Anne Frank's Diary

'Countless friends and acquaintances have been taken off to a dreadful fate. Night after night, green and gray military vehicles cruise the street. It is impossible to escape their clutches unless you go into hiding. ' ( Anne Frank, November 19, 1942)


Anne Frank's diary is an uplifting journey into the greatness of the human mind and soul, and a disheartening plunge into the darkness of intolerance and fanaticism. I believe it should be on everybody's reading list. For we need to remember that such ordeals are inflicted on human beings by other fellow-beings; that they are likely to happen again, if we aren't careful enough.

If you want to leave a leaf in Anne's tree, you can do it here.

Michel Jackson Dance Tribute Bucharest

... his 1992 concert in Romania was the first cultural manifestation of this kind in a country in which for years we had taken part only in manifestations dedicated to the communist regime, young and old alike...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5Nl09rh2HQ

Help for Razvan

This is someone I used to go to school with. Please visit the site and help him if you can! There is an English version of the site as well.
Thank you.

http://www.razvan-zainescu.eu/

The children we were. The children we are.

Do you think i am fat ?

A Tale of Mere Existence about Body

Convict eyes

Strange circumstances made me share the same waiting room with a convict for half an hour. He was hand-cuffed and had that kind of build and body posture that make us women intuitively walk on the other side of the street in order to be safe. He was surrounded by a bunch of men who were laughing and chatting incessantly. At first, I was firmly convinced that they were his relatives or buddies, since they seemed to be in the same league with him. Afterwards, I realized they were policemen, his guardians wearing civilian clothes. I remembered then that there are certain types of jobs only certain types of people can do and that there is a fat chance for one to become what one guards.

What struck me in particular was his sad look. Big, brown, velvet-like eyes. Child-like eyes. Where on earth had I seen those eyes before...And it made me cringe to remember a similar sad look, similar brown, velvet-like eyes, only this time they were truly a child' s eyes. My four-year old niece's eyes, after I had scolded her badly for being such a bad, bad little girl. And she started to cry and I cried, too, for being such a bad, bad adult, who had forgotten what childhood was like...
I felt an urgent need to hold the convict's hand; to tell him that a person is not to be defined by his/her behaviour; to tell him that a terrible deed does not make a person terrible ; to tell him that at any time of our life we make the best choice we have at that moment; that it is not our fault that we don't know better than this...
I remained silent. Suddenly, I became so self-aware; I felt so literally out of ( that ) place, with my smart clothes and fresh make-up, my stylish hair-do and indifferent, green eyes. I remained silent and I regret it now.
Subsequently, I found out that this man was waiting for the decision (the mercy?) of the prosecutor, but the prosecutor decided to send him back to jail.

I feel like a hypocrite.

Narcotango in Romania

Narcotango were here. A concert hall in the open air flooded by sounds... rough, sweet, rough, sweet...Gente que si live. (narco)Tango, the only legal drug. Narcotango reminded me how good it feels to feel young; to feel like dancing, to feel like loving. The "We've got toninght, who needs tomorow ?" attitude.
What I liked most about the Narcotango concert in Bucharest was the Romanian tango community. At the end of the concert, when they all jumped on the stage and started to dance frenetically, I felt that sincerity was, for once, in the air. It is true that some ( most ?) of us took up dancing for reasons that have more to do with things like loneliness, socialization, flirtation, feeding big egos, soothing small egos etc, than with the dance itself. But somehow, eventually, at such moments, it is only the joy brought by the music, by the dance, by life itself that shines out clearly.


PS: On the occasion of the concert, I caught a fleeting glimpse of an ex-love of mine. Still bursting with well-being, still radiating with the arrogance of youth. The same openness to the people around, the same exquisite smile, the greatest smile I have ever seen. He came with an exquisite blondie attached, of course. Such men always do...

In hindsight, looking back at my younger self, I wonder: where, in the name of God!,did I find the resources to cry my eyes out over a boy...because (sob) he...(sob)...doesn't call any more...(sob) ( sob) ( sob)...
To be young is to be wasteful. Of tears, of smiles, of pretty much everything.

Howl

Attitude. I need some fucking, damn, saving attitude. Where can I get it now after a whole life lived in non-attitude ?
An year has just passed since I went down to hell. I have emerged somehow from it; still, there is a constant howl in my head. I cannot shake it off, although I have been getting invaluable help. I feel like some regular, pre-programmed rape is inflicted on my mind. I am split, I am beaten. My reason tells me I must go on. But my soul knows the imbalance is too big: there are too many things to fight against, too few left to fight for.

Yet, I must not forget that I am a survivor. And that, after all, the trick is to keep breathing.