Category Archives: Writings
I wanted to try blackout poetry, because well, I’m unemployed, bored and lonely. And because it would be an interesting to do, let’s not forget this point. But I had trouble finding some text to inspire me. I chose a fragment from Jane’s Austen Pride and Prejudice, but to be honest, I’m not happy with it, mostly because the verbs are very rare in this fragment. Written language has more nouns than verbs, in comparison with spoken language that has more verbs than nouns. Well, this was only my first attempt.
Happiness soon forgotten,
the effort should have been read.
Freedom, I demand,
Feelings, I demand.”
Yesterday I read all my writings on this blog. The distinct writings. They are my little children. I still feel myself so close to them. In school, no teacher ever read my writings, and I remember that I participated at an English school contest and wrote a beautiful, deep, complicated essay(as I could write in 2 hours) and my English teacher couldn’t understand a thing.
I realized there’s one writing I haven’t yet put on this blog. So I translated it and here it is:
Our future, a limited-budget movie
He was quietly sitting in front of me, in front of the showcase where our possible future was to be found. He was looking up at me, seemingly being afraid of my reaction, when my reaction was being delayed so much. And I was looking at the future on view in the showcase; I was looking at him, at the future, at him…
And our future seemed rather happy there. I do not know if it was just faking it in order to convince the possible buyers, who we were, to hurry with their decision, or if it really was full of sunny days, of laughs without ends, of warm hugs in cold winter days. Our possible future was a small TV in that showcase, showing a funny movie about our life.
I was familiar with our past. We met on an island where laugh happened every two minutes, being a phenomenon so we knew so well. On a bench where kisses felt like home. Under a sky where the warmth of a hug could overtake the sun’s. And the light… the light was love.
What about the future? The movie was also showing sadness, bitter tears on warm lips, and a diffuse light, among reconciliatory smiles, among hands that clump harder and harder… A rather normal future, taking in consideration that people accepted the truth: happiness does not exist anymore. Some years ago it was endangered, but scientists preferred using the funds for inventing a TV with images one hundred times clearer, which can also film (you can film a scandal right on your own couch, without the protagonists knowing, and then sell the tape for much money to a TV channel, for the delight of the whole country), and of course, bringing other benefices to the human race.
And I still stay in front of the showcase. I am not watching the movie anymore, I started to look through the TV and I am thinking. A past picture of us, on the screen, attracted my attention. The two of us at the seaside. How easy the things were then. I knew the future was coming rapidly, I knew things would get hard, and still, the seaside was only three months ago.
„Our future-, I decided to think seriously about this, – is in English, because we talk different languages. Our future is a question mark for people who have no idea what and how is our love. Close-minded people, people who would not even try to get to know us, to watch the movie of our past with a neutral eye, without making faces, from the beginning till the end. Our future as young people will be sad because of the country we both live in. A country which tries to seem rich, but which is actually hungry. A country in which our child would live surrounded by the idea that prostitution is legal and so, perfectly normal. A country where you go to school, you spend twelve years in it, learning the majority of things you already know alone, in the last grade you are told : „Study so you will pass your exams, to go to college, to become somebody.” And you study, you have nice marks, you consider yourself done and you can almost see yourself in college, and afterwards you are told you will still have to pay college. A beautiful sum, like your marks. And then you ask yourself why you not got a place in the hostel, with your beautiful marks. Because the others, the majority, has paid for it, and you want to remain a decent person. In a world full of trash. After some years you graduate from college. You tell yourself: “Ah, now I have to be done with it.” And you cannot find a job.”
-My dear, how are we going to live?
He continues to look up on me, his back turned at that blamed TV, at the showcase.
-My dear, I say again, our future does not look very good. But all I know is that mine looks even grayer without you, so I say we should buy it…
Because a brighter future is more expensive, and we do not have any money, we are young.
(Again, being mad at society who would rather “pay” for juicy gossip and scandals than for saving happiness. With A. I was talking in English, since he was Szekely (Hungarian) and I was Romanian. We were told all the time how our relationship could not last because we spoke different languages, and what language would we speak with our children? I was also mad with the fact that finishing high-school, after the exam I had an average of 9.45 (from 10), and I almost had to pay for college, because all the others had higher averages. I almost didn’t get a place in hostel. I was mad at the fact that we have to study 12 years + college and then we cannot find a job. But we are told we have to study, or else… )
I have that clear image of happiness, and if you have read my blog for a while, you already know this. In this post I explained it for the first time, by writing a little fragment from a writing of mine which after translated I could not understand anymore. It seems I’m even hard to be understood by myself, sometimes. No wonder. I remember deleting the translation, but today, while searching for some pictures I found a “New Word Document”and opened it up. It was the translation. I tried to adapt it and change it so it would be more understandable and less a translation. If you notice mistakes, be kind and pluck my sleeve.
Now, I would really like to explain it first, I’m afraid that my poor English will interfere with your understanding of my writing.
When I wrote this I was very unhappy with my friends, with the society I lived in (and still live but meanwhile I decided I will ignore some things). I hated how in my little town there are 2 clubs, one library missing a lots of books, one theatre, no cinema, a lot of pubs but no book club and so on. That wouldn’t have been that bad if the youth in my town still frequented the library in a larger number, and the theatre not only because they feel rich doing so (although the theatre is not the proof of wealth of the one who frequents it, they still feel rich going there, they don’t go for the culture, but to dress in a more special way, wear make-up and socialize). My friends back then were like this too. Clubs and drinks and expensive dresses. I was the only one reading in that group. And I still think it is very sad for a library to be less frequented than a club (a bad one too).
So I imagined myself in the 1800 period. Let’s say I just traveled in time. I was wearing my regular clothes, I wrote about my REAL passion of looking at asphalt, streets and houses and seeing the things they saw. I imagined a relationship breaking-up because the marriage wouldn’t have been a good deal for their families. I gave life to the house telling me this story.
I imagined the people being as superficial as today. Wigs, thin waists, little umbrellas for the sun. I imagined them laughing at me because I wasn’t like them. All I wanted for it to mean was how unaccepted I was feeling in both my reality and my imagining of the past.
Somehow when the horse scared me, I was already at the end of the city. I throw myself to the ground, I am the traveler in time who wakes up in the country side, in the same time period. I remember my image of happiness and I see that girl who makes me go up the hill. When the deer ran down the hill, I followed it. And that was happiness. Similar to what I believed it to be, but still different. In what I believed to be happiness there was no deer, no other girl, I was dressed in a simple dress, not in my modern clothes. Maybe what I tried to say by this is that … although the happiness we feel or receive is different from what we imagined it would be, it is still… HAPPINESS.
I wake up with a headache and realize that happiness was a dream. When the horse scared me I hit my head, and so… went instantly to sleep.
In the end, again, I felt I didn’t belong to the past nor the present. I could choose to imagine a past which didn’t accept me or a present which didn’t feel mine.
Read it, if you want. And tell me if it makes sense, or if I can explain more.
I don’t belong…/ The imagined time traveling by Miss Audrey
I would like to walk on a long street, with beautiful old buildings, telling me their stories about stupid wars, about secret loves, full of passion, about accidents. One of the buildings will tell me (with a tough voice) how in her time, the children were still children, not pure souls dressed as adults. Another building will tell me how once it was the witness of a break-up between a fine woman, from the good society (it seems back then “a good society” still existed) and a soldier who was having a leave. He was without fortune. The building tells me how the two characters only allowed it to listen because her windows were closed (oh, but the house looked anyway… through the keyhole!) After the break-up, smoke was exiting through its chimney – similar to what happens at Vatican when the new Pope is chosen, the house tells me, for telling the other buildings the delicious scene. “But I don’t believe in Religion, I’m not but a house”, the house tells me and closes its windows.
I would love to walk on an old asphalted street with the fabulous speed of 1 cm / minute, holding a huge magnifying glass in my hand. I would love to feel the asphalt, it’s not necessary for me to see there anything special, I will believe that I see because the asphalt is old, the women used to step there on every Saturday night on their way to the theatre, then Sunday evening on their way to the Opera. They had long dresses, tight – too tight at the waist but large below the waist, they had little umbrellas, so the sun wouldn’t burn them, lacquered shoes and white socks – it didn’t matter that white fattened, what it counted was that black attracted the sun, not that it would have made them look thinner. They were always holding hands with men, but only by those who they knew or the society would have had a wrong opinion about them.
I cannot find anything on the asphalt. I think, just fascinated, at the entire scene in my head when a car races in front of me and spatters me with mud: “Damn!” I know, it is not nice for a lady like me to talk like this, but a lady like me is also not looking good covered from head to toe in mud, and still…here I am.
And so I would like to take a walk on an old street, on its side there are old houses, older than me, so old I just can’t know how old. I am dressed in jeans and a chemise and I’m the discrepant thing here, in this city, in this country, I would not go as far as saying “this world”. Anyway, it could be said that I am too full of myself to be dressed so simply in comparison with these women who are struggling with the tight garments, because they want to align in their own beauty ideal. They feel good. They feel loved. But they are all the same. They all have curls, they all have dresses, and they all have the same kind of shoes. They all wear strident make up, they all have a man stuck on their arms.
But I am alone. Maybe I would be burned alive for my courage of not wearing much make up when going out. But it is not the Middle-Ages I imagine right now, so let’s return to our time period.
Some women laugh discreetly when seeing me. After I pass-by they gossip with their company. I can hear them but I do not really care. Maybe I am too willful to care. I DO NOT BELONG TO YOUR WORLD! I do not belong to my world… I do not have to be like you to feel good, mais merci, merci beaucoup Mesdemoiselles. Do you actually know what the music I listen, the books I read, the books which meant something for me; do you really know what these things that can make my day, my life brighter, mean? No. The things that exist in my world do not exist in yours. Probably you’re as ignorant, naive, in my world, as I am in yours. I chose to be.
I could simply listen to music, but the horses running make a sound which is special for me, special probably because it is too rare in my world. What is the price for a carriage? I have no money.
A horse gallops towards me and afraid, I throw myself on the pavement. I actually fell on something soft, I open my eyes and see it is grass, I realize that I exited somehow the city, not long ago, and the horse that sent me directly on the ground was coming from behind, with a carriage driven by an ugly man. “Damn it!”, I say again.
I lay on the grass. It is soft and somehow I feel like at the seaside, with the sun blinding me, entering my eyelids which are, it seems, not opaque enough. There is a feeling of peace, in the nature. It is quiet and it seems like the time stopped.
I have known since the time I was a child the image of happiness – for me, of course. There was I, running down a hill, in a hurry, with the wind blowing up my dress. In this image I had braids, like Heidi, and I was laughing. I never found it, this happiness…
But I stay on a hill, with trees behind me and I read an interesting book. I am alone. But why would you be less lonely between people that you don’t like– actually – who do not understand you – actually, than between the trees, between the insects. In the Universe. We are alone and still we are not. We are born alone and we die alone. The rest is optional.
A deer approaches me. Behind her there is a girl just a little younger than me. The deer lets me stroke her fur, so I stop reading. The girl’s eyes tell me to follow her. She has a beige dress, way more modest than the ones I have seen in the city not long ago. Her blond hair is braided beautifully and lies on her shoulders. We were climbing the hill for some minutes when her house appeared in my sight. The house was also modest, and close to it there was a stable. The deer though had other plans and started running down the hill, and I decided to run after it. I was dressed in my jeans, my chemise, and I ran laughing after the deer, the wind was blowing up my chemise. That is pure happiness.
I have a terrible headache. I open my eyes, I see the sunset. I do not know how much time has passed since I fell down the hill, since I practically fell on my head.
I am walking home; too much time has passed since I left the city. It is Saturday night and people are going to the theatre. Or to the club. It really just depends in which world I choose to live at the moment. I do not belong to any, so what is the difference?
As a very young child
I found moths disquieting
Passing themselves off as butterflies
Who simply preferred dark colours
But really being no more than insects
Not proper butterflies at all
No beautiful colours to disguise
Just bugs with wings, disgusting
My wings too are dark
So not many see me
As I move among them
Timidly, hiding my colours
I live in earthbound withdrawal
Here in the whispering shadows
Fly only while everyone is asleep
Hoping not to be discovered
I fear I would disgust them
If they got even a glimpse
They’d turn and run away
Because my wings are so dark
No, not many ever see me fly
Nor the way the wind, tender-hearted
Caresses my wings as I roam the night
Delicate as a leaf on the breeze
Not many see how I play with the air
Nor how she teases me in her turn
Or how the flowers invite me
To alight a moment on their petals
I am simply an insect, yes
But with so many bright colours to share
And I love to fly too through the night
Even though my wings may be dark
And the others are insects too
But not all of them are the flying kind.
I’ve lost my future
While I was desperately searching for my past.
I wanted so badly to find it again
That I forgot my future was waiting for me,
Worried about my delay.
He left me for a person who had the courage
to watch it in the eyes and live it.
Has anyone seen my future,
Colored in red, black and white,
Brightened, sometimes darkened,
Straight or sinuous,
Smiling and sometimes crying?
Can anyone help me find it?
I was 16 and worried about my future. What strange childhood and teenage years Miss Audrey had!