Tag Archives: life
The most handsome man is the man you love.
She has a blog in Romanian, and some people shared her link on Facebook. And she’s naive. Well. Oh, well. She inspired me, at least. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I don’t write here for “fame” or likes on Facebook, but to be honest, when you have a little ego and you know you deserve more… Or you think you deserve more.
Basically, she was describing how a handsome, beautiful man would look like. How the most handsome man doesn’t have long eyelashes and doesn’t necessarily have a great body (…whatever that means), he doesn’t have blue eyes, but, BUUUT, what it matters is how he touches you with a smile, a look.
Oh, I’m in a foul mood to translate more, it’s late and I’m tired. But in her opinion, the most handsome man KNOWS when to pick up his woman (you know, if she’s down), and when to “throw her in the skies”*….
Before the conclusion, she wrote, and this I will translate, so I can make my point later in this post :
“The most beautiful man does not curse, does not spit, does not hurt, does not raise his hand to the woman when claims to love her (here she meant does not hit her) , does not blame anybody else when wrong, does not cheat and keeps the silence”.
About this, I would like to say… Wake up, this is the real world. Men and women make mistakes, men and women regret, men spit, women spit, I sometimes scream and I sometimes curse, mostly when I hit my little toe …auch!
This is not a fairy tale. You won’t find some prince charming, and let’s say you will… he won’t be an angel. If he was, you would be bored ….
And this idolization of men… Does she have the impression that men don’t… you know, go to the bathroom? Stink sometimes? Have mucus? And so on?
We’re people. We’re almost the same.
Her conclusion: “He is the most handsome man because because he doesn’t need too much to be the most handsome man”.
My conclusion : You want him to not curse, not hit, not cheat, give flowers, hold hands, pick you up, throw you in the skies, be your best friend, not run and not hide, be loving, be calm, respect you, talk much but know when to shut up, make you laugh, be modest but ambitious, love life but not risk it, be calm but have a gram of craziness.
OK, see…that’s too many. You ask for too much.
The perfect, the most handsome man is the man YOU love.
I know this now, I’ve lived with E. for 10 months. And apart from throwing me in the skies, which OH MY GOD, he doesn’t do all the time, and that bit about risking his life, he is fucking perfect! (note that curse word, it was intentional. I’m sooo ugly)
Well, in her vision. Because in my opinion even ugliness can make a person beautiful. Even defects can make a person gorgeous. And the mistakes…that’s what makes people unique.
As I was saying, 10 months of living with him, I’ve seen him unshaved, I’ve smelled his breath in the morning, I know it doesn’t smell like roses, and I’ve been unfortunate enough to must go in the bathroom after he was there… And he almost always eats the last piece of something I want!
And after all these, I can say I love him more. He’s mine, and I’m his.
The most handsome man is the man you love…
I’m proud to be in my longest and most serious relationship ever,
Happy Anniversary E.! 1 year and 10 months!
I couldn’t have done it without you! (Really!)
(OH, and sorry for typing so close to your head, hope you can sleep)
*At first I wrote “throw her up”….and I chuckled. Hihi.
I was searching for an inspirational photo on pinterest. As I told you before, I think, sometimes when I’m not inspired, I get inspired by browsing on this site… which is really very interesting.
But I was searching, and reading all this ‘inspirational’ texts, and today they just didn’t inspire me in that way. Maybe I’m “uninspirable” today (that would SO make sense in my language, but yeah, I know it’s not a word in English. No matter, today I invented a new word. ha!)
So I’m ‘uninspirable’ today. I browse and browse and they sound fake to me. And I wonder… what era are we living in? We search for texts written by others to make us happy, to give us strength, to make us brave, we feel they were written specially for us, or anyway, that we’re living exactly what they say there. But they’re quite general. What era are we living in, when we have to search for photos and little texts, to make us feel better?
There are little texts there about losing weight, there are texts about breaking up, studying….
Today I’m not happy. I’m not sad, either. It’s a bit in between, like the weather outside, clouds and a glittering sun.
I know I’m a hypocrite when it comes to this. It doesn’t mean I won’t search for them anymore, when the perfect mood for it, comes.
But not today… and after all… they didn’t inspire me in that way, but they still did inspire me…
We’re fighting a lot, nowadays. Because of money, because of friends, because I’m being bossy, because he doesn’t study for his exams, because of the lack of friends, because of me not doing things for him, because he doesn’t touch me the way I want to… and so on.
And saying “he doesn’t touch me the way I want to”, well, it is really not that obscene, as it could seem. There are some days, every month, and you probably can figure out what I mean, when he barely touches me. And I don’t mean sex, no. He barely hugs me, kisses me, he barely puts his hand on me, stroke my hair, or anything. Little things.
And we were laying in bed yesterday, and I started a discussion that culminated into a fight, of course.
“It’s not like I’m dirty, just because, well…”
It wasn’t that. When he was 14-15, playing outside, mostly with children younger than him, a friend of his who was only 11, climbed a tree. He fell. He fell into something. Something that went straight through his heart. And he died, in E’s arms.
“I don’t like blood”
I suppose, to witness something like that, at that age, to be full of your friend’s blood and to have to go to your friend’s parents to tell them their son is dead, that, I believe, can screw you up for good.
People have asked me why did I quit my job, after only 3 days of working. I know the answer so well.
I didn’t like my co-workers, a bunch of gossipers. Turn around, give them time to gossip.
I hated my boss. A woman who was always there, watching me work, a woman that reminded me of my grandmother. I’ve written about my grandmother before, but in short, she always made me feel stupid, I think she even called me stupid once, when I was little, I was always nervous around her. This boss has a short-temper too.
I hated the job. The idea of a receptionist is ok, but the idea of staying 24 hours on the job is exhausting. Not only the idea, the fact too. It’s true, after these 24 hours I would have 48 free, but the first day I was sleeping and the second one I would cry, knowing that the next day I would have to work…
My mind worked up something, I would feel sick, physically sick, when thinking of going there. I had an indigestion for a week and a half, although I was drinking only mint tea and eating bananas and toast…
I had to go through exams and uncomfortable situations, but it was never like this, never so bad.
The salary was very small for all these bad points. The only good thing was talking to strangers, foreigners, in English but tough luck, most foreigners don’t know English very well…
The bosses live in the hotel, a room vis-à-vis the reception. They had some friends from the USA over. Romanians who went living there a long time ago. I think they were the only people who cared about why I looked so tired, or if I’m ok. They asked me questions and were empathetic.
So people asked me why did I go to work there in the first place. Because before starting work there, I would go there to learn, a few hours everyday. Didn’t I see these bad things bad then?
I didn’t see, for example, how hard it is to work 24 with 48. I didn’t see how stupid the boss is, that she blames the receptionist for every thing that breaks down during her shift. I didn’t see these things.
But there were other signs. I just wanted so much to find a job, that I ignored them. I wanted to have a job because I hate the fact that I’m not bringing money in the house. I sometimes force myself to do things, when it’s hard for me, and this is the case as well. I forced myself.
And hearing of my quitting my job, what did E’s sister (with whom I had a nice friendship till now, at least in appearance) say?
That I’m reliant on E. I don’t know if this is the word, but anyway, it’s an ugly thing to say, and an ugly thing to think about someone.
Exactly what I wanted to avoid. It’s not like I go to manicure every day and spend his money, or go shopping everyday…
My father helps us as well financially.
It hurt. I know you can’t satisfy everyone, and I know she’s not right, but I still hate the fact that I don’t bring money home. I hate it that people could believe I just don’t like to work, when the conditions there were too rough for that salary.
I hate it that I tried, and… (I) didn’t work.
P.S. For me: Be super duper extra-nice with sugar on top with receptionists everywhere you go
August 10, 2013 Reality is always better than the dream, but why do we always chase after the dream?
I forgot all about him.
To rewind the action until the time when E. wasn’t yet in my life, even then, I did my best to forget about G., and it was a hard and unnatural thing to do. Forced.I had tried my best to forget about him because I realized he would never see me the way I used to see him.
The time spent with him was the most exciting in my life, but… that was not enough. I was a girl wanting to be loved, not just had fun with. And, when we were in a jazzy pub, filled with oldies feeling, I tried to ask him why wouldn’t we be…together. I couldn’t talk about US, so I asked in general, I think, about him and having girlfriends. But I am sure sure sure that he understood my subtlety. Instead he said he couldn’t think about love, right then, he had other things on his mind…
So I kept my mouth shut.
And 2 months later he got engaged to a charming woman, two times my size and 1,5 his. I’m mean now.
I met E., moved together, and 20 months later we’re still together. We even have a kitty. And I know I’m happy with him, but… it’s a mild happiness, less passionate than the days with G. Which is normal after all. I spend all my days with E., I spent some days with G. And I like to spend my free time with all the letters of the alphabet, tied down in a little book.
And I dreamed of him last night. Which reminded me of him in a hurting way. I dreamed I cheated on E. with him. It was so good, and so sad. So hurting but so happy. All these old wounds started hurting again, as I searched for his FB profile. Looked at his photos and smiled. With his fiancee. With his parents. Having fun. Smelling a rose.
And I’m happy with E. I know I made the right choice. I wonder why doesn’t my subconscious know that. …
It was a dream, and reality is always better than the dream