Vertigo

"Anyone whose goal is ‘something higher’ must expect some day to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it even when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."  - Milan Kundera

I've spent a fair portion of my life trying to balance between self-acceptance and the susceptibility to change.
Between trying to maintain my individuality and the need to blend-in,
Between protecting my pride and wanting to fall in love,
Between perseverance ;clinging of reality,
And wanting to answer the calls of chaos that dwell inside of me.

"Balance" is quite a concept ; we can spend a life-time trying to find it, walking on a narrow rope suspended mid-air, trying not to fall, trying not to fail.

But did you know that humans are bound to respond to their inner vertigo, eventually ?
It's not an evil power, it grants us what we secretly wish for; it pushes us to fall ,but we actually yearn to fall because we yearn to "choose".
And we yearn to choose because ,you see, we, humans, fear the freedom of not knowing.

A state of balance causes us a great deal of distress because it is restricting ; could you, after all, imagine spending the rest of your life walking on a narrow rope between two ends across the valley ?

I think not.

As scary as it is to choose between one of what we think are extremes ; as scary as it is to look below and see the bottomless oblivion of choice, and as scary as it is to purposely lose your footing on the trembling grounds of balance, falling towards either sides of the border is better than walking along it for eternity. Not knowing on which side we would fall if we slipped the wrong foot first.

Nocturne, Opus 9, no.2

A poet can't speak of love, with the most zealous and passionate phrases, if they haven't experienced it before.
That's what I think. And that's what makes me cringe when I read a love poem made of cheesy metaphors and empty descriptions.
Romantic feelings are sacred, they don't just come to us when we set down, pen in hand, ready to elicit verses of passion.
That's why, batushka, I have no respect for a poet or a writer that feigns feelings; it's an insult to all the real romantics out there...Not that I fully grasp what it means to be in love myself-the real sentiment, the possessive ,mad, woeful kind of love, despite experiencing romance once upon a time..which is why Chopin's Nocturne drives me to tears every time I listen to it.
There is something special about it...I always feel that it summarizes a love story... a sweet ,delightful love story from the time of Shakespeare.

Although I don't claim to be a poet, for I never wrote about love before....maybe because I refuse to be possessed by something as wicked and manipulative as Kitsch, or maybe because "we can never establish with certainty what part of our relations with others is the result of our emotions - love, antipathy, charity, or malice- and what part is predetermined by the constant power play among individuals", and hence we never know the difference between true love and caprices ...caprices don't give birth to poems, my dear batushka.

Perhaps I would finally be able to describe love beautifully if i do fall in love again ..some day...but until then, the Bohemian in me that wakes up with the first droplets of rain every year, shall resume her slumber until next November.

For You In Full Blossom II

To my one and only friend, to my eternal enemy.
----------------------------------------------------

It was summer of 2006. You probably wouldn't remember since many years has passed since then, but i perfectly do, because it was one of these moments one faces once or twice in their life time that causes a hurricane in their heart. That's how it felt to the 14 years old me.

You said, while we were making the beds, "Why do you look so miserable when no one is paying attention ? it's like you have two personalities and you switch to the cheerful one when you are around people."

What you said threw me off-balance I couldn't say any thing for a while..
I heard the crashing sound of glass somewhere..and the sound of strained strings snapping inside of me one after another :
Tuk. Tuk.Tuk
I was caught off-guard.
I felt utter confusion ..."what are you saying, silly ? pfft ", is what I wanted to say, but a grip of betrayal started clutching at my neck, slowly making it harder to breath...

My whole world fell crumbling upon me...

Why did you have to say that ? Why did you notice ? And why didn't you say anything before, choosing this peaceful moment of childish innocence to reveal to me that I've been seen through, all this time.
I lied to myself for years, telling myself that i can be normal, i can be if i pretend to be happy, if i practiced smiling until i perfect it, if i become a joker that mocks life and mocks sadness and sad people.
I thought I was coming closer to my perfect lie...but you had to ruin everything by one single ingenious comment on a lovely day in June.
I failed.

I knew deep down that you were the only person that perfectly understood me in this entire world, and because of that i knew also that we can't be friends for too long...

Didn't you notice how the slumber parties ceased ? How I never show up when you are leaving to the airport ? How I only stay for an hour or so when you come back ? We stopped being close because we became too close..

You bring back all my insecurities to the surface, you remind me of my litost, you see right through me, you peel the layers under which i've hid myself for years, one by one, until there is no where to hide, you take off my theatrical masks and break them, you corner me, standing akimbo, with a sly, yet comforting smile on your face.
There is no way to run to.

I feel naked in front of you.

But then you look me in a way that says "I understand, it is okay to show your real feelings when we are alone together, you don't need to pretend".

You might read this letter one day out of curiosity, and realize that it is addressed to you. Well, i made no effort to make this letter ambiguous in any way, because I want you to know how much you mean to me, and how much you changed me. I keep saying that I'm not that person anymore.

But I just couldn't bring myself to answer your question after all these years. I'm deeply sorry that I left your life so suddenly.

I love you.

El Baronessa Rampante

Once upon a time, there was a little girl

She was walking through a prolific forest

And her thoughts were a whirl
She had no purpose for the day

Just walking about,
Greeting squirrels and nodding at jays 
Hopping between the branches, 
Boasting in furry vestures, being merry and gay
Their tails bent in elegant twirls

"These fellas got it all figured out",she thought

"Just fancy, how splendid it would be 
To choose your own tree, give it a name
And make it your home
Ascend above feuds and bigotry
And rule your own land,
Like an earl"
She stumbled upon a lofty pine

Adorned with a beautiful gnarl 

Up she climbed, and seated herself in glee
"This branch shall become my throne",she said

And then she, proud ,and free 
Named herself a Baroness
On a tree.

*Italo Calvino

Paradox

I'm a lump of contradictions

I hide my real face behind =truths that take the form of deceit
Yet I long for a person that sees through all my masks

I'm sympathetic, I'd cry when you cry
But not when you die, part of it is because I scorn hypocrisy
Rigid as a mountain, while I say "Al Baraka feekom"
I seek love, but I kill its seeds before they sprout in my heart
I run away company, but I'm scared of being left alone
I like my space intact, but I yearn for a breath of fresh air when I'm indoors
I see through people, I'd like to believe that
Eyes articulate the words clearer, but I don't even know myself that well
I can't catch myself on a lie
I indulge in self-laceration, but at times I adore my very shadow
I'm my best friend, and my worst bully
I'm a lump of contradictions
One thinks that the long years
And the quiet retreats of reveries would unravel all mysteries
I shift faces more than I shift my moods
Perhaps, it wasn't that I had many faces I assumed at leisure,
Sir Milan, it's true, that I didn't know which face to wear for the day
As I looked into the mirror, mine was cracked in half.

November Sky

November is my month;
I opened my eyes for the first time on Nov 17th, which happens to be today.
But that's not why I love November, mind you, dear reader, so much that I enter a state of vivid intoxication for a month  skipping every other step while walking, chanting to myself ballads of romance, and falling in love with the world and with love itself.
You will pardon me, batushka, for my overflowing joy when you understand how much and why I blossom in this month.

I love November because it's the only month that contains the letter "V". 
This might sound a bit silly for those who don't realize the importance of symbols to dreamers.

"V" is the symbol of peace, victory. V for Vendetta ,legitimate justice, V for Vladimir Nabokov, for Vittorio Monti, for Vivaldi, V for Viktor Espinolla ,V for velvet, V for violin ,

V for violet.

Love has"V", Forgiveness has"V",  so does Virtue, ...There is only so many symbols and so many meanings..

I realized how much this single letter became a collective symbol of everything I love and everything i want to be, and unconsciously developed this attachment to names, object, ideas, even occurrences that contains it.
You'd think it's absurd, eccentric or even naive ; but suit yourself, that's the way of all dreamers out there...
After all, aren't we all absurd, a little eccentric, and especially naive ?

Living in my heart, there is a poet, dear batushka, a simple-hearted one, with the most candid expressions. She doesn't jot down rhapsodies, but sings her prose in a frenzy of passion when it rains; from heaven or in her soul.

She travels along with the gypsies around the soul's Bohemia ,chasing after the rainy clouds and the mystical rainbows. But she often gets left behind by her negligent companions, when she has too much love to drink and oversleeps on the morning of the departure,
It happens a lot.....she would open her eyes and realize the extent of her solitude, and decides to go back to her dreams till her folks come back for her.....next year, perhaps.

It is the time when my gypsies, my folks, come back, merry and gay as ever, to celebrate the rain with me.

This poet rises from her long slumber, and, dozy ,she stretches a bit and joins the festivity; she starts pouring down the thoughts that came to her during her long dreams on scrapes of papers ,on petals of roses, on the sand by the beach, on the misty windows when the rain momentarily ceases.

She is eager to live, she has so much to tell the world to which she has opened her eyes after a long apathy, so many feelings she wants to convey,
so much love to share, and new seeds to sow.

This poet doesn't need a tribune, batushka, for the world is obliged to become her audience when her vitality shouts, when her soul rises to the surface and screams at the top of its voice:

"I'M HERE AND I'M SO VERY MUCH ALIVE !".

I close my eyes and take in the scent of rain, feeling the droplets landing on my forehead and nose and lips, sliding along my temples, feeling the blissful shower through my fingers.

What is more cleansing ?

When I open my eyes again, I'm laying on a fluffy bed of clouds, facing the sun, bathing in its golden rays.
Wouldn't it be wonderful ? Oh, to be able to just stay there forever, trapped between the chilliness of the clouds and the warmth of the sun ?
To just lay there in bliss and ecstasy, not counting the days nor keeping track of time, forgetting it all, listening to the distant folk music beating somewhere, staring at November's sky for eternity...

It is my birthday, and I truly feel I'm granted a new life with the coming of the rainy season every year. Every time I feel the rain on my face, every time I talk to the rain, I remember that I need no one , absolutely no one to celebrate my life ; because I feel that the entire universe celebrates with me..I remember that I need not the love of mortals , because God loves me, that I need not material gifts , because God has sent me one of his : The cleansing of my soul. 

Es Muss Sein

Or Raison D'etre

He and my dad were conversing about politics or some serious topic that concerns not many people. The only thing I remember was that I was following their discussion with a great attention. I've always liked to listen to adults talking; especially when they spoke in low tones, and had these grave looks on their eyes. Of course it was a great privilege to be a "child that doesn't understand" in their eyes as it allowed me to practice my observations without raising suspicions.
He glanced at me, mid my eavesdropping, and suddenly said to my dad.

"You know, your daughter will turn out to be someone of great significance, one day."

"..........................the question is when."

You might think a 7-years old wouldn't heed such random lines, wouldn't understand their real weight, contending herself with being praised in such sophisticated terms.. But were they truly random ?
"Great" and "When", standing like two giants opposite each others, comparing their heights, meant a lot of things and I perfectly understood them.
That moment was especially carved in my memory because it was the first time i heard the calling of my Es muss sein ! (Beethoven's no.16).
Es muss sein is symbol for a weighty duty. It has to be done ; it can't be otherwise, or it would crush your ego under its massive weight; a purpose that you choose, or it chooses you, it doesn't matter which.
I found a purpose that crowned my life with a meaning. I was happy.

I don't think it's that sorry of a thing to lead your life for the sole purpose of fulfilling a purpose imposed upon you by someone else. I didn't understand at the time that every person is supposed to find their own calling in life and carry its weight up the mountain. I only knew that he told me to be a great person, and I sat about trying to do just that.
My calling was personified in him. This person's function was to remind me that I was ,basically ,worthless. Not in a demeaning sense, but in the grand scheme of things, I needed to understand that "I'm not yet there", because he still didn't nod..

No matter what I did, no matter how far ahead I got, no matter how satisfied with my achievements I was, that person would shrug their shoulders. It meant it's still not enough.
I'm not good enough.
I need to try harder.
I need to strife more.
More
More

But he wouldn't look at Me and acknowledge Me no matter what I did.

He threw that weight on my back and turned around without a care that I should break.

And slowly, I believe, my life became nothing but a comic, yet woeful ,soap opera displaying my struggle for recognition.

When I was called "Young Scientist" and summoned to the stage, when I slit my way among a crowd of strangers clapping and smiling and nodding at me, saying unintelligible phrases between their congrats, I didn't understand what was the big deal;

Is it that impressive to do what one is supposed to do ?

Isn't the satisfaction of expectations the natural course of action?

What you are applauding for isn't Me, it's a deceitful facade that doesn't represent me.

When I mounted that stage and looked at the unknown faces cheering for me I had but one thought :

He isn't here.

He, and he alone was the one I'm pursuing. And he wasn't there.

My whole life was summarized in this moment : it was supposed to be a moment of pure joy and victory, esteemed victory, it should have made up for my life that was consumed by continuous pursuits and internal wars. But there was no closure.

It was a very important turning point during my adolescence because it marked the end of a long, long struggle between myself and my duty ,by the glorious win of the later. Or was it?

You know, when you take a deep breath and look at the big picture, great yet obvious realizations suddenly hit you :

Would he have truly been proud, if he was here ? Was there a way for him to know that his "Yes, you did well" meant the world to me ? An end to a struggle ? Would he have possible understood that words can make or break a person, if uttered at the right time, at the right moment where their bones are shuffling and their mind is taking form for the last time ?

Did he think I was caged for too long and it was time to release me, whether I succeeded in my mission or not ? Did he perceive, quite late, that he imposed his Es Muss Sein on me without heeding my youth, not realizing how hefty it was on my shoulders, nor how it crushed me, and crushed the dreams that I was yet to have ? So he fled.

Bewilderment took possession of  me.
And then came enlightenment.

Whether my duty was accomplished or not, it doesn't matter anymore, I thought. Because I , yes, "I", for it was high time "I" finally spoke , decided to break my own chains and flee; it was the time I let myself out of this odious cage called "expectations".

I felt a spiritual freedom...and freedom tasted good.

So good it transfigured into something akin to rage. In my head, I started cracking my way out of this rigid, mute statue of perfection that everyone admired and inside which my real self was kept hidden..or rather trapped.
I broke out and fell over the broken pieces smashing them, grinding them under my feet with such wrath, such frenzy pumped with haughtiness and vanity. I've conquered the one and only obstacle in my life, the spines that was stuck in my throat, his expectations ;my chains. It was an epic escape.

Nobody understood why I quit. Let go of a chance to be "as great as my predecessors". How could I not continue down the brilliant road paved ahead for me, fulfilling all the great things that others thought I could do ? I'm just a child though.

If you knew me personally before this revolution, my dear reader, I would like to tell you that it wasn't out of spite that I rebelled, of that I'm sure. It was a necessary step to enforce my identity. To separate myself and my Es muss sein. One look at where I ended up and where I was supposed to go can tell a great deal about the cyclone that occurred inside my mind when I realized this : there is absolutely no material purpose that deserves to be your raison d'etre.


And...ever since that day, I believe, I never took anything seriously. To my great joy, and woe.