o scrisoare..

e un articol peste care am dat azi si care m-a emotionat. Un terapeut american a scris o scrisoare fetitei sale...

Dear Cutie-Pie,

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”
It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer v
ersus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.
And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.
I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.
I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:
You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy

the Package

Tu nu eşti perfect (ă), ferice de tine. Perfecţiunea e uniformă. De fapt, nici nu ştiu cum e. 

[Caveat: tot ce va fi spus în continuare să fie încadrat doar în contextul unei relaţii, şi alte situaţii ar putea fi aplicabile, dar nu sunt epicentrul acestui post].

În trecut, cînd îmi spunea cineva că sunt perfectă în mijlocul unei epilepsii de dragoste, îl avertizam de cît venin zace în mine şi credeam că această transparenţă inutilă şi acceptul înflăcărat al tuturor păcatelor mele vor fi premisele unei relaţii sănătoase.

Azi zîmbesc foarte discret şi nevăzut cînd vreun bărbat miop mă numeşte perfectă. Mă întorc şi plec. Am învăţat că a explica cît de acră e lămîia unui om care nu a gustat din ea, e pur şi simplu, inutil. 

Suntem asimetrici. E clar. Suntem buni şi răi într-un singur corp. Şi deşi e bine să vrem să ne şlefuim, trebuie să fim conştienţi de relele dar şi de valorile pe care le preţuim şi care ne sunt indispensabile. Dacă ar fi să iei acum o foaie şi un toc şi să te gîndeşti doar la 3 calităţi (sau mai puţin) pe care e absolut necesar ca partenerul tău să le aibă pentru a asigura o relaţie durabilă, care ar fi ele? În primul rînd e un test pentru a vedea cît de bine ştii ce vrei...E important. Apoi e sănătos să conştientizezi că acel om are şi neajunsuri pe care trebuie să le poţi accepta...scrie şi neajunsurile...cît mai multe, toate, pe cîte le ştii. Uite-le. Astea-s. Te poţi împăca cu ele?

Dar mi s-a întîmplat să întîlnesc şi bărbaţi conştienţi de dorinţele lor şi neputinţele mele. De fapt, unul singur...care a început discuţia altfel..

 - You're a hell of a devil. [...] But I want the whole package.

Desigur, asta nu e o garanţie de durabilitate. Şi nu înseamnă nimic mai mult decît că e destul de matur pentru a folosi un cîntar înainte de a lua o decizie.

Să fiţi buni, să fiţi sinceri.

Un weekend frumos,

Irina

fără somn

s-a lenevit şi somnul, nu are vlagă să mi se urce pînă-n gene şi m-a lăsat în derularea zilei de azi....

uneori mi se face frică să îi cînt profesorului meu, e ca şi cum i-aş deschide vieţi din viaţa mea pe care nu le spun nimănui...pe care le ţin undeva ascunse în vreo venă apusă, care se degajă atunci cînd profesorul meu închide ochii şi îmi spune, cuibărindu-se comod în scaun:

- eu mă duc la film. Tu eşti compozitorul coloanei sonore. Eu voi închide ochii, iar tu să-mi povesteşti filmul...să-l cînţi aşa încît să-l văd şi eu..

şi eu, inconştient, îi povestesc amintiri pe care nici eu nu le mai ţin minte...

şi el tresare din "filmul" meu...oprindu-mă, parcă ruşinat că a asistat la o scenă prea intimă din viaţa mea şi-mi spune:

- opreşte-te...eu nu trebuie să ştiu despre asta (adăugînd ceva ce nu voi expune aici, dar care m-a făcut să schiţez un zîmbet trist...şi să roşesc de jenă că am avut nesăbuiţă să îi "povestesc" lucruri pe care nici nu le mai ştiu).

Night Watch (Rembrandt)

I normally avoid art galleries. I feel very uncomfortable walking in an art gallery, staring at a painting and not being able to connect with it – it makes me feel shallow and void. Now if you multiply this by the number of paintings in a gallery…you can imagine the miserable state of mind when I exit.

People say one does not need knowledge or technical skills to appreciate art. Just unleash your imagination and the magic will happen!

No, this is not enough. 

Our mere eyes cannot distinguish between the difficulty to depict the sun and the muscles of a horse; our mere imagination is not able to discern symbols and history without a context that makes Mona Lisa so mysterious...

One does not have to be a painter, but one has be prepared (read on wiki, online, talk to a knowledgeable friend  etc.) before consuming art.

On Saturday I went to Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam – it is a Dutch national museum dedicated to art and history in Amsterdam and the Netherlands. They have more than 8000 objects, yet I visited it for only one single painting: this painting.

This is The Night Watch by Rembrandt painted in 1642.

Why is it so important? What is so special about it? Do you find it special? Luckily for me, I went with a connoisseur, but had I gone alone…I would have skipped this obscure and apparently gloomy picture.

What you cannot see here is its size…it is a massive painting, as big as a wall. It is big, but not the biggest in the world. 

Could it be painting technique chiaroscuro that was very usual for baroque painting? Possibly…but this bold contrast between light and dark is to be found in most of Rembrandt works. 

What truly intrigued me was the story behind these colors.

This painting was commissioned by a voluntary militia club (hereafter called Rifle club). Rembrandt was very courageous to accept as it was very hard to paint a group of people in one single painting and ensure that everyone is happy with their position, their stance and expression of their face. And the people were quite picky as they have paid 100 guilders per head (which is approx. 1200 in euros – making use of my finance degree J). If somebody was displeased with the work it meant repainting the picture over and over again. The standard format for this kind of painting was aligning everyone in a row so that they could be equally exposed.  But that would have looked very boring and blant. Rembrandt made a very bold decision to depict these policemen in action. Action or motion is what made this picture famous. One has to understand the context of this painting to fully appreciate and understand it.

These were peaceful times for the Netherlands. No wars, no belligerent attacks - so no situations where these brave men could have showcased their courage and bravery. They wanted to be considered heroes. They were craving for some glory so that their families and friends could be proud of them, so that people on the street would respectfully salute them echoing their names…but all they did was gather at night, have a drink, crack a joke and go home towards the morning…with no glory behind.

That’s why they loved this picture. It depicted them in motion getting ready to protect their territory.

The contrast of light makes 3 figures stand out. The captain, the tall man in front wearing black, red and white sash (the symbols of Amsterdam), the lieutenant - wearing some impeccable golden garments and this blond little girl.  The little girl is not a real personage. She is more a mascot, a symbol of the club…you can see that she has got a dead chicken hanging from her belt. The claws are very visible and the claws also being the symbol of this Rifle club and the dead chicken is a symbol of the defeated enemy.

The captain had to be offered the best place and exposure, which you can see: he is in the centre of this motion, his hand as if raising a concern and a call to everyone else. He is like a conductor of an orchestra. He is taller than everybody else, due to this step forward and he is casting a shadow on the beautiful cloths of Lieutenant. Rembrandt also tried to make the Lieutenant shine somehow…so he dressed him up in this glimmering golden outfit. However, in order to confirm one more the power of the captain over everything else…you can see that between the thumb and pointer of the shadow finger there is a lion, the symbol of power and strength that the captain can grasp in his one hand.

Of course, not everybody is as visible and happy with his position. For example, there is a personage here whom you can barely see…and obviously he was unhappy that his friends might doubt his presence in the picture. That’s why Rembrandt painted a shield with all the present names so that there is no uncertainty.

This was a picture of their glory.

This painting is much more complex than my description but I will stop here. And come back to my beginning and stress the importance of being prepared for art. It makes is so much more valuable and enriching. And you don’t have to admire all paintings in an art gallery. Pick one or 2 but make the most out of it and make sure that next time when you here the name of a painting you visited…there is much more to it than a dry memory of its existence.

My prepared speech # 4 from Competent Communication - Toastmaster.

Ciuboţelele năzdrăvane (Partea I)

Tocmai revenită dintr-o incursiune în mica Londra, unde m-a găzduit, ca de obicei, vreun hotel...De cu seară, păşită la etajul meu mă izbise un miros..industrial, să fi fost vopsea, m-am gîndit eu...şi cu gîndul ăsta am mers la culcare. Iar dimineaţa am descoperit o maşinuţă cu perii-rotiţe pentru lustruirea pantofilor...pricina mirosului straniu, un miros care cu mulţi ani în urmă m-a făcut să trag o ruşine soră cu...ruşinea.

Eram în clasa a cincea. Părinţii mei, ca toţi părinţii în căutarea unui trai decent, s-au îndeletnicit cu căratul frunctelor în Ucraina pe timp de vară şi toamnă ca noi, cei doi copii de acasă să avem cu ce merge la şcoală. Îmi aduc aminte că cea mai mare investiţie financiară pe cap de copil să făcea în ajun de întîi septembrie..şi parcă aud cum mama îi spune tatei: "ne trebuiesc cel puţin 500 de lei de fiecare ca să-i gătim de şcoală". Bani mulţi pe atunci. Şi după ce mergeam la "talciok" şi ieşeam de acolo cu caiete, cămăşi şi încălţări, mama şi tata îşi continuau "business-ul", iar noi eram lăsaţi cu bunelu'. Bunelu' meu se învăţase să ne facă terci, să ne controleze tema pentru acasă şi cel mai curajos act din partea bunelului meu a fost să înveţe să-mi împletească gîţa pe care eu nu o puteam mînui în clasa cincea precum era prea lungă. (De-aş avea acum problema asta). Şi în general bunelul meu avea grijă de toate restul.

Într-o seară cînd m-am întors cu frate-miu pe care îl aduceam de la grădiniţă, îl văd pe bunelul cu ciubotele mele nou-nouţe...şlefuindu-le cu o petică. 

- Bunelu, ce faci acolo cu ciubotele mele noi de la talciok?

- Da  iaca, Irica (aşa îmi spune el), le gătesc pentru mîine de şcoală că a dat ninsoarea şi trebui de încălţat mai cald.

- Da-p îs noi, bunelu, de ce le dregi?

- Ei, ştiu eu de ce le dreg - asta e cremă încă de pe timpul războiului, nu trece chicătură de apă prin ea.
- Bun, bunelu...cum spui mata.

Eu pe atunci cred că nu înţelegeam cîţi ani erau de la război...

A doua zi mă scol, şi nerăbdătoare mă gătesc de şcoală căci azi încalţ ciubote noi...

va urma...