this, or maybe he didn’t even realize it did show if you were looking for his reactions. He had cracks in his confidence so carefully built, translated in a need for validation in certain moments, like all the rest of us, only better managed. He was very interesting to study: his behaviour, the way he put thoughts into words, told stories and reacted. He did admit his confidence was nourished and his charm practiced, the fruits of lots of reading, psychology, analysing and interpreting gestures, body postures, words being said or words needed to be said by him and heard by women. A traveller, blogger, basketball enthusiast, relationship coach for women, good conversationalist, loving to experience the new and different in every day, or in every new person he met who he deemed was worthy of his time at that moment. He expressed himself best in English, but wrote advice in Turkish and used German in his day to day life.

He gave advice he sometimes didn’t take, but who doesn’t? Unlike the rest of us, he was amazed when proven he didn’t actually do as he preached. You knew he was charming you and that it was working like magic just as it was happening, making you smile inside and think: ok I will let you go on, I have no choice, I am too curious to see what you have next for me.

17883626_10155159431347510_2264517587648565090_nHe played with the tone of his voice, carefully choosing the right words, acting shy, switching to bold and crazy, telling weird stories of private fantasies put into practice, while using his hands to touch at the right moment, pulling away and drilling inside you with the way he looked at you. A game so entertaining you could not help but play and, in the end you had no regrets. His offer was all inclusive. He was the kind of person to become a pleasant memory and a great story to tell, passing through your life in less than 2 days but letting you discover, through him, a completely different side of yourself, so surprising, optimist, realist and free.

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You were like a wave Crushing down on me, drowning in our first kiss

February 1, 2017 at 7:42 pm (Uncategorized)


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Ganduri de om mare, joaca de copil

December 23, 2016 at 6:53 pm (Jurnal)

Sunt plini peretii de multumiri, urari, zambete, cadouri, brazi… oameni care isi etaleaza fericirea pe retelele de socializare care mai de care mai cu spor ca un cozonac mandru crescut.

Iar ei ii vine sa fredoneze Jingle Bells si sa inghita in sec lacrimi ce-i stau in gat. Nu are vreun motiv clasificat de DEX ca fiind serios.

Doare ciuda ca nu poate avea ceea ce isi doreste. Simplu si copilaresc ca o pustoaica asezata turceste, care trage cu ochiul la cadoul impachetat frumos sub brad si spera ca e un ponei… viu! Cam pe acolo este si ea.

Colac peste pupaza si-a amintit asa, de nicaieri, ca vine al 4lea Craciun fara tine. Si nu-i vine sa creada… 4 Craciunuri par o vesnicie. Parca mai ieri te-a pierdut. Si se gandeste ce ai crede acum daca ai vedea-o, scriind litere incetosate. Ai zice ca este o naroada da. Dar oare te-ai cruci? Te-ai mira? Ai fi dezamagit de ea si de ce a reusit sa faca si sa desfaca in sufletul si in mintea ei de cand nu mai esti? Ai vedea in ea acea alta persoana pe care ea si altii o vad, nu o cunosc si nu o inteleg uneori, care frustreaza si enerveaza cu incapatanarea de a nu face nimic? Ai mai fi oare mandru de ea?

Nu cred ca ai sti pentru ca nu ti-ar povesti. Dar ai vedea ca s-a schimbat. Ai rade tare, zgomotos si sacadat si ai intreba-o cand se marita, stiind foarte bine ca nu o va face, probabil, vreodata. Ati bea un ness sau o bere in bucatarie si ea ar fuma o tigara cu tine, din pachetul pe care tu i l-ai cumparat. Si s-ar simti bine.

Ii este atat de dor de tine si de ea atunci cand erai tu in viata ei.

Si acum esti, dar e atat de greu uneori sa se multumeasca cu o imagine, un gand, o vorba si o amintire, un zambet si un oftat din toti rarunchii.

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The Blue Night

December 18, 2016 at 11:30 am (Englezesti..., Jurnal)

Once in a while blue eyes see a falling star and wish for a change.


The wish is more exact to be specific but, let’s face it, details don’t matter since all imply a change of some sort. This is when The Blue Night happens, while blue eyes fall asleep and dream. If only they were awake they would see and understand, but Blue Nights reveal themselves only to those making the wish, and they are the ones compelled most to fall into a deep sleep exactly at that moment, the most sleepy people of all in this big wonderful world.

The waves take over the universe, washing away everything we know and trust to be real. Every star turns into a sun, burning with so much heat and a blinding desire to catch the moon, trying to impress her, to convince her that only they can make her shine, can make her warm and bring light into the darkness the moon surrounds herself with, like a protective, comfortable and familiar blanket. The waves wash over the moon, each bringing closer one sun at a time and taking it away, caressing the bright moon, making her shiver and feel like the queen of the night. This astronomic phenomenon affects every part of the moon’s universe.

The trees, surrounding the paths she takes on long night walks across endless memory lanes, reach higher, turn darker, trembling, waving in a concert of leaves, the music so sweet and charming. The moon gets lost in sounds, a concert of smiles, of tears, of longing or of anger, naming the road the trees are guarding.

Each road takes the moon on a hill, going high a steep lane or fast down the other side, like a roller-coaster. The hills turn blue, believe themselves to be waves, moving with fury towards the future, events the moon cannot foresee, into a darkness she will light in hopes of revealing things to come just before they happen, if she is lucky.

Each dear one the moon shines light on their nights lives in a tiny house the moon can visit, rushing away shades and turning the spotlight on. Some houses are always lit, others are surrounded by darkness, depending if the owner’s role in the moon’s life at that stage is important or not. The moon has many houses, some cozy and warm with soft beds and clean sheets, fire cackling in the fireplace. Then you have cold steel houses the moon rushes through, not necessarily friendly or hostile but helping build a foundation for a life of wishes. There are houses always in the dark, where the light will never come on again, but they can be lit up by the moon from time to time, washed over with sweet thoughts of memories from when they welcomed and hugged the moon through open windows and wide doors, making her feel loved and cherished.  These are some of the most precious houses the moon has, they helped her become who she is and always come in a pair of two.

And then there is the church. Always unique, it can take shapes and light up, appearing different to the moon as time goes on, hiding behind clouds, religiously drawing her close and pushing her away, singing songs of Gods and Angels, of Devils making promises not always kept. It is the church of the moon’s heart and it can make her crumble and fall apart or ride the crazy waves of feelings, washing away reason and logic, drowning her in a sea of madness. If only she can learn to swim.

Blue Night is always magical and magic is always true, but blue eyes sleep and cannot see their moon as she truly is. This is when the right sun catches up with the moon turning her into a star, showing her the right houses to keep in her village, the greenest trees, the sweetest paths, the hills worth climbing and the church meant to turn her into a true believer.

If blue eyes are truly lucky they can sometimes catch glimpses of The Blue Night in their dream, wake up in bland full day light and know that change and wishes are just stories for children and growing up means turning fairy tales books into journals of reality, written in black and white and greys.

Stop and make room for blue please, the wind will turn to waves and blow through pages like a storm rushing in a magical trip until you reach The End.

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Birthday Thoughts

September 25, 2016 at 8:53 am (Englezesti...)

  1. Does it matter how many people think of you on your birthday and wish you all the best? Or does the person and their exact thoughts matter more than the minute spent by most writing you a hasty “La multi ani!”?14463184_10154495417822510_5344258701254533265_n
  2. What should you do when what you get is less than what you wish for? Should you settle, smile and say “that’s ok”? Or should you say “fuck it”?
  3. I have a friend who made me smile with “London, baby!” thoughts and a magical invitation that still stands even if I, more or less, let it drift away from my “to do” list of things I never do. I will go.
  4. I have another dear friend who encourages me to write now and again and reminded me of this while wishing me the classics and saying my writing has a unique way of relating to men’s train of thoughts too.
  5. How cool is it when your birthday is followed by an earthquake?
  6. I arrived home with my tiny, classy, beautiful, personalized flower pot arrangement my best friend made for me, placed it on the table smiling and my eyes went to the flowers from last year, beautifully dried in their cute watering can. It reminded me of how much my soul changed in one year and made me hope it will change again just as much in this year to come until the next September.
  7. Do you know how it is to get a birthday hug so tight and close that it touches your soul, makes you warm and feel so completely loved?
  8. It’s that day of the year when, if you really think about it, it is just you, regardless of the number of people around you, closer or farther away, of wishes and gifts… all that can change in a blink of an eye from one year to another, but you will still be there to celebrate your birthday, alone or not.
  9. Your birthday is a gift to those people who got to know you in the past year and for whom you’ve changed a date in the calendar to mean something more, maybe for a short time, maybe forever.
  10. It’s the day when you get cake, blow candles and make a wish you know it’s not gonna come true.
  11. It’s the day when those who care take a moment to cherish your presence in their life and feel lucky.
  12. It’s the day when your mom feels proud, the day when you changed her life forever and you don’t even remember it, the most important one of all, the day when you were actually born. How cool would it be to go back in time and be a silent witness of the first 24 hours you breathed in this world?
  13. I realized I can count on the fingers from one hand the people I truly, honestly, deeply, uncontrollably care about from the bottom of my heart, people who can crush me in pain, willingly or not, if they did something wrong or something happened to them.
  14. Am I lucky? Am I blessed? Does it matter?
  15. It’s 24 hours that pass faster than any others.
  16. It’s the day when I got vouchers for things I can do whenever I want and my friends will be there to do as I say, when I say and I’m thinking… how many of you who wished me happy birthday would have the desire and the courage to give me a blank “I will make your wish come true if I can” voucher?
  17. It’s the day when I had 3 and 5 on my birthday cake and I wished I could get a glimpse of the day when I will blow the candles reversed, 5 and 3 together.
  18. It’s the birthday when my ID expired, 10 years had passed, the start date for a new Identity Card photo to accompany me for another 10 and another moment when I thought of how much I miss my father, when I wrote down his name on forms at the Police station.
  19. I had a strong Mojito and a wasabi hot dog.
  20. I thought of how, starting 2013, I look back on myself on my birthdays and find that I am very different each year, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Is there a moment in time when adulthood and life’s shitty jokes kick in and we start fooling ourselves that we are changing?
  21. I smiled a lot.
  22. I had people actually making a fool of themselves and singing me Happy Birthday. Nobody can be taken musically serious when singing that awful high note “La Multi ani!” song, right? It’s the effort that melts your heart though.
  23. I got 47 birthday wishes.

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Painting portraits with words:II

June 15, 2016 at 8:43 am (Painting portraits with words)

paulineasaurusdotcomHe is funny, tall and pretty, smart, educated, cultured and witty, in possession of one of the most beautiful blue eyes I have seen. He is young, selfish, blunt and stubborn.

Doesn’t believe in God, but has strong beliefs, especially since he says he is right most of the times. He’s got humor, can make you laugh and can laugh at himself if the joke on him is good. He is confident with an ego close to the 1.96 he looks down on you from – you being most of the people around him. He doesn’t like people much and one of his favorite words is idiot.

He is weird in a charming, interesting and very selfish way – his way or the highway. He has a passion for history and old times and a great talent at bombarding you with facts wrapped up as stories, told with an enthusiasm and assurance that can only captivate against your will. He is private and doesn’t talk about himself often. If asked to tell how his day went, he will give you the weather report. He is very comfortable with himself and own company, easily forgetting the world around exists, if captivated by something. In love with his country, can spend hours showing you its beauty and telling stories, but, at the same time, criticizing it in a very harsh way.

Loves Russia, Eastern Europe, rum chocolate, cocoa, sweets, naps, blue eyes, Wikipedia, history books, FC Barcelona, his family, summer, the Adriatic sea, old music, classical music, Lord of the Rings , Midsomer Murders, Only Fools & Horses and Seinfeld. He is obsessed with cleaning and would be very hard to live with, unless you like rules and being told how his notion of common sense dictates things should be. Can be annoying and difficult, knows it and doesn’t really care. He likes girls with thick lips, because thin lips are evil. He can be childish, but doesn’t like to be told he is. He has exact plans for his future, but doesn’t like to plan the immediate time, believes everything should be done in its time. Says he will do things, then doesn’t and gets annoyed when reminded of his own forgotten decisions. Says he is polite and doesn’t realize that only when it’s easy, doesn’t like accusations or to fight, but he will come back to an argument again and again if he considers some injustice has been done to his way of being. He will remember words, events and stories told by you, if he thinks they matter. He enjoys smart witty conversations on various topics, but needs you to be the driver until he decides it is worth it to use his precious words, which he can’t easily find. He likes to be in control.

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When the Love Letter is just a compliment…

May 21, 2016 at 8:11 am (Englezesti...)

13281714_10154144325057510_1587382998_n… the feeling is not shared. Nevertheless, a love letter is one of the greatest compliments you can receive. We should all be so lucky as to write one (on paper, try it!) and receive one:

“Dearest O,

Don’t know what happened to my heart, it was just here before, now it’s gone. I am in love with you, whether you deny it or not. I stood there for a while and you didn’t look back at me… when my heart wanted to stop you, by that time you were gone. I don’t know what kind of magic did the heart play, I think this is love. Oh! Time please stop, wait and tick backwards, cause I left myself somewhere else.

Your eyes are magic, your lips are roses, your hair is silk. I can’t concentrate in anything, whenever I want to do something I see only your face. You deny or what I love you.

Love is a gift given by the God without measure or price tag. Power is in believing, so give yourself a chance, cause you can climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest sea. All you want is the will to want it and a little esteem, so please keep the faith.

If you feel your dreams collapsing, your hopes getting lost. If the one you trusted betrayed you. Don’t get depressed. The winner is not the one who wins the battle, but the one who hides the pain behind a smile and moves on. Love is the answer that everyone seeks, love is the language that every heart speaks.

I love you, M”


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Painting portraits with words: I

May 15, 2016 at 3:47 pm (Painting portraits with words)


He is young, 1.95 tall and proud of it, with pleasant features, attractive, smart, educated, athletic and lonely. He plays professional volleyball and has a very structured life, mechanic as he puts it. An only child, dislikes the fact that he spends too much time alone, dearly wishes he had a brother and a best friend. Can’t relate easily with people around him, who, in his own words, are jealous of his looks and wits and that is not his fault.

Loves classical music, opera, Kant, Eastern Europe, Russia, Lord of the Rings, Only Fools & Horses, War and Peace, Psycho, The Godfather, the feeling of reading books on paper, history, social sciences, likes cherry pies. He hates selfish people, likes to be the best at what he does, hates losing more than he loves winning, hates spiders, studies psychology – the science of the soul, believes in destiny or fate and that everything is connected. He doesn’t like girls harassing him. He is a kind person. He doesn’t have a problem admitting someone is better than him at something.

Believes all humans have pretty much the same brain and mind, but different souls. He has strong beliefs and own rules, wakes up early every morning and doesn’t sleep during the day because it’s not healthy, just like alcohol, cigarettes and coffee are bad for you. He can’t decide if he believes in God, but strongly believes that you should live each day as if it was your last and he is fine with dying tomorrow.

Loves to travel and has seen many places by himself, because sometimes he needs to be away from people he knows. Says you can’t get bored if you let your imagination do the trick, observe people and cultures around you, just by sitting on a bench in a park in a foreign city. Has been to Saint Petersburg, Moscow, Barcelona, Rome, Istanbul, Vienna.

He can go along with a good joke, can even relax enough to make some very good ones himself, but sets limits and gets upset if too many jokes are on him. He has a hunger for communication and good conversations, but won’t intrude. He has a blunt honesty that can hurt, make you feel stupid or amused, depending on your IQ and confidence level. He is one of those interesting people you can get to know, if you are lucky enough.

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A dream

March 29, 2016 at 6:24 pm (Jurnal)

I dreamed of you last night. I woke up shortly before I had fallen asleep, looked at the time: it was 1 o’clock. And the dream came back to me. I was so sleepy I knew I will not remember much in the morning, only glimpses of a dream that woke me up, made me feel sad and bad. I think it was my brain telling me to let go while my heart was asleep and couldn’t react. We were in your house, I knew it was yours even if I couldn’t put two words together to describe how it looked; it was that feeling I was having that you belonged there, surrounded by people I couldn’t see, by family, part of your world and part of your universe, your future. I didn’t belong. It was like I was there, but somehow didn’t fit, envious of those around you I couldn’t see or describe but knew that they felt comfortable with their permanent place in your life. No room for me and I was not surprised, just sad and maybe a little angry. You held my hand and I felt strange, like we were rehearsing a closeness I so wished to feel but somehow knew it was forced and fake. I was looking at our hands touching, smiling, wishing it was real and natural, wondering if you took my hand or I took yours, wanting to feel joy from that feeling of closeness that somehow was out of reach for me, forbidden somehow. And then we were saying good bye without words. Distance and space was coming between us like a wall rising solid and cold, the mood was changing and there was no room for us in your world. You smiled at me and gave me a string of photos, joined together like the ones that come out of a photo booth. Black and white images of you and me, captures of moments of pure joy, memories on paper. We were smiling, natural, into each other, so captivated like the world was a void around us and we didn’t care. We were so beautiful I was amazed and speechless. Those photos took my breath away and while looking at them, I somehow felt they were not real, I didn’t remember those moments, us taking pictures, but I knew the feelings they were surfacing in me. You looked at me and said you hoped that they will remind me of you, of us, forever a beautiful memory. And your voice was telling me without words that you will never be mine again, that probably you never were and that, somehow, on some level, we were both sorry about that.

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