Who Am I?

Did you ever ask yourself this question? And more - Who am I? What defines me? What is my role in this world? Did I fulfill it?

When we are young we don't question ourselves like this. When we are young, we have dreams and aspirations and we think life is just this straight highway, no bumps, no crossroads no should I turn left or right? But life is not that simple, life has ups and downs and dangerous curves and crossroads and accidents and stop and go back. Stuff like that. And somewhere along the road, we begin doubting ourselves. Am I on the right track? Did I take the right decision? When I look in the mirror, do I see the person I wanted, I dreamt to see?

Oh, when I was young, I had so many dreams, small ones and big ones and I was so naive. I thought that if I wish something hard enough it is going to become real. And I wished and I fought for my dreams for a long time. At one moment, I thought I had it, that even it was so hard and so difficult I could do it, I could see it to the end. But, at least for me, it wasn't meant to be. 

Then, again, after a while, I thought I found the answer, one more dream to fulfill. And again. It ended. Heartbreakingly. How many times did I fall and rise again? I don't recall exactly. Many times. Did I learn anything from past experiences? 

I was a laborer, a student, a journalist. A writer. A mother. A wife. A teacher.

Small victories, big fuck-ups. Many tears, deception. Sometimes, sunny times and then a huge storm.

So, what do I see when I look into a mirror? Am I the person I imagined myself to be? I am not sure. I don't think so. Maybe I am too critical of myself. Maybe this is the best I could ever be. 

Or maybe, who knows, I have one more dream in me...

 Living in the Past

As the title says, I find myself lately musing about the past. 

It all started when I had a discussion with my husband about the summer camps of our childhood in communist Romania. I remembered so clearly and vividly my first summer camp in Navodari, at the Black Sea, as if it was yesterday...And then, the memories just kept coming...and coming. Am I really getting old? As my husband says, I can't remember what I did yesterday, but I remember clearly what I did on the 1st of September 1972...well, I exaggerate, but you get the gist of it. The truth is, I am glad I am (still ) able to remember so many things. 

The memories of living in communist Romania are the most powerful, now. Maybe because they were triggered by the God awful summer camp in Navodari. I searched the net about that period and I was surprised to find very little information. As if that period didn't really exist, or that it had to be erased from the collective memory. I looked, for example, for my former high school, the infamous Industrial Nr. 6 and I didn't find anything. Not even a picture. I mean, why do we want to forget about those times? I think that if we will forget them we will definitely repeat the mistakes we made then. 

What I found speaks more about nostalgic times like we all lived happily in a commune where, yes, it was difficult to live but all we got by...And it is not true at all. The communist years in Romania were bad, bad times. And with the rise of Ceausescu, we got it even worse. No food, no liberty, no heating, long hours without electricity, the Securitate watching us all the time...You tell me, what was good about that. Maybe the fact we were young and detached from our parents' daily struggles. 

One of my friends said "We had dreams back then". True, I agree. We had. But we were also naive and ignorant of the true reality. I read somewhere that we were living in a jar with a lid on top. We knew only what we were told. And when all the newspapers and tv programs were censored, we weren't told much. Ignorance is bliss, right? Just it wasn't like that. We wouldn't have listened to Radio Europa Liber - Free Europe if we were Ok with the situation.

Just my thoughts, really.

And I'm off to the past. I have some memories to sort through.

 For me, writing is life. Writing is breathing. Writing is waking up in the morning. Putting one foot in front of the other. Surviving. Since I remember I used to cope with life by putting it on paper. Words helped me through some very dark periods of my life.

So, I'll carry on writing.

I don't know if anybody draws anything out from my ramblings, and, in a sense, I don't think I care. Not anymore. Sorry, I don't. I used to. It was like, oh my God, I am writing and people are going to read it and oh my God what are doing to say? Are they going to be interested at all in what I am writing?

Maybe it is the journalist in me, always writing with a purpose in mind, like making the world a better place. Kafkian, I know, and oh so pointless.

So, I'll be here, writing away. 

If you want to be part of this, I don't know, journey, circus, whatever, you are welcome.

If not, that's Ok , too.

Me? I have to write in order to survive.

 

If you love poetry and even if you don't but you are a bit curious now, please visit 

https://wherethewordsdwell.blogspot.com/

come back ,and tell me what you think.

 

What about us lefties?

In communist Romania I wasn't allowed to write with my left hand. They tied it back during lessons because I kept changing hands while writing or drawing. It was hell. At calligraphy my marks were the lowest in my entire career as a student because my hand writing was atrocious. It took me a long time to be able to write eligibly. At family dinners my relatives were displeased because I was eating with my left hand. It wasn't "acceptable". I couldn't play the guitar properly because guitars were for right handed people. 

I was good at sports though. Fencing, mainly and volleyball, too. Being different was an advantage, even if it wasn't in line with the communist party ideology - we were all supposed to be the same. 

I have forgotten about this up until today, after buying (on-line, my only excuse) a very sweet mug. I like quirky mugs, I have lots of them. But, surprise, surprise! I won't be able to drink from it. Because it was made for right-handed people! Only for them. You can see it in the picture. I am bit disappointed, to be honest. I didn't think when I bought it, though. I am going to gift it to my husband and maybe ask Next (it was their on-line shop I got it from) a question or two.

Where have all the nice people gone?

When we moved in this neighborhood some 22 years ago, it was such a quiet and nice place. Most of the people living here were older than us and in general quiet ones. With one tiny exception. The couple that lived above us. But that's another story and I'm not sure I want to tell it because they're dead now. 

With the passing of time, more and more people died and their family or children sold or rent their places. And the nice street became a noisy one, with late, very late parties, music and shouting and whatnot. Almost every week, a different party, event, whatever. If during holidays I say, ok, people don't work, they have fun, what about the rest of the year? Don't they work? Don't their children go to school? Why, tell me why do people feel the need to have very loud parties, outside if possible, with karaoke and DJ? Until late at night or very early in the morning? You cannot go and tell them anything because they won't listen, they don't care. That's the best scenario. The worst one is they beat you up or slash the tires of your car.

What can I do? I'll go and listen to my audiobook or stuff my ears with earplugs and try to read. Because now, with all the racket outside, I cannot hear myself thinking.

Rant over. Thank you for listening.

I'll resume my usual posts tomorrow.

 Ah, About Me...

(part one)

I am sure you all want to know what really happened to me, what did I do all these years...Well, I have to disappoint you, because I didn't do much. On a personal level, that is. I grew old and (maybe) that made me wiser, or maybe not, maybe I am still that naive and gullible person I was. The main difference, is, as I say, that I am Ok with it. I think. Maybe.

Nevertheless, I have to tell you, there had been some tumultuous years...My main focal point was, of course, my daughter, what else? I remember I stopped blogging when she was six. It was like a premonition of things to come, because if we had a difficult time in kindergarten, well, school was a lot, a lot worse. Those first years were a nightmare, Maya had troubles adjusting to school, she was way too advanced in everything to be able to fit in. Fortunately, in third grade she had a great teacher that saw the potential in her and also she was accepted in a program for gifted kids. It was truly a Godsend. She continued with the program until sixth grade. After that she took exams and continued studying in a class for gifted pupils where she stayed until she finished high school. It wasn't easy, but is was rewarding and one the best things that came out of it is the friends that she acquired along the way, kids like her, special. She studied at Weismann Institute for Science in a program, for two years, then another program, Nir School for the Heart, she took swimming and fencing, she was a happy kid even though life was tough for her sometimes. And I was there for her. Every step of the way. I was there when kids bullied her, when she had difficulties coping with stupid teachers and stupid subjects and stupid rules. I was there while she grew up and I made sure that she didn't loose that beautiful smile of hers. I taught her about life and people and I always, always listened to her and we tried to make sense of this crazy world together. And yes, it was hard and frustrating and time consuming and I lost myself so many times, but , in a sense, she was my anchor, too. I would get lost and then I would return to her. My port. My home. My everything.   

A Hopeful Easter...

 

I had an entirely different post planned for today, but then I remembered...God, today is Easter! As you may know, or if you don't I'm telling you now, I  am Christian. And for me, keeping my faith and its holidays is very important...But gosh, with what is happening today in my life, I forgot about Easter...shame on me, yeah...

Well, what can I say...I have reasons... apart from the war that has got me suffering from terrible insomnia and anxiety, my husband's disease has made its grand return and it's back with a vengeance... so, at the moment I have difficulties thinking straight...It is the third relapse and until we know exactly what it is and what can be done my head is a carousel of ideas and bad thoughts...

So, yep, I forgot...In the end I managed to dye a few eggs because there is no Easter without dyed eggs but I am going to leave you with one of my posts from the 15th of April 2012...same vibe, in a sense...

"Memories of Easters Past

As here in Israel today is a working, normal day, after I took Maya to the kindy (and I regret it now, I should’ve keep her at home with me, maybe I would've felt better), I ate alone my Easter brunch and remembered the ones from my childhood – the only nice memories that I have about holidays. I recall our Easter breakfasts, our small kitchen and us, the four kids, around it, and the table heavy with food: dyed eggs, ham, spring onions, radishes, Romanian ricotta – "urda", the best ricotta there is, and "kash" – hard, unsalted cheese made from sheep’s milk and the home-made bread with a thick, crunchy crust. And the lunches, even better, sorrel soup with lamb and rice, stuffed lamb with new potatoes and lettuce. Then, the pound cakes, sweet and filled with nuts and sugar... 

After I grew up and left home Easter was never the same and now I’ve lost hope that it would ever be.

My husband, desperate to see me so sad and depressed every major Christian holiday keeps asking me what would really made me happy…And the truth is, I don’t know… I am aware that I cannot move back time and re-live the good times. I am stuck here, in limbo, between the past that haunts me and the present that doesn’t suit me at all.

But, enough of this, today is Easter and I going to wait until Maya gets home from the kindy and then we'll clink and knock Easter eggs until their shells break and we'll say "Christos a Inviat" - "Christ has risen" and I'm sure Maya will want to draw a picture of us...And we'll invent our own traditions, because I want Maya to have happy childhood memories too..."

That is, really...I have some red eggs and no food on the table this Easter, but I have to remain hopeful that, the same as Christ has risen this day, we will rise from our own misfortunes...Yes, it is one of my most miserable Easters ever, but I have to keep going, for my family's sake, as I have been doing for some time now.

 As I said in my previous post, I am not here to reminiscence about the past. If you want to know what I've been up to between approximately 2009-2012 you won't need to read all the posts I'd written then, because I gathered them and I hope soon I'll have them nice and cozy in a book.

I am here now because, as it did then, I feel I need the words to help me. Because, in a sense, things didn't change. I am still alone here. The difference is now I am used to it to this loneliness, I accepted it as a part of myself... 

A lot of things have happened between 2012 and the present day...For one, my daughter is all grown up now, almost 20 years old !!! My son left Israel some years ago and we don't really keep in touch. It breaks my heart over and over again, but I can't do anything about it, just pray that someday he'll find what he is looking for...

My marriage is still holding on, my husband is now retired. Unfortunately, he has a chronic condition that returns every five or so years since 2013 so we had our good times and our not so good ones. Covid, ah, Covid was a bad bad one, it hook its claws into my husband and we almost lost him. Fortunately, God and a very good doctor and an experimental treatment brought him back from the brink of the precipice.

That is, in short, about my family.

About me...well, you'll have to come back because in my next post I am going to tell you all about it. Well, not "all" all, but some.

A Return, Not to the Past

It is said that spring is a time of renewal, of new beginnings…

So, here I am, my long-lost and newly found friends, finding myself on this page, again, after such a long time…

I left the blogosphere almost 14 years ago because… I don’t know exactly, I guess life simply interfered. So many things happened at once and somewhere along the way I got lost. I couldn’t find the strength or the motivation to keep writing.

And then, one day, I felt it - the call. Don’t ask me how or why …I opened my blog and started reading my old posts, and a wave of nostalgia hit me straight in the chest, in my soul. So many memories…

I recognized myself in some of the posts and not so much in others. I’ve changed, in a way and I’ve also stayed the same…Does it make sense?

I’ve been gathering those old blog posts in a book, as a way to relive those years and maybe understand myself better - maybe understand who I became because of who I was. It is almost finished. When it’s done, I’ll close those chapters and put them aside. For me to revisit, maybe. For you, if you wish, to see who I was.

And now I am here. Again.

Me -who got lost somewhere in this jungle we call life, and found my way back. To myself.

The person who I am today, built on the foundation of who I was then, some 17 years ago…