Sunday, December 23, 2007
Cea amara imi vorbeste despre uitare, o pot auzi de pe varful limbii.
Ciocolata cu lichior tine sa-mi amintesca despre cum viata trebuie traita ca o sarbatoare.
Bucatica patrata cu lamaie si ghimbir ma invata sa raman inocenta.
Migdalele scaldate in ciocolata cu lapte imi soptesc sa nu uit sa iubesc.
Patru bucatele de ciocolata pot spune mai multe decat un om intr-o viata...
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Poate ca nu am eu multe in comun cu domnul Cristian Tudor Popescu, dar filmele pe care le recomanda la TV imi plac la nebunie. Saptamana trecuta am vazut Orasul zeilor, un film brazilian care m-a uns la suflet. Sau pe retina. Ritmul in care evolua povestea era o samba fascinanta. Povestea unui baiat crescut intr-o mahala (daca se poate folosi termenul romanesc pentru realitatea braziliana) la marginea orasului Rio de Janeiro, intre hoti si traficanti de droguri, care nici macar atunci cand se straduieste, nu se poate deveni talhar. Si aceasta chiar este una din scenele ilare ale filmului, dar la fel ca povestea lui Bene, traficantul de treaba, ne face sa ne amintim de binele din oameni. In Orasul zeilor, toti au o poveste si toate povestile se leaga. Desi realitatea este una amara, in care “marunteii” fura si pana la urma ucid, chiar daca lumea aceasta este condusa de cate un imparat al mustelor, nu te poate lasa decat cu zambetul pe buze.
Pentru ca, dincolo de interpretarile mele literare (in genul liricului de a saptea), este un film bun. Mi-a placut faptul ca exista un narator si firul gandirii lui nu transpare artificialitate, pentru ca exista atatea jocuri cu imaginea incat uneori te simti la granita cu fotografia artistica, pentru ca se joaca cu stereotipuri si te face sa te rusinezi cand iti dai seama de propriile prejudecati, pentru ca o poveste aparent fragmentata e fluida si palpitanta, si mai ales pentru ca ii iubesc pe brazilieni si m-am simtit adusa din nou in mijlocul lor.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Ah, de ceva vreme ard sa povestesc despre Anais, Anais cea calda, intensa, eminamente feminina. De fapt, nu imi place in mod deosebit scrisul lui Anais Nin, si totusi imi place femeia pe care o deseneaza, careia ii da un miros, vise si pe care o trimite in lume sa greseasca… atat de femeieste, atat de putin sincera. Imi place gustul de sange andaluz pe care mi-l lasa lectura ei si mi se face atat de dor de Isabel Allende. Am cunoscut-o pe Anais Nin si pentru o vreme vreau sa-mi imbogatesc orele cu prezente feminine si randurile lor.
Zilele incep iarasi sa fie prea scurte. Mos Nicolae mi-a adus pace si un subiect pentru cercetare care m-a incurajat sa muncesc. Mi-am dat seama ca nu pot fi amuzanta decat in engleza. Si ca doar in engleza pot sa fiu subtila. In limba mea totul suna ca o confesiune. Fug de cuvinte sau le folosesc in exces, dar nu am invatat niciodata masura lor. Poate de aceea mi s-a spus ca scriu prost. Putinele mele mici fictiuni n-au avut nici o sansa. Tot ce pot spera deocamdata e sa-mi trezesc scanteia pentru cateva lucrari academice (si asta suna aiurea in romana). As vrea sa fac atat de multe intr-un timp pe care neputinta mea il scurteaza. Dorm prost si uit mult. Lucrez si petrec, dar nu la proiectele care-mi sunt dragi si nu cu oamenii pe care-i vreau aproape. Sunt treaza de 12 zile si singura alaturi de cineva. E de ras cum viata mea nu mai are savoare fara asemenea contradictii.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
E o zi lunga de tot care imi face cu ochiul sa o bag in pat. Mi-am petrecut ultimele ore luptandu-ma cu un vraf de chestionare si pot sa spun cu mandrie ca deja vad cifrele din spatele oamenilor. Un fel de “2, vorbesc 1, 3, 4 si 5, caut 1 cu studii cel putin 5 pentru 1 si eventual mai tarziu doi 3, unul 1 si unul 2…” E mult mai bine decat sa vezi oamenii din spatele cifrelor. Am cunoscut si eu cativa. Cel mai mult m-au durut intelectualii blocati in mediul rural, obligati sa lucreze ca paznici la muzeele pe care le-ar putea conduce sau sa accepte postul de magazioneri cand pot preda matematici superioare. Scoala nu este intotdeauna pasaportul spre mai mult. Citeam odata ca femeia cu cel mai mare IQ din lume este o bulgaroaica somera de ani de zile. Si totusi, eu inca mai cred ca exista oameni care fac scoala dintr-o sete ce nu se poate potoli altfel. Merg pe autobus cu studente care sunt inscrise la cursul ala grozav de mitologie generala, si nu stiu nici macar cand e trecut pe orar, desi cunosc mall-ul mai bine decat cel care i-a desenat harta. Eu nu cred ca acestia sunt studentii care ne-au ramas. Nu cei care stau cu zilele in biblioteca in sesiune si nu pun mana pe o carte buna intr-un an. Si mai ales nu cei care au auzit trei cuvinte pe care le-au cautat in dictionar si acum abuzeaza de ele. Sunt peste tot in jurul meu… dar eu cred in continuare ca studentimea romaneasca nu are ochiul mai mare decat creierul, asa ca strutul.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Scriu rar, si de cele mai multe ori asta se intampla de lene. Urcand spre vila aveam senzatia ca daca nu o sa scriu despre toate nebuniile care ma zgandareau o sa explodez. Dar nu am facut-o. Nu am facut-o pentru ca incerc sa fug pe cat posibil de o chestie care pentru mine e ca si amenintarea nucleara: atata timp cat ramane latenta, mentine razboiul rece rece si pericolul ca lumea mea sa sara in aer e redus. Chestia asta e sinceritatea. Treaba asta cu sinceritatea a stat bine in sertarul sau pana saptamana trecuta la o betie improvizata, cand m-a luat gura pe dinainte. Nu ma mai intreb multe lucruri, si de o buna bucata de vreme ma las dusa de val. Am avut noroc. Valul asta m-a dus in locuri pe care nici cea mai buna intentie a mea nu le-ar fi visat. Dar cuvantul a fost rostit, zeita invocata. Sa fiu sincera cu mine insami e de-a dreptul ciudat. Iar cu ceilalti… la ce bun? Sunt obosita. Nu stiu daca am puterea de a duce un razboi si apoi de a reconstrui. Joaca nu m-a antrenat destul pentru asta.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Din afara lucrurile se vad mai bine. Adica... romanii NU sunt mai prosti ca altii, ci doar mai modesti. Poate prostii nostri sunt mai prosti decat ai altora (adica, stai, asta e sigur), dar asta e alta poveste. Romania NU e murdara, avem atata loc curat incat altii vor sa-si exporte gunoiul la noi (vezi Napoli). Romania NU e saraca, sau cel putin refuz sa o vad asa atata timp cat o mahala din Brazilia e de doua ori cat Clujul. Daca ne raportam la medii mondiale, suntem intre aia tari. In loc sa-i lingem in fund pe toti si sa ne aplecam capul in fata tarilor (bogate), am putea sa privim macar o data la ceea ce avem: avem premii la Cannes, fete frumoase pe podiumurile din Milano, avem prime-balerine la Viena si scriitori premiati in Suedia, un relief de-i facem pe spanioli sa planga si o fauna cu care bagam Germania in buzunar, avem profesori ca nimeni altii si doctori care fac operatii in premiera mondiala cu aparatura de pe vremea lu peste, avem atat de multe si totusi vedem atat de putin.
Cand am fost in Galicia am mers la biroul de informatii turistice. Cand am spus ca sunt romanca, functionara s-a uitat la mine de parca aveam o boala contagioasa si a facut tot posibilul sa termine cat mai repede cu mine. Am fost complimentata pentru cat de bine vorbesc spaniola, dar cand mi-am mentionat nationalitatea, barbati in toata firea s-au retras de parca urma sa scot un cutit. Persoana cu care am impartit si painea si sarea timp de patru luni inca are prejudecati legate de toti romanii, iar cea mai buna recenzie pe care am primit-o a fost "Romania? How exotic!". Ce sa zic. Si dupa ce am umblat eu cu privirea in pamant si lacrimi in ochi si mi-am tot muscat buzele in ciuda, mi-am dat seama ca singura mi-o fac. Pot sa se uite la mine cum vor. Eu stiu cine sunt si de unde vin si nu am nevoie ca un spaniol autosuficient si care nu prea are mare merit pentru propriul nivel de trai sa ma faca sa-mi fie rusine de asta. La urma urmei, cei care au ajuns sa ma cunoasca au inceput sa ma iubesca asa si odata cu mine, sa fie interesati si in Romania. Am facut lobby, am spus povesti frumoase, am aratat poze si m-am laudat mult de atunci cu tara mea.
Nu o sa mancam cacatul altora numai pentru ca saracii nostri fura prin alte tari. Asa cum fura la ei au furat si la noi. Nici macar nu o sa-i stergem cu nasul la fund pentru ca le dau imigrantilor de lucru, la urma urmei au interesele lor s-o faca. Eu una nu le-as vinde nici hartie igienica, ca s-asa ei recicleaza la greu pentru ca nu mai au cu ce sa produca hartie. Romanul se descurca si in tufis, asa ca, dupa toate probabilitatile si legile evolutioniste, tot noi o sa populam Europa si peste cateva secole, pentru ca asa saraci, prosti si murdari, stim sa ne scoatem singuri din cacat.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Monday we went to Finisterre, a cape that used to be considered the end of the world. Tuesday, A Coruña. We had maps and all, so we tried to be as tourists as possible. The truth is I loved the port and the castle, but the parks and the old city were just a couple of streets with a nice name. Anyway, Torre de Hercules impressed me not because of the building, which was actually a normal lighthouse, but the fields of energy around there. They say there is a Celtic park around, well, we didn't find it, but I could feel why they would put megaliths there.
Wednesday, on the way back to Porto, we stopped in a village close to Viana do Castelo, with a wonderful beach. Viana do Castelo didn't have any castle, but we visited an impressive church on top of a mountain.
Now that I'm back home, I realise in a way my home went on this trip with me and it was on my left most of the time. My heart knows its way home.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The medical system in Portugal is getting to my nerves. The first contact with it was when I was happily enjoying an Indian teahouse and my neighbor called to tell me she was feeling very bad and that the doctor from school told her to go to some clinic she couldn't even find on the map. So we were looking for the clinic for about two hours and when we get there it was terrifying. First of all it was full and although you had to take a number, nobody respected the order (quite strange, since Portuguese stay in line for almost everything). The floors were dirty and the smell of medicine and disinfectant was overwhelming. It's true I was very hungry too and maybe that's why I felt so sick, lucky that while waiting I went to have diner (my first francesinha... mmm). Not that the waiting was not also long... and then the doctor said she has to go to another clinic because he doesn't have any equipment to make a proper consultation. The next days she was walking from one clinic to another, one evening she spent around six hours in the hospital's emergency room. And all for a stupid easy to treat infection.
But now it's my turn. Around the 20th of March I went to the emergency room of a hospital with severe abdominal pain. I had to wait to get registered (slow process... especially since my Portuguese is not perfect at all), then to speak to a nurse, then to the doctor, then to make some test, then to make an ultrasound, then again to speak to the doctor, then to wait for the exams of the test, then speak to the doctor again (who invited me to lunch the next day, thing that was more than shocking and offensive, but this is another story). The only thing they could say is that I should go to the clinic nearby my residence to speak to a doctor for further analysis. So I went to the clinic, they said I need an insurance number, because I have the right to free medical assistance and it's not worth to pay and use later my other insurance policy. So they called to another clinic. And I went to this other clinic to be told that I have to contact the medical insurance organism in my country to ask for my social security number. Luckily, my mother gave a chocolate to the right secretary and I got my number. And then I went back to the second clinic to get a consultation. It's not as easy as it seems. I waited one hour to get registered. Then I spoke to the nurse, the nurse spoke to the doctor to approve a consultation, then I got a number, then I saw the doctor, then she told me... guess what? That I have to go to a private clinic for more tests. So I went downstairs to speak to a secretary to get the address of a such clinic and I went that day to make an appointment... the closest they could get me in was 3rd of May. Well, I didn't give up. Today I found another clinic and made an appointment for tomorrow. Not that I don't still have pain almost every night. After that I will go back to the clinic and go through the whole two-hours registration and consultation dance. But hey, when I started to make my papers for Erasmus, I got trained for this... I'm going from one office to another since October. So long live bureaucracy! I don't have to fight the system. I've already adapted to it.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Today I woke up with a lot of energy and a surprising will to write my paper for the semiotics and literature course. So I was writing about Barthes in a paper where he was not actually supposed to be mentioned. But the books I've read since I came to Porto have made me a rich girl. Of course, they have been long debated, but I guess that's just a recognition of their value.
One of them is The Crash of Civilizations of Samuel Huntington. Most of my teachers don't even want me to mention the book, they consider it farfetched and not too objective. But switching the view from a traditionally realist perspective in international relations to one that puts in the core of external affairs cultural identity is quite accurate in my view. Take for example Turkey and the European Union. They have been struggling for a long time to be accepted as members and they hardly made it close to the candidate countries' list. The pretext the EU always puts on the first page is that they didn't do much work to solve the problem of minorities, basically refering to the kurds. But ask any turk, they know the real reason: it's hard to think of a Muslim country in a Christian union.
Another is Gabriel García Márquez's Living to Tell the Tale. A story of the becoming of a writer who was strong enough to leave law school to have time to write. And this is just a rough and stupid summary. Márquez in a Columbia struggling to get over its dead, in a big amazing family and with a crazy passion for reading made me feel sorry I stopped writing. In Majestic cafe I had my first great idea for a short story and I really hope it will come to life before I leave here as a tribute to the woman who taught me about luxury cats. More than the story and more than my pain (my fingers were almost bleeding while I was turning the pages thinking about my own frenzy to write), nobody can deny the great storyteller Márquez is... how he constructs his paragraphs and the way he makes mundane events magical.
Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason by Michel Foucault was hard to digest but amazingly graceful. I have always been interested in the subject, and deconstructing reason itself was a titanic work I still can explain with some difficulty. Then the references to Bosch and Goya, two of my favourites, has taught me more than being in a museum, putting in context the actual emergence of the notion of insanity. The book, as most reviews admit, is nevertheless opaque and complex... a sociology of madness that has to be read several times to be understood at least at half its value.
One I'm reading now is The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis, by the Portuguese contemporary Nobel Prize winner Jose Saramago. I don't know much about it, but the preface speaks of a book created on the idea of labyrinth (from Borges on) and Ricardo Reis is one of the pseudonyms of Fernando Pessoa, the greatest modern Portuguese poet. The story is that Fernando Pessoa died and Ricardo Reis came back to Lisbon after 16 years in Brazil. Pessoa comes back from death and has long converstions with Ricardo Reis, who is also a poet (the is the author of the Odes). What is wonderful is that Portuguese speak of the three pseudonyms of Pessoa (for whom he created personal stories) as if they were real poets and different persons from their creator.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Saturday, March 31, 2007
This week I will adopt the poor student strategy. That means buying food from the supermarket, going to museums with free entrance and walking around, practicing the good old cheap sightseeing. Easter is coming, I'm on holiday and I've crossed the line with eating out and passing time in cafes. Then the residence is almost empty, there is no point to think about parties. And life here with a couple of hundred euros is at subsistence level. But let me write more about the cafes, since this is a second home for the Portuguese.
You don't have to go far to find one. They're everywhere, usually with attractive windows - attractive = full of cakes, cookies and their other relatives. Some are more or less traditional, others are modern, and in the center you run into the more fancy ones. In Foz there is one I like very much. It's called Point Cafe, five minutes from where I live. Great interior design, I never thought that such a small bathroom could look amazing in granite. The furniture is simple in shape, black tables and leather benches, contrasting with the white walls with surprising and ingenuous accessories like the illumination or the napkin holders. I love it when they bring me the delicious tea in French press and the cups of thermoisolated glass - I always burn my tongue with those, because you can't feel the temperature of the liquid inside by holding them in your hands. The serving is pronto and the tuna salad is a dream, not to mention the coffee - I tried a pingo, which is coffee with a little milk. Surprisingly, it's just as or even cheaper than the traditional cafes and this Sunday you can watch the game on a wide screen (Benfica - F.C. Porto) with a Carlsberg on the house in your hands. They also serve lunch, but the best thing is it's right across the street from the ocean.
To be continued...
Friday, March 30, 2007
I discovered a set of blogs on clujblogfest.ro, a blog competition in my home town. One of my favorites is Aron Biro: The Deleted Scenes (you can find the link on the website mentioned above). Music and film reviews (sorry to describe it in such few words), I personally submit to his lines on Taxidermia. On http://comice.blogspot.com I had a really good time, must see all the Family Guy videos. http://mirandolina.wordpress.com/ is my personal champ in the ladies' blog category. I also ran today on 360 on the blog of a medicine student from Bucharest. I loved it. Read it for about one hour and a half. When I find it again, I must mention it. And the rest... explore.
I had a talk tonight about the blog vs. forum "competition". Which I think is kinda fake, especially since I expect that not everybody is either self-centered like me nor an opinion searcher like some of my neighbors. There is a little of this in any of us. In the end, I have a lot of fun on forums, in the rare occasions I get to visit one. One time I was searching for information on the chaos theory and I found a forum where some guys were talking such bullshit that even a five-years-old would laugh. Not to mention the very funny post that used to be on a women's magazine website about a girl worried she's had too much anal sex. And I guess my generation, who was reading the Q&A in Bravo about 6 or 7 years ago, when we didn't have forums to laugh at, knows how amazingly embarrassing the teenage mind can get. But I don't deny the role of forums. Just that I don't use them. In a way it's like what happens to a woman before she gives birth: she hears so many terrifying stories about childbirth that it's better not to know anything. When they speak about their problems, most people exaggerate. And I know somebody who was thinking she has cancer just because she was having the same symptoms as a girl who wrote on some forum. It turned out to be a simple infection. I know it's the one who is naive to believe everything, not the one who posts the story, but at least I've never seen a blog that makes you think you're too fat. Problem solved.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Sociologists consider that actually everybody is “culturated”, since we grew up in a culture that makes kind of predictable all our paths in life. What happens when most are more “culturated” than the rest? And I don't mean they know more about classical music, books or art. But that they are more likely to comply with what is expected from them. So either way, being less “culturated” is stigmatizing. They say freedom is a value. But how many actually practice what they preach? The first one who walks away from the line gets slapped. Find something to believe in! That's what commercials tell me and I think it sounds quite appealing. And then I sit by the ocean and think about it. Well, it's not such a big deal. Once you know how to put the questions and stop to listen to what you have to say to yourself, answers pop up. But then you start to wonder. If what you believe in is not what your “culturated” counterparts have in mind, you're doomed. Yes, I love sleep and books, I'm not such a freak if I don't stay up all night or spend my time gossiping. I just think people should practice what they preach, otherwise all the conservative bullshit restrains only the real ones.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Trying to find the connection between Zeno's Paradox, Chaos Theory and Organizational Change, I ran into this idea of snow flakes. The question was how does each molecule know where to stay in order for the symmetric and unique shape to appear? The answer was self-similarity. The shape of the snowflake imitates the behavior of its molecules. Still, each snowflake is unique - we can't predict its form from looking at the initial conditions (let's say molecule behavior), since these conditions cannot be perfectly measured - there is no pure determinism and no randomness either - molecules create a pattern according to which they will arrange. Maybe it's not clear the way I put it. But the point is - even physics can say there is no faith, no hazard, only strong will.