SARAY/SARAH (1st part)

 Dear readers,

I am joyful to finally introduce you to the story of Saray and Angela, a story that I’ve had in my heart for a very long time now. Two notes first: this story plays in my head like a movie, (and was supposed to be a movie script, but time didn’t agree), and secondly, it was supposed to be written in Spanish - time didn’t agree with that either. So please be gentle. 

Apart from this, Saray/Sarah is meant as an homage to the women in my history who taught me what it is to be fully woman and to my spiritual mother, without whom I would not know how to live my life. Thank you for giving your life for me. 

SARAY/SARAH

PART 1.

Imagine a bus station, somewhere in a city in Spain, before 2020. As you look at it, it is bustling with people of all sorts and colours. It’s sometime around late spring, beginning of summer - it’s already pretty warm and the sun is shining brighter than your eyes would like it to. Everything seems covered in a sort of white, warm light but you can still discern the colourful crowd unveiling in front of you. Busy people, hurried people, SO noisy people. Talking over each other, dragging bags around, fluttering money in the air at cranky bus drivers with their cigarette in the corner of their mouth, too cool to care. Somewhere on the side you see a cafe and a terrace, the type you only see in bus stations. As you look closer, you see a girl with long brown hair. She is looking at her laptop, cigarette in her right hand, luggage close by, and her left hand is pressing on her lower abdomen. She’s wearing a long, large, floral dress and a pair of light beige boots, paired with long black, wooden earrings that move along with the wind. Around her neck you can see a leather string holding a small wooden cross - every now and then, she touches it and then quickly retracts her hand, as if she is trying to get rid of a bad tic. She’s staring into her laptop, all frowned and her lips are curved in what you can tell is an unsatisfied grimace. She is looking through a series of airbnb long-term accommodations, constantly lowering the price range in an attempt of finding something that will still leave her with money for cigarettes. Last attempt: she sets the price range for the cheapest version possible. One listing. One room. A small village up north in the mountains. A woman host, Angela, with short dark hair and an authoritative look. “Doesn’t seem very friendly” Saray thought. She looked at her bank account again: nope, she couldn’t afford anything else. “One month” she thought and booked it, still looking thoroughly dissatisfied with this outcome. Shutting down her laptop and hardly shoving it in her bag, she got up, picked her baggage and started moving toward the ticket booth. Her left hand still pressing on her lower abdomen, she walked limping, in what looked like a lot of pain. Like always, one of the wheels on her trolley bag got stuck in the pavement. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she sighed, exasperated, as she was trying to pull it out without taking her left hand off her abdomen. “Come on, you worthless piece of shit!” she mumbled through her teeth as she finally managed to drag it out and bump into a pair of nuns walking by her. The salutation came out of Saray’s mouth as automatically as someone would say hi to their mom: “Laudetur Jesus Christus!”. As soon as she heard the words, she rolled her eyes away from the smiling nuns who nodded back at her. “Great.” she mumbled. “I guess old habits really do die hard.” 

The bus was half-full as Saray struggled to get to her seat through the narrow aisle. She sat down on the right side, by the window, leaning her head on it as she closed her eyes. As soon as the wheels started turning underneath her, she could feel her breath calming and her pulse slowing down. She finally took her left hand off her abdomen. Her fingers hurt from being so tense for so long. And just like a flicker of light, the image of a doctor’s office flashed before her eyes. Saray opened them and took a deep breath. “It’s done.” she said. But the flashes would keep coming back to her. A doctor’s office. Saray in a hospital gown. A hospital room. Saray struggling to get up in her hospital bed. Nurses holding her down. Saray screaming. 

After some hours and very few cigarettes for her preference, she got out of the bus in the middle of a small mountain village. Angela’s house was on a street at the edge of the village. The house was small but the garden was wide and green. A wild mountain garden, with a small coffee table and two wrought iron chairs, that used to be white but now they weren’t so sure about it. A relatively short woman came out the front door. She measured Saray from head to toe. (And between you and me, it seemed she was finding her wanting...) “Welcome!” she said, with just the hint of a smile. Saray quickly discovered that Angela also had a cigarette in her hand, and that, providentially, she smoked just as much as she did. “Come, come, don’t stand there!”. Saray gathered all her force and walked straight to her room, without limping. She was determined not to let this strange woman know anything about her. The room was small, but full of light. Two large windows looked out to the garden, letting a lot of green light in. There was a large bed, a wardrobe, an old writing table with a chair and a small mirror. Right above her bed there was a painting of Our Lady of the Forsaken. Saray’s eyes fixated on it. Angela was still measuring her up with her deep brown eyes. Saray turned and looked at her but was lost for words. “You can ignore her, you know. She won’t bother you if you don’t want her.” Saray stared at Angela. She was taller than her but somehow she felt small whenever she looked into her eyes. You can ignore her… why would she say that? How could she know just by looking at her? She still didn’t say anything. “Hm.” nodded Angela, as if she was responding to one of her own thoughts and left the room. Saray laid down on the bed and realised she could still see the Virgin in her peripheral vision. She took a few deep breaths and fell asleep.

Lecție despre cub cu Dumnezeu

„Se ia o bucată de piatră

se ciopleste cu o daltă de sânge,

se lustruieste cu ochiul lui Homer,

se răzuieste cu raze

până cubul iese perfect.

După aceea se sărută de nenumărate ori cubul

cu gura ta, cu gura altora

si mai ales cu gura infantei.

După aceea se ia un ciocan

si brusc se fărâmă un colt de-al cubului.

Toti, dar absolut toti zice-vor :

-Ce cub perfect ar fi fost acesta

de n-ar fi avut un colt sfărâmat!”

Dacă mă gândesc la lumea pe care a creat-o Dumnezeu îmi vin în gând ultimele versuri: „Ce lume perfectă ar fi fost aceasta, de n-ar fi avut un colț sfărâmat!” - iar colțul poate fi ce vreți voi: păcatul, defectele oamenilor, suferința, nedreptatea, moartea, boala, you name it. Nu-mi mai amintesc multe din comentariul la această poezie dar îmi amintesc atât: lecția despre cub este despre cum nu perfecțiunea definește frumusețea, ci unicitatea, sensul, adevărul, iubirea. Și sincer, dacă ar fi fost după mine, niciun cub de pe lumea asta nu ar fi avut colțul sfărâmat. Nimeni și nimic nu ar fi avut un colț sfărâmat. Aș fi ales (ba chiar, aș alege) perfecțiunea în fiecare zi. Aș vrea să trăim într-o lume perfectă. Aș vrea ca eu să fiu perfectă. Aș vrea comunitatea mea să fie perfectă. Aș vrea viața să fie perfectă. Aș vrea apartamentul să fie aspirat, rufele spălate, hainele călcate, pisica cuminte, vecinii silențioși, fața de masă dreaptă, părul fără fire despicate, toți copiii din lume să fie ascultători, rudele să fie înțelegătoare, căsniciile să fie roz tot timpul și cu inimioare, soții fideli, soțiile raționale, prietenii răbdători, mâncarea de la Mc sănătoasă, biserica plină, creștinii plini de entuziasm și de Spirit Sfânt.

Și Dumnezeu a luat un ciocan și a sfărâmat un colț al cubului. Și eu am rămas mută. De o lună încerc să scriu. Să vorbesc. Să fiu. Nu se întâmplă. Văd tot timpul în fața ochilor colțul sfărâmat al cubului. Nu sunt cine eram, nu sunt cine credeam, nu reușesc să fiu cine aș vrea: nu sunt creștin. Am colțul sfărâmat și îmi irită privirea. Mă îngrozește, mă scandalizează. Dar Creatorul e mulțumit de opera Sa. „Iată, toate sunt foarte bune.” Beats the shit out of me. Dumnezeu e mulțumit de cubul Lui cu colțul sfărâmat. Pentru că e al Lui și îl iubește. Pentru că l-a creat. Așa sfărâmat. Așa l-a vrut El din veșnicie. Așa l-a visat. Așa și l-a imaginat. E de neînchipuit. Dar cu fiecare cateheză pe care o ținem Dumnezeu îmi ține mie o lecție despre cub. Asta e o invitație. Târzie, dar e. Ținem cateheze, luni și joi, de la 19.30, în Piața Traian (se intră prin lateralul Bisericii - scriu asta pentru că încă sper că va veni cineva). Dar aceste cateheze nu sunt pentru cei creștini și nu sunt pentru cei perfecți. Sunt pentru cei cu colțul sfărâmat: Dumnezeu ne iubește. Numai El știe de ce.

Despre educație și șarlatanism

În școală nu există dreptate. Nu există dreptate în notare, nu există dreptate în atitudine, nu există dreptate în această presupusă „egalitate”. Sigur, ne place să credem că există. Dar în realitate nu are cum să existe, pentru că nu există nici premisa pentru ea. Premisa noastră actuală în educație e șarlatanismul. Fie că ne prefacem că învățăm și apoi copiem, șușotim sau o „fentăm” cumva, fie că pur și simplu suntem fundamental inconsistenți în tot ceea ce facem. Ați observat vreodată cum ne transformăm cu toții în sesiune? Studenți și profesori deopotrivă, timp de trei săptămâni avem derogare de la propria noastră predică ca să practicăm orice ni se pare mai convenabil, doar media să iasă bine. Un fel de „facem să fie bine ca să nu fie rău.” O DREGEM. Această noțiune esențială pentru orice român neaoș: totul se drege, de la ciorbă până la căsnicie.
Și ne întoarcem de fiecare dată la poezia copilăriei noastre: "Cățeluș cu părul creț, fură rața din coteț. Și se jură că nu fură, dar l-am prins cu rața-n gură." Există un număr de stand-up care scoate în evidență cât e de bizar că noi toți admitem că primele noțiuni pe care le transmitem copiilor sunt "fură" și apoi, "se jură că nu fură". (numărul de stand up: https://youtu.be/kqjLpMJTn44)
Și atunci ne mirăm de Guvern, de Parlament, de funcționarii publici, de șoferii de la Uber... Cum de nu știu engleză? Cum de mă întreabă unul din ei, referitor la un nou film pentru copii, cu o consternare absolută pe față (se întorsese în spate, în mers și mă privea ca și cum i-aș fi spus anomalia secolului) „Spărgătorul de nuci? De gheață, nu de nuci! Cum îi aia spărgător de nuci?” În timp ce râdeam mi-au dat puțin lacrimile. Alt șofer, student în anul trei, îmi explica cum nu va merge el nicio zi la practică - „Îți dai seama, să muncești șase săptămâni fără bani, îl pun pe ăla să îmi semneze și gata!”, asta la nici 2 minute după ce îmi spusese „Am picat un examen azi, dar pentru ce să învăț toți termenii ăia științifici, toate prostiile alea teoretice?” Nici cum nu-i bine. Nu știm să ne mulțumim studenții.
Și dacă tot am ajuns la „mulțumit” studenții, am și eu o frustrare: că nu am apucat să îmi livrez discursul pe care l-am pregătit timp de o săptămână la istorie. La examen am scris o banalitate. Și la punctul 2 nu am scris nimic. Din principiu. Pentru că nu știam. Și MORALA e mai importantă decât dobândirea de cunoștințe (a zis-o Comenius, nu eu). Așa că în loc să aberez, am trecut mai departe. Dar de câteva zile nu am liniște. Pentru că mi-e greu să accept după 16 ani de școală în care mi s-a repetat de mii de ori că numai notele contează că de data asta ceea ce am scris eu pe foaie nu are legătură cu ceea ce am eu în cap. Și că dacă nu am putut să reproduc tot ceea ce am citit nu înseamnă că am citit degeaba. E un real efort pentru mine să îmi amintesc zi de zi că mă bucur că notele nu mai contează. Că măcar de data asta, din a doua încercare, poate am să ies din facultate cu altfel de valori.
Deci ce urmează sunt notițele mele. Dacă le citește careva până la capăt dau o cafă. 

1. (8.01.2019) 

Cum aș rezuma eu un semestru de istoria pedagogiei? „En kol chadash tachat hashamesh” = ”Nimic nou sub Soare”. Din nefericire pentru mine, ca majoritatea copiilor care au o dificultate în a învăța ceva, deoarece dificultatea pentru mine o reprezenta istoria (printre altele) - am evitat-o în școală. Deci m-am simțit, și mă simt în continuare, novice. Dar un novice absolut fascinat. Într-adevăr, parte din fascinație vine și din admirația și curiozitatea mea față de filosofie. În acest context, toate temele discutate la curs și citite de mine cu ochii mijiți și mintea semi-obscură, par să se contopească într-o imagine pe cât de vastă și captivantă, pe atât de universală. Ha! Ce cuvânt potrivit - universal. Exact imaginea pe care o am acum în minte: cea a cerului înstelat într-o noapte senină: este evident ochilor mei că e mult mai întins decât ceea ce eu cuprind cu privirea, mult mai complex și plin de particularități decât mi se arată mie, și totuși, în oricare direcție privesc, cu toate diferențele pe care le percepe rațiunea mea: tot cer cu stele e. De la Socrate și până unde voi ajunge în zilele următoare, imaginea pedagogiei pentru mine rămâne una singură, imensă și de necuprins, plină de particularități, dar legată și înșirată în același continuum, pictată cumva pe aceeași pânză și extrem de valabilă și impactantă, fie că vine de acum 2500 de ani sau de acum 200. 

2. 

Ce mi se pare frapant la pedagogie este faptul că de la Platon începând, unul din lucrurile fundamentale a fost morala. Și totuși, astăzi, deși ne străduim să reținem n informații ce au devenit „la un click distanță”, de morală nu se mai ocupă nimeni. Poate și pentru că în societatea noastră atât de diversă a devenit greu de definit morala. Iar un alt aspect este politica: într-adevăr cred că ar trebui să ne reorientăm spre o pedagogie în care cunoașterea sistemului politic și formarea unei atitudini să fie esențială. 

3.

E ironic că în Antichitate filosofia era considerată cea mai practică și utilă „materie” iar astăzi e lăsată la capătul materiilor, înghesuită într-un colț, neglijată și deseori desconsiderată de cei mai mulți ca neavând nicio utilitate. 

Felul în care ne hazardăm în reinventarea metodelor și practicilor, părând că vrem să punem coada la prună, e aproape hilar când luăm în considerare că grădinița a fost inventată de Platon și tot ce este esențial la ea a fost stipulat de el. 

4. 

Cred că raportul dintre istorie și contemporaneitate e o mare ironie. În parte pentru că nu cunoștem istoria și nici nu ni se pare cu adevărat important să o facem. Sigur, sună bine, „intelectual”, să spunem că istoria e importantă, dar ore de română și matematică sunt 5 și de istorie maxim 2. 

Iar filosofia, cum spuneam - „niște bazaconii” pentru cei care n-au ce face și gândesc prea mult.

Morala e un mit în educație. Realitatea de astăzi este că ne interesează memorarea de informații (deși majoritatea, repet, sunt la un click distanță) iar pe elevi și studenți nu-i mai interesează la ce mijloace recurg ca să își păcălească profesorii că au reținut acea informație, fie că trag cu ochiul la colegul de lângă, copiază de pe fițuici, de pe mână, din cască. Important este ca foaia să fie plină și nota mare. Cum ieșim din școală? Nici măcar oameni. Și nici măcar nu ne interesează.

5. 

Comenius scrie: „Natura nu întreprinde nimic nefolositor. Arborelui nu-i formează urechi, ochi, pene, peri, ci coaje, sevă, rădăcini, și altele. Scurta noastră viață are așa de multe lucruri folositoare, cu care poate fi ocupată, încât n-ar mai putea rămâne nimic pentru petreceri zadarnice. De aceea școalele să aibe în vedere ca să nu ocupe tinerimea decât cu lucruri serioase.” 

Nici măcar nu mai am energia să descriu cât nu realizăm din acest principiu. 

6. (12.01.2019)

Experiența din școala actuală este aceea a unui labirint. Când intrăm într-o materie, cu atât mai mult înaintea unui examen, sentimentul este acela de a pătrunde într-un labirint imens, iar prima reacție, și aici apare deja ironia: prima reacție pe care noi o considerăm instinctuală deși de fapt a fost sădită și nutrită ani și ani de diferite persoane din copilăria noastră, este aceea de panică. Totul seamănă cu totul. Fiecare latură pare exact la fel cu cealaltă și după fiecare colț ni se pare că suntem în exact același loc. Ne simțim confuzi și copleșiți și singura soluție (simțind în același timp presiunea unui cronometru atotputernic ticăind în defavoarea noastră) este aceea de a lua o scurtătură și de a ieși din labirint, bifând ușurați parcurgerea sa și continuând liniștiți viața noastră, ștergându-ne complet din minte imaginea sa difuză. 

Dar de aici din mijlocul lui de unde vă scriu vreau să vă spun că pentru prima oară am ales să nu mai iau scurtătura. Eram pregătită să vă spun că ideea a eșuat, că nimeni nu a înțeles nimic și că de o săptămână toată lumea îmi cere hărți ale rutelor ocolitoare. Și chiar înainte să fiu prinsă într-un vârtej de anxietate m-am oprit să respir timp de un minut. Atunci am început să conștientizez frumusețea labirintului. Am început să observ diferențele atât de fascinante dintre laturile lui și mi-am dat seama că mergând încet și savurând fiecare drum cotiturile încep să devină familiare. Și poate că până voi găsi eu ieșirea timpul va fi expirat, dar acum înțeleg că merită riscul, căci priveliștea face mai mult decât premiul. 

Așa că în ce mă privește, dom' profesor, ați reușit să mă faceți să mă bucur de povestea asta nesfârșită a istoriei, să îmi pun o grămadă de întrebări la care nu știu răspunsul și să aflu în sfârșit ce înseamnă educație.

Hopefully I'll see you on the other side.
7. (13.01.2019)
Acești filosofi-pedagogi despre care am citit, începând de la Confucius și Socrate și până la John Locke nu erau deloc așa cum ne imaginăm noi când ne gândim la ei. Nu erau acei oameni cu barbă (deși o aveau și pe aia) care stăteau undeva la soare și se gândeau ei la ceva foarte abstract și distant față de lumea înconjurătoare. Erau oameni prinși într-o lume în haos, aproape distrusă și care își puneau întrebarea „De ce?” - de ce am ajuns aici, ce putem face ca să ieșim din situația asta și cum ar trebui să trăim ca să nu mai ajungem din nou în ea? Erau acei oameni din mijlocul haosului care reușeau să se ridice pe vârfuri suficient cât să privească imaginea în ansamblul ei și în contextul ei istoric. Există un trecut și un viitor. Și exact aceste lucruri sunt cele care ne scapă din vedere astăzi și evadează constant din mintea noastră.
8.
„The past was a kind of reservoir of truth. Golden Ages are comforting: we believe that if humanity was capable of great things in the past, we can achieve them once again. Virtuous feelings could make virtuous beings. By figuring out what could make a good person, you could make a good society.” Bettany Hughes on Confucius.
9.
From Confucius (as narrated by professor Tu Weiming from the University of Peking)
"REN - a word idea that was initially translated as human heartedness, good or goodness, but is now simply translated as HUMANITY
Meaning that courage with Ren is real courage, more than simply bravery. Justice with Ren is humane justice, not just harsh punishment, wisdom with Ren is being truly wise, not just smart.
Every person by definition of being a person embodies Ren. Every human being is capable of sympathetic response to the external world. But to accomplish Ren fully requires learning. Learning is not simply the acquisition of knowledge or internalization of skills, but learning to build one's character. Ren is the highest ideal but at the same time the minimum requirement of being human.
None of us operate in isolation. It isn't that man is the measure of all things, it is man's relationship with man.
The retrieval of the wisdom of Socrates, the Buddha and Confucius is not a question of relevance, it is a question of human survival."
10.
A Junzi (apprentice of Confucius) asked the Master:
"Is there a single word I should use as a rule to live my life by?"
The Master replied:
"I think that would be EMPATHY."
11. (14.01.2019)
"Every other knowledge is harmful to him who does not have knowledge of goodness."
"When I express my opinions it is so as to reveal the measure of my sight, not the measure of the thing."
Michel de Montaigne

Why?

Why a bachelor's degree in Special Needs? Why go back to college? Why go through the frustration of realizing all the things I don't know and the exhausting effort of learning them?

I feared this question more than the cockroaches in my kitchen. 

I mumbled something about stigma and society in my admission interview. 

I deflected the question once again this week. 

But the truth is I've been asking myself the same question 1000 times. And in order to sit down at my laptop and do my homework, in order to read a number of books that I barely understand and in order to wake up every morning to go to school, I answer this question every day. Why? Because I need to find the place where I belong. Professionally, at least. Because I HAVE TO. I have to do this, I don't have another option. I don't give myself another option. I can't snap out of it. I can't forget autism. I can't not see the stigma. I can't pretend it didn't touch my life. I can't shake it out of my heart. 

I have never been happier in my life than I am since I started this college. I never loved going to school before. I never spent hours with a friend talking about what my ridiculously intelligent teacher said in class. I never bought books and started preparing an essay two months ahead of a deadline. I never waited for Monday and started crying when a class got canceled. This is better than I hoped. These people are amazing and they raise the stakes even higher. I promised myself I'll go gentle. I promised myself I'll accept my limits, yet here I am dreaming psychology terms I don't even know the meaning of. 

Why? Not just because it makes me happy. Happiness is not enough and happiness never lasts. Because it gives me peace of mind. Because I can breathe. I can come home and breathe. I don't think of autism every minute anymore. I don't feel useless anymore. I don't feel like I am not doing anything anymore. All those plans and dreams that I can not fulfill right now? I am fine with them. Because I know this will help me make them even better in the future. I feel the pain of growth. I am scared of failing. But I can breathe. After these years that felt like a millennia, I can finally breathe. 

And I have to trust myself that I can do this. Because it's worth it. Because it's what I'm supposed to do and it's where I belong. Under-read and all and without any idea what "epistemology" means. I wrote the definition down 3 times. Please don't bother.

Dear human.

Dear human,

This is your natural self writing. The one you work your ass for, to buy her salmon and French cheese and good coffee and a new black dress so she would feel appreciated. The one you protect by learning and trying to be the best at everything. The one for which you exhaust your body so she wouldn't feel useless and lazy. The very one. The one who's hurting. The one they abandoned. The one that's depressed. The one that's alone. The one that no one takes care of. This is me and I am writing to say: Dear human, I see you. Just like you see me. I see you too. I see everything you do so that people would see you and be proud of you. I see all that you do for me to feel loved and protected. I see all you do for us, as one. I see how you read and you try so hard even though you feel overwhelmed most of the time. I see how you try not to let things sink in when you are outside so you don't break down and start crying. I see how you drink a glass of wine or gin, or vermouth so you can pretend it's not so bad to be completely alone when you get home. I see how you're always so brave. And so resilient. God damn you are resilient! I see how you're always thinking of ways to make yourself loved. And I see how you remind yourself not to give a fuck sometimes. I see you, human. I see all of it. And I thank you.

One Saturday afternoon

I've noticed I find it hard to be genuine around people asking about my career, my plans for the future and why I've chosen to give up ambitions of being successful or moving to a different orchestra or even furthering my studies. I have chosen to specialize in something else instead. I've chosen to be fulfilled by what I have and be my best in this particular circumstance, I have chosen for my life and myself to be enough for me as is. People ask why. People start preaching that we (and by we they condescendly mean the entire human race apparently) have to strive for better, work harder, want more and achieve more. They say we should live up to our potential but what they actually mean is we should never be happy and fulfilled by what we have but constantly kill ourselves for more. Now don't get me wrong, I understand that there are gifted and talented people in the world who always have something to work towards, who always have something to dream about and a goal set in their minds and I respect that. I really do. But it's not me. Maybe it's because some of the very people who are now asking me what am I doing are the ones who years ago told me I would never amount to anything. The same people I had to prove myself to over and over again. The same people for which I was never enough. And now they're asking me with genuine surprise how come I have become enough for myself. How come I've become happy with who I am, at peace with my limits, proud of my achievements, however small they might be.
To be honest, I have just one answer: autism.
It was autism that taught me to be thankful for everything that I have. Because when a kid who doesn't speak utters one syllable to you, you treasure that syllable like your most valuable possesion. When a child who doesn't let anyone touch him gives you a hug, you feel like the luckiest person in the world. And then, all of a sudden, after many sleepless nights, after thousands of pages of strategies and forums and support groups, even when you lose what you held most dear you find something you might have never had before: perspective. You realize everything, every little thing, is a blessing. And I for one simply stopped having any ambition but that of making this world a more comfortable place for those I love. Not a pressurized place. Not a race for success and reputation. Not an endless fight for achievements. A comfortable place. A safe and loving place.
Also, in the midst of autism I learned I could never be the best. I could never be everything. I could never learn everything, know everything, understand everything. There would always be an unexpected turn along the way that would leave me baffled and helpless. There would always be so much that I can't control. And I used to feel so lost and useless when that happened. So defeated. So broken. And I would spend hours asking myself where did I go wrong, where did I fail. I probably didn't read enough, learn enough, listen enough. I probably lacked something essencial in my being. It was all my fault. And as I kept working with kids everythig became so much clearer. I was doing the best that I could and I was ok. They felt my love. Some of them I actually spoiled too much. But they felt my love. I knew that. I know that. I am sure of it. And I am sure that I am doing the right thing, in my own time and with the resources that I have. And I decided to offer myself the same patience, love and kindness that I offer my kids. I am gentle with myself now. So yes, in my proffessional life I chose not to worry myself and beat myself for things beyond my reach. But I do have dreams. Some of them quite big. But to each their own time. As for my personal life, I chose to stop fighting God. Because it was exhausting and it made me miserable. I am a christian, that is my identity, the core of my being, and for me, the best thing is to let God navigate this ship.

Autism Awareness Day 2018

When autism hit me, it hit me hard. I stopped sleeping well. For a while, I even stopped living my life. Autism became the main thought on my mind. I would live for it, read about it, cry because of it. Autism became my world: a very lonely planet with just my name on it. But, as a movie quote says, "I like to think I took the sourest lemon life offered me and made some great lemonade." I am a music therapist. I connect with children every day. I help them express themselves. I encourage them to step out of their shell. I give them comfort and love and I help them find their voice. They are my joy and inspiration. I do for them what I didn't have the chance to do for others in the past and they bring me peace and solace in the darkest of days. I am grateful for autism and I don't regret it entering my life not one bit. Autism taught me to love. Autism taught me to be patient and kind, strong and resourceful. Autism shaped me into the woman I am today.

The Elizabeth

This post might come as a surprise from someone whose recent posts talk of great years and amazing memories. Yes, that's all very true. BUT (you all knew this "but" will come) not all of my days are like that. Not everything in my life is perfect. Not everything in my heart is in its rightful place. I choose to count my blessings and focus on all the wonders God makes in my life but I do suffer. I do feel pain. I am brokenhearted and it's not easy to live with. I face things to. I battle them. And I lose. BIG TIME. But through all of that God is blessing me with the grace to see His love above all and be happy in my life as is. And no, I don't like talking about it, I choose not to talk about it, and especially not to anyone. So, as the new year unfolded I experienced some gloomy days. I just felt sad for all the things I lost, the people who weren't in my life, the memories I couldn't relive, the new ones I couldn't make. You know, just one of those moments when you start eating a lot of sweets and watching TV shows. And as I made my way through this I had colleagues tell me I was "sour" and I had to smile and nod through their "well intentions" just because I didn't know what to say. I do pour my heart out in this blog, but if you ever met me, you're either one of those few who know what's in my heart or you're in the group who can't say much more about me than the fact that I drink a lot of coffee, tend to be very arrogant and sarcastic and have the language of a sailor. I just don't answer "How you're doing?" with "I'm falling apart, eating my feelings, missing my loved ones and I basically have no wish to leave my house." - you know, I say "I'm fine, doing my job, taking every day as it comes, nothing much."
As I lived through these past few days I was a bit disappointed with myself. I had a plan of how I wanted to spend my next weekend, I had quite some hopes gathered up, but God stepped in and changed the plan. And that was alright. But however well we learn to navigate this life doing God's will, getting our hopes up for things which aren't meant for us seems to be in our nature. So a part of me was disappointed and sad. Very sad. All I could think about was how this isn't what I had planned and I kept imagining how things could have been if I would've done what I intended to. And I was disappointed with myself. I started to wonder where the girl who was happy with her life and God's doing went? Why couldn't I be happy with the new situation and let go of my silly dreams? Why couldn't I remember how content and peaceful I was just a few days back? And I prayed to God that He would help me get that feeling back. And then something unexpected happened: a simple, unplanned walk with a sister in faith. We hardly ever have time to just walk and talk. But this time we did. And she listened. She listened to as much as I was willing to tell and she didn't interrogate me. She didn't say anything out of the ordinary. She didn't try to fix me or change the way I felt. And just letting some things off my chest was so good for me! As I started talking to her I remembered I was happy with my life. I felt peaceful again. I didn't feel the need to change anything, not even the things which hurt me and make me sad. I accepted them as part of my story. And feeling this great relief and this weight being taken off my chest I realized something: she was my Elizabeth.
You see, when Mary was told by the Angel she was pregnant with Baby Jesus (though she had never been with a man), he also told her about Elizabeth, her cousin, who was also pregnant in her old age. And Mary must have been very frightened at that time, because probably no one was going to believe her and she could've been stoned in the street for it. So Mary left to visit her cousin Elizabeth, hoping that what the Angel told her was true, and that through that she would gain more confidence and clarity. And when Elizabeth saw her, she knew, without Mary saying a word. She knew and she understood. And just being with her and having someone validate her story I think gave Mary a lot of faith and confidence. So this sister of mine was my Elizabeth. And I can only hope I can be that Elizabeth for someone else. And I hope that if you go through something you can't really speak of, or if you feel like no one understands you or validates your story, I hope you find your Elizabeth. I hope you keep your eyes and your heart open for those people you might not expect but who can give you so much peace and courage. I hope you walk all days of your life with courage and faith and you always find that person that helps you re-put everything into perspective.

P.S. Dear Elizabeth, thank you! I am blessed to have had you that day. :)

Haggadah 2017

2017 has been the best year of my life. No doubt in that. And I have nothing in my heart but the greatest gratitude towards the Lord. It’s been amazing, beyond anything I dreamed of. I traveled so much and had my heart filled with so many beautiful emotions. It was miraculous and I want to do this traditional “Haggadah” even though it’s not Easter and recount all the wonders that God has shown to me this year.

BUT

Before we get to that, I want to do a small detour, a short trip down Memory Lane.

You see, last year when I posted my New Year’s Eve picture I wrote something like this: “I beat you, 2016! You broke me, but here I am, standing on my feet!” And some very well-intended friends felt I was being too melodramatic, some people thought I was exaggerated, others began to worry what had happened to me that was so terrible and so on… A special thanks to those who took the time to write and say “Don’t worry, it’s not the end of the journey. This will turn you into your own superhero.”  But to get to the point: sometimes it seems like society doesn’t want to hear about our troubles, our hardships or how broken we get every now and then. We use social media to paint the pretty picture and feel lame to say anything different from that when we stop feeling so perfect and amazing. But this past year I learned I have the right to tell my story when I feel it’s time or to not say it at all if it doesn’t feel right. It was a harder lesson than it seems.

Last December (2016) I had my major breakdown. I got to a point where I was tired beyond logic, incapable of waking up to go to my second job, frustrated with everyone around me and depressed. And when it came to say that, I just couldn’t. Because it wasn’t logical. I didn’t know why I was so tired. I didn’t know why I was failing. I didn’t know why everything was falling apart, much less how it could be fixed. So I tried to work my way around it. I tried to make excuses. And I ended up disappointing some people I had worked very hard to earning their respect and prove I wasn’t just shit. And guess what? When my breakdown happened, someone made sure I remembered I was shit. And failing like that and breaking down was very hard to accept. It was brutal. I couldn’t understand how after so many years of trying to please everybody and having it all under control and being able to work myself into exhaustion I was breaking down. I had to give up everything and stop because I couldn’t do it anymore. Of course, the next thing that followed was a deep spiritual crisis. January 2017 was the only time in my life I had seriously considered leaving my Church community because I couldn’t bear the weight of my sins, my deceptions, my broken heart and identity. And God knows that community is my life! That’s probably why after 2 months of trials and tribulations, on the 22^nd of March (one of the most symbolic dates in my recent history) me and God finally got back to each other and decided to hop on this crazy roller-coaster together. BEST DECISION EVER.

What I want to say through this detour is that it’s ok to say we are broken. It’s more than ok. It’s healthy. It’s necessary. It’s helpful. It’s irrelevant if other people have it harder than us. We are not in this life to compare the depths of the shit we’re in. The important thing is to get through it and find support. Be it in God, family, friends, loved ones or tourists we meet in hostels. It’s important to share our burdens, acknowledge our hardships, our problems and our hard times, and also, like I’m about to do, count our blessings. Yes, it’s been hard. I’ve been through a lot. A lot more than I’m willing to talk about. I lost people I still can’t go a day without thinking about. I’ve lost battles I didn’t know I was going to fight. I had to reshape my entire life and identity. I’ve lost that one too. I lost my faith and my connection with God. I’ve lost the desire to please everyone. I gained peace. I gained a vocation. I gained tranquility and happiness in solitude. And I am very thankful for every step of the way. After the hardest year of my life came the best one. I am living proof that however bad things seem right now, however broken or sad, with just a tiny ounce of faith and just the right amount of letting go, life can turn around in miraculous ways. So here they are, some of my favorite moments with God from this amazing year:  

• Looking at this amazing Christmas tree and remembering from whom all these ornaments came from: family, friends, charity or the year when I myself bought some of them.
• Baking Christmas cookies and sharing them with others and seeing the joy on their faces
• Finally sticking to my Advent Calendar :) (it was about time!)
• Attending a George Balanchine ballet!
• Travelling alone and feeling His presence always with me
• AVISHAI COHEN! - my comfort, my soothing go-to artist: an incredible concert and that amazing picture together!
• Being a christian missionary for a week: the people we met, the silent moments of prayer, that hour we spent together in the garden under the apple trees, the way in which He provided for us every step of the journey
• Surviving Vienna.
• Writing my story in many beautiful places and having the courage to upload it on the blog.
• The trips to Cluj, where I've experienced everything: I've been happy, sad, tired, excited, bleeding, laughing with friends or completely alone, listening to concerts that changed my life and trying to figure out that life. Cluj was God's gift to me for which I had asked with desperate prayers!
• Israel: the home of my spirit :) I have to specially mention our trip up on the deserted hill and all the thoughts and conversations we had for 2-3 very long hours of walking through thistles; the small cheap hostel in Tiberias and the beautiful plantations down the roads
• All the postcards I wrote, some sent, some not, which helped me realize so many things about myself, my heart and my life.
• Bartok, Gustav, Enescu, Wagner, Ceaikovski - the concerts that filled my heart.
• Anca and Ana - the 2 As that keep me on track and turn any frown on my face upside down :)
• The kids I work with, the many things I learned about disabilities and autism, the people who take the time to teach me.
• The good food, good coffee and great friends to share it with
• The lovely home we created together and the silent moments we spend praying together
• The peace He gave me in the hard times, the happiness He made possible in every small thing
• The many beautiful moments with my parents, the fantastic relationship we have
• The fact that He listened to all my prayers and made me understand His answers 
• The fact that we now have an everyday relationship which led to countless memories and blessings which would make this post unbelievably long.
• Last but not least, the courage to write my mind and speak my voice when I feel it's right and the wisdom to know when it isn't.

I am more than thankful for this unbelievable year and I can only hope for a 2018 just as great! Thank you to each and every one of you who take the time to read my blog, you're not just a number to me, my heart rejoices for every view (that's all I get, the number of views, haha) and I can only hope that you enjoy these posts and pray that all of you find what your heart is looking for and are "completely and perfectly and incandescently happy" in all that life has to offer! Happy New Year and thank you for being the small number that brings me great joy! 

The Story of Almah - 6th Chapter

Not far from Almah's home there was a hill. On its top there was a bench facing South and from there Almah could see her Father's Kingdom stretching in the sunlight. Many times she would go there to think and be alone with her thoughts. After a couple of months away from home she went there. The snow had melted and one could see the grass trying to make its way through the earth and into the light. Almah's mind was voided. "Come home" said a familiar voice. J snuck behind her and was circling the bench to come sit beside her. "Come home. I miss you and I know you miss Me. We've always been together. Never in your life have you gone two months without talking to Me. Please, come home." Almah laid her head on her brother's chest. She did want to go home. These two months were necessary and helpful but she missed her family. Any thought she would have, she was used to running it by J. There was nothing He didn't know about her and His presence alone was the most comforting thing in the world. It was impossibly hard to live without Him, she felt horribly incomplete. "You coming home?" He insisted. "Of course I am." she said. "Promise never to go away again? It would break My heart, you know..." - "I promise. But I want to talk to Father. I have complaints to make about my upbringing." - "Complaints? Really?" - "Yes, really. What is this thing that I grew up dreaming of a family of my own, obsessing over finding a husband and getting married and having children? Do you find that normal? Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone, in this Kingdom or outside of it? It's excruciating. People are losing their minds trying to find their soulmate. They get together and compromise to the point where they forget who they are and then they break up and drink their minds away, or get married but then are faced with the hardships of life and the diminishing of love and the absence of care and they get divorced and feel pressured to start it all over again. It's incredibly hard. It breaks my heart to see it happen to others, let alone to have it happen to me. Happy families and marriages are a miracle. They truly are. And they should be treated that way. We should be taught that finding a soulmate and living a blessed life together is a miracle and it's based on faith and loyalty and not just affectionate love, but true love, authentic love, self-giving and self-sacrificing love. And we should be taught to be whole by ourselves. To be contempt with who we are on our own. To be happy on our own. To cherish our lives and have a vocation. A meaning that is enough for us even if we may never find someone to share it with." Almah was barely catching a breath while delivering this speech. J looked at her with His big brown eyes. "I'm sure Father would tell you that He's been trying to teach you that your entire life." He said. "Well, I didn't get it. I didn't get it until now and it's been a very very hard lesson to learn. And most parts of it hurt." - "Al, the greatest lessons we get in life hurt." - "Fabulous world we live in, love. Fabulous world." J laughed. "You're still sarcastic... which means you're fine. Oh, and you better put that ring back on. A promise is a promise. We're in this together and no matter where you go or how you break your word, My word stays. So keep that ring on your finger." - "Will do, big brother, will do."

"It's good to have you home." A gentle voice was heard while Almah was roaming around a still garden with shy shades of green making their way out of the Winter. "I wanted to speak with You, Father." she said. "I know, I heard of your speech." He replied. "Come, sit with Me." They sat on a wide cold stone bench around which little white flowers were dropping dew on the earth. "You know," Almah started, "sometimes when I'm out there it feels as if everyone's having it better than me. Everyone in my circle, you know. More talented, more skinny, more beautiful, much more respected and admired, wanted by everyone around them, all of that. It feels like I'm stuck being the sidekick in the corner, never fully regarded or looked up on. And standing there it makes me feel like I haven't got much. I'm not very talented, not very successful, pretty much average in everything, just an anonymous, little weird and socially awkward virgin." Her Father chuckled. "I hate going out there and looking like I ain't got much. Like I'm not really worth much. I have all this. I am a princess. I'm just not a very shiny one." - "Almah, this Kingdom will never appear as a fabulous Instagram story that the world will die for. In fact, it's pretty much us dying for the world. That's how it goes around here." - "I just don't understand why I still feel this way. How did I turn out like this? Where did we go wrong, Father?" - "Wrong? You think we went wrong somewhere?" - "Well, it must be. I mean, I'm not cut out for the world, yet I struggle to be a good daughter to You too. I'm constantly fighting my feelings and desires because they rarely match Yours and sooner rather than later we always end up fighting and I end up feeling like I did everything wrong my entire life." - "Almah." - "What do You see when You look at me, Father?" - "I see my daughter. I see that I've made you good. I did nothing wrong, Almah, I never do, in fact. Everything is as it should be." - "I want to ask You something." Almah said with a breaking voice. "Send me somewhere. Send me somewhere to work for You. I need it, Father. I need to start doing something worthy of this Kingdom and inheritance. I need to start focusing on You and us and our home. I want to." - "Where do you want to go?" - "Somewhere warm and where they speak Spanish." - "So Finland, then." Almah laughed. "I'll think about it. When the time's right." He said. "Whatever that means..." - "Almah..." - "Well, Father, we have different views on time, don't we?" - "You know, I remember this Christmas when you told Melchior you were missing perspective. You were right." her Father said with a hint of a smile. "Thanks, that's great to hear. Really." Almah replied with a frown. "I'm happy you're willing to go." her Father added. "I'm happy too. I'm happy to be home, first. And just so You know, deep inside I also think You did everything perfect. I just get distracted sometimes... most of the times. But I know You make everything good. I count on it. I count on You for everything." - "So you should." Her Father concluded with a smile.

The Story of Almah - 5th Chapter

The night was cold and Almah's hand was freezing on her cigarette. Warm tears were leaving soft marks on her cheeks. She stood silent for a while, trying to gather her thoughts. Through all the fog in her mind things were starting to catch shape and contour and slowly she could see them more clearly. She felt there was only one way out, and that was out of everything. She couldn't go on like this. Melchior, as always, was right. She was divided and she needed to get herself back together. This could not go on. She was bringing shame to her Kingdom, disappointing her Father and using Joe as a tool for her affectionate needs. It was too much. Her heart grew heavy thinking about what she had to do, or more accurate, what she wanted to do. Leaving everything behind seemed so radical and painful. She had never in her life considered leaving her Kingdom. Who was she outside of it? But the same could be asked about who she was inside of it. Her sense of identity was completely lost. Nothing from her history made sense anymore. It was all just a big whirl of neediness and confusion and mixed feelings and false hope and desperate love and it felt suffocating. How would she ever get out of it?
"Father?" she said, focusing her eyes on the dark night. "I'm here, Almah." her Father's voice sounded calm and soothing. "So Joe's out?" He asked. "Yeah. It has to be. It's not love. It's a need for companionship and affection but it's not love. And it's not going anywhere, but You know that." - "I do" He replied. "But it's still up to you. I never forced you into anything." - "I know. But even I know this is the right thing to do." Her Father put His hand around her shoulders. "I have to go." she added. "Are you sure?" He asked her. "I can't do this anymore. I have to realize who I am. Who I want to be. And when I come back, I want to truly be here. Be more worthy. More aware. This is not how being Your daughter is done. I am failing You. I am a failure. I screw up. That's the truth, Father. I'm a screw-up. And it's not the kind of daughter that I want to be. If I live in Your Kingdom and call myself Your daughter, I should behave like one. And I'm not. And You know that. I can't keep failing You. I have to leave." Her Father looked her in the eyes with deep love and a sense of compassion. He needn't say anything. "I do love You, Father." ... "You know," he finally said, "every time we would get to a point where we would disagree and you, as you have all your life, would feel like you want to walk out and leave, you would always ask me one thing: Don't let me go." Almah looked into her Father's eyes: "I know. I remember. That's why I have to ask you now: let me go. I beg You, let me go. I need to go." - "You can go, Almah. You are free. But we will miss you. This is your home, this is where you belong. Yet you are free. I let you go."
Almah turned from her Father with a broken heart and left. She didn't want to face J., she simply couldn't. She took her ring out, the one they had bought together, the one that symbolized that they would always be beside each other and their bond would always come first, and put it in a safe place. Until she would return home (and deep in her heart Almah wanted to return home) she couldn't wear that ring. By leaving she had broken that promise and she would put it back on once she would make a new and lasting promise to her brother.
"You let her go?" J. stormed to His Father. "She's free." He answered. "She's dumb!" J. shouted. "She's gonna get hurt!". And J had tears in His eyes. "You can watch over her from a distance. But let her experience what she must. Trust her. I gave her all she needs. She'll figure it out when it is time."

The Story of Almah - 4th Chapter

4th Chapter

Almah rushed into her home, trying to organize herself as quickly as possible. While at it, she briefly texted J I'm sorry I got in so late, I have to run now, Dominic's mother is in town, they want me to join them for a walk. We'll catch up later. Dominic was sort of Almah's friend, with the only mention that his associate, Jack, was a jackass. Sorry, that's what Almah would say. I'll formulate it again. Dominic's associate, Jack, was the only man in the Kingdom who managed to conquer and then break Almah's heart. All others were from outside the Kingdom, so Almah found in herself the excuse and the power to forgive them. But as much as she tried, she could never forgive Jack. Sometimes she thought she did, but other times, it was just so obvious that she didn't. Jack was a great guy. He had a lot of fire. And a lot of blood. He drove Almah really mad and crazy, he pissed her off half of the time. But the other half, he supported her and understood her. He made her feel special in her own way and appreciated for who she was. And she hated him for it, because he was never supposed to make her feel that way if he wasn't going to stay with her on this journey. So Almah had to meet him, while her relationship with Joe was on the rocks and her mind as foggy as a cold December evening.
"We heard you have a boyfriend" Dominic's mother said. "Yes, I do", Almah said with a forced smile. She hated talking about Joe to people from the Kingdom, for they always inquired about Joe's intentions. "He's not in the Kingdom, is he?"- Great! The questions continued as Almah's anxiety was already to a boiling point. "No, he's not" she replied. "Hmmm, that will be very difficult" his mother continued, "but then again, a woman has a lot of power." - "Yes, but this one is kind of dumb" Dominic interfered on a joking tone, which, with all the love in the world, made Almah feel like shit. She knew very well Dominic was right, just as she knew she did not have the power of which his mother was talking. But while she had no idea how long will she remain with Joe and this torturing uncertainty was driving her nuts, this conversation was the worst. And that Xanax pill (a whole one, this time) did not wait for long. Jack seemingly added "You women can make a man suffer very easily. You just tell him, whether you're in or you're in." Right. Like that ever worked for Almah. The main reason all these conversations were so painful for Almah was that she always felt none of this was her choice. She didn't choose a man outside her Kingdom on purpose, he was the only one to want her. And when she did choose a man from her Kingdom he became her greatest disappointment, leading to a year of anguish and disorientation. She didn't choose for Joe to be completely against her Kingdom and her Father. She didn't choose to be neither a rebel and a failure, neither a princess. It all happened to her, and the only thing that was her choice was not fighting it. Because she couldn't. She couldn't fight it anymore. She wanted Jack. She wanted someone like Jack, at least. Someone in the Kingdom, who would stand by her side in all matters. It was so easy for people to presume things went smoothly for Almah outside her Kingdom. Or that it would be just so easy to give everything up and live outside. Or just as easy give Joe an ultimatum and tell him that if he wanted Almah he had to follow her. Or keep a "by the Book" relationship with Joe. Yeah, people talked like all these decisions were a piece of cake. Maybe for others they were, but not for Almah. And now she was pissed. Very pissed. She bared the 2 hours walk and then head straight for Joe's house. She was sorry she didn't defend their relationship better, but how could she when she herself didn't believe in it anymore? She needed so bad to hear those stupid I love you or at least You're precious to me or You're valuable to me words but these never came. She would question herself every night she spent in his house. She would also feel so drawn to him. She was so divided, just like Melchior said, that it felt like it was going to kill her eventually. And this meeting with Dominic and Jack had been a terrible idea. And because no bad day could end well, after a lovely dinner with some friends, Joe had fallen back into his bad mood, leaving Almah with no conversation and therefore no other choice than to get into her mind and analyze this awful day. But she couldn't do it alone.

The Story of Almah - Daughter of The King, Chapters 2 and 3

2^nd Chapter

“Still here?” J asked on a friendly tone. “Nah… again here.” Almah replied. “How come You only come to me when I’m doing laundry?” she asked. “Your mind is more clear. And you pay more attention to me. I don’t know… laundry makes you think better, so I prefer to come to you in moments like these. So things got better, huh? You melted Grinch’s heart?” – “I don’t know if I melt it, but yes, things are better.” Almah said with a smile. “Yet you’re still concerned.” J added. “I’m iffy.” – “Is that even a word?” – “Actually it is… I’m having mixed feelings. I’m happy things are good with Joe, but that doesn’t mean they are right.” – “You’ll figure it out when the time comes. Just remember, my birthday is still about Me.” J concluded with a smile and kissing her forehead like always, left.

Almah was the youngest and wildest sister of J. She did not choose to be a princess. She was born one, but there was something in her personality that made her rebel against this faith very often. She lived in the happiest Kingdom of all and her Father was the best and most powerful King, but even though He wished all people would live in His Kingdom He would never force anyone. That meant that the only way for the Kingdom to expand was by sharing the experience of its inhabitants with the rest of the world. And Almah had been born to do that. It was her mission to let the world know that the best place to be was in the Kingdom. And although she believed it with all her heart, accomplishing that mission was something she felt she was failing to do.

“Come, let’s take a walk.” Said a familiar voice. “Coffee?” – “Always” Almah replied taking the paper cup from her companion’s hand. “So, how are your preparations going?” – “Behind schedule, of course.” – “What’s missing?” – “My perspective?” – “Ha ha ha… well, only you could know that.” – “I got your first two letters yesterday, you know.” – “Oh, cool. Kids still asking for a bunch of Noriel stuff to increase your anxiety?” – “Not these ones, you’ll enjoy these, they have drawings.” And taking two letters out of her purse, Almah gave them to him. “Remember what I told you last year?” – “Yeah…” – “Did you do that?” – “Melchior…” – “I’m serious. I was serious last year too.” – “I know.” – “So?” – “So I didn’t find what I was searching for, but I managed to lose what I thought I had, too.” – “Good.” – “Good?” – “Good. Losing what you thought you had is the first step to finding what you need to find.” Almah stared into Melchior’s eyes, her old wise friend. “You’re going out again, right?” – “Yes.” Almah said on a serious tone. “Be careful. Compromise in faith is never good. Yes, I know, people will say we are fanatics. But it’s not about that. Compromise in faith makes you crippled, divided. You have one foot here and the other one outside. You coming and going in and out of your home would be nothing bad, if your heart would not be divided. But your heart is divided. I can hear it break inside of you right now. I see how your eyes are tired and your mind is tired, because you cannot make your own mind - it’s tossing and turning caught between two worlds. You want to be happy, but you also have to stay true to your identity. And, like it or not, you’re a princess. You were born to be a messenger to your Father, to this Kingdom. You tried many times to escape this, but this is who you are. And going out there and denying yourself, that’s what’s breaking you.” – “I’m sorry, where’s Balthazar? He gave me pistachios.” Almah asked while trying to smile. “Everybody here wants what’s best for you, Almah. And even if it doesn’t seem like it, we do want you to be happy. All of us. And especially Your Father.” – “I know. But I still feel stuck.” – “I’m afraid you’ll be feeling like that for a while. You’ll be feeling like that until you figure out deep inside of you what you want and make a decision. The right decision will make you free.” Almah nodded but was incapable of saying anything. “Be good if you can.” Melchior added.

Almah headed outside. The Kingdom didn’t have clear borders. And it didn’t have any fences. It was open for everyone to come in and out as they wished. Some lived right at the joining point between the Kingdom and the rest of the world. Some lived in the man’s land, but very close to the Kingdom. And some, like Joe, lived a bit further away. Joe was a good man, a righteous man, one that sought justice and peace. He had a big heart, and like all men with a big heart, he was disappointed by something and he never talked about it. He was intelligent, and like all smart men, he was skeptical about the Kingdom. For intelligent men don’t want to listen to somebody else, even more so, they don’t want to listen to a King. Almah had to stray far from her home to meet him, passing through all sorts of areas. Usually, she would leave her true identity behind and go as one of the travelers. Some knew who Almah was, some always wondered. Almah, herself, always wondered. She felt good in the world. She connected to so many different people and she loved all of them. But as she was walking the long distance to Joe’s house she would always wonder if she could ever get used to living so far away from her home. If she could ever settle for not being who she was meant to be. If she could ever forgive herself for giving up her heritage. All these thoughts roamed around her mind. She liked the world. She loved Joe. She loved his house. But a still small voice always reminded her that she wasn’t home.

…

“What’cha doin’?” J asked on a cheery tone, appearing out of nowhere behind Almah. “Just because You can resurrect people doesn’t mean You have to scare them to death.” She replied while her heart was pounding. “Haha, good one. What are you baking?” – “Nutellotti.” – “I suppose that means they’re made with Nutella…” – “D’ooh!” – “Sounds good. What’s wrong?” – “I’m behind schedule… I didn’t get everything done yet AND I never know what cake to bake you.” – “I like everything you’re baking, you know that!” – “Yeah, but it’s Your birthday and…” – “You’ve been away for long and you want to make it up to me?” – “Yeah, something like that.” – “Al, relax. The only thing that matters to me is for us to spend this evening together.” – “How are things around there?” Almah asked while her hands were molding small balls from a very brown dough. “You know, same old. I had to prevent Nick from a meltdown.” – “Freaking out over the Santa Clauses?” – “Get a saint with OCD to face one of history’s biggest inaccuracies… How’s Joe?” – “Busy. Cleaning the house, stuff like that.” – “Did you invite him over?” – “You know he wouldn’t come.” – “D’oh, but it’s important that he knows we love him. And we care about him.” – “I don’t think he believes that.” – “Then show him.” – “What?” – “Show him our true nature. Show him that he’s important to us. Al, you’re my favorite sister. I wouldn’t give you to just anybody if I didn’t have a plan, wouldn’t I?” – “What? J…!” But J already turned and left the kitchen. J was just like His Father. He never revealed His plans completely, and most of the times, His plans were very different from what anyone would imagine. Almah continued her baking and her feelings about this Christmas were getting more and more mixed up.

            

3^rd Chapter

Almah was in her room finishing her make-up when she heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” J opened the door and stopped in front of it, measuring Almah. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a small white wool vest. Her hair was falling on her shoulders and you could see a bit of blue around her eyes coming out from behind her glasses. “You look so pretty!” J said. “You think?” – “Always.” He smiled and walked straight to the table where the nutellotti were placed on a tray. “No, no, wait!” Almah shouted behind Him. “What? Don’t tell me you won’t let me eat them until midnight!” – “No, I just need to add a little something” and she went to take something out of her drawer. “Oh, did I tell you I sent some milk and cookies in Nick’s room? Just to tease him…” and they both started laughing. “Poor Nick…” Almah added. “Here!” – she took one of the nutellotti and put a small candle in the middle of it and lit it. She continued while giving J the cookie: “You’re not just my brother. You’re my best friend. My life companion. You’re the one who’s always there for me, whether I’m doing good or complete shit. You never give up on me, no matter how many times I give up on both of us and all this Kingdom. You always loved me. And I love you first, no matter how far from home I ever get. Happy birthday, J!” J took the cookie, blew the candle and gave Almah a hug. “Wanna dance?” He asked and turned on a song. “Fairytale of New York?” Almah asked surprised. “You like this song?” – “No,” J answered. “I find it very offensive, actually, but I know you like it. And it’s good for dancing. We can play roles!” Throughout the song J would ask her “You really like this?” – “Yes, it’s bittersweet. And I’m used to bittersweet Christmases, You know!” – “Haha, ok, I’ll give you that!” – “Thanks!” When the song was finished, J took Almah’s hand and said “Let’s go, or we’ll be late again!” – “Yeah, yeah, I also have to confess before the Mass starts.” Almah added. – “Oh, trust me, I know you have to confess!” J said chuckling. “Merry Christmas, J!” – “Merry Christmas, little dove!”. J

The story of Almah - Daughter of the King

            First Chapter

It was the 22^nd of December and Almah was sitting in the middle of the laundry room. She had just taken her first half of a Xanax pill and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Clothes were scattered all around and the washing machine was waiting suffocated to be emptied. J, her Brother, walked in. “I did not expect to see you here.” He said. “I told You I’d be home for Christmas…” Almah replied without looking Him in the eyes. “Al...” J started while kneeling down beside her. “This is not how it was supposed to be.” Almah said, and her eyes got even fuller with tears. “If anything, I would have never thought you’ll flood the laundry room with tears…” J said. Almah smiled but her crying got even worse. “This is not how it was supposed to be” she said again. J continued on His joking tone: “By now, you should have known that things in this Kingdom don’t go as people planned them. We do have a King.” – “And His first born Son has a very fine sense of humor” she replied. “Al…“ J continued, “every year you try to make this big fuss about my birthday only to get here 3 days before and freak out on everyone for everything that didn’t go according to your plan. I hate to ruin this for you, but My birthday is actually about Me.” This time Almah was really laughing. “Yeah, I figured… but then explain to me, why does everyone feel the need to make such a big masquerade about it when they don’t even have a clue who You are?” – “Why does it bother you they do?” – “It never bothered You?” – “Why would it bother Me? Most of them do good. They try harder. They care about the others. They do nice stuff. They don’t do it for Me, but I’m not jealous like that.” J concluded smiling. “Well, I found Grinch. And trust me, he couldn’t care less about You and apparently about me either.” “Al, you know that ain’t true.” “Ain’t?” Almah repeated with a disapproving tone. “Did you go visit your bros in the Bronx?” she asked while laughing. “That’s all you got?” J replied. “Yeah, well, you’re the Big J.C.” and she put out her tongue. J rolled His eyes, took a deep breath and continued: “I was telling you that what you said IS NOT true. Joe’s a good man, and you know that. But “each shall seek its own kind”. “You’re seriously quoting Fiddler on the roof to me?” Almah asked while taking a pause. But she knew very well what J meant with those words. Each shall seek its own kind. In other words, a bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together? J got up from the floor and started folding the laundry. “I know you wished for a different Christmas. Last year you wrote me a letter that you’re skipping my birthday.” – “But I changed my mind afterwards…” Almah interfered. “Yes, you did. Though I know you did it more for the Three Kings than for me” J winked. “Shut up.” Almah said with a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Stop interrupting me, I had something to tell you.” J resumed. “You wanted to skip my birthday last year because you were sick of coming alone. This year you hoped you’ll have a perfect Christmas with Joe. But turns out you’re dating Grinch, haha… you gotta love our Father’s humor” J said while turning to see Almah’s reaction. “Yeah, I love it, don’t I?” she said while trying to keep a straight face.” “Al, you know very well that the problem is not that this Christmas is gonna suck for you just like all others. And I can’t believe I’m saying this! The real problem is that you’ve been away from home for too long. You don’t know who you are anymore. You don’t know where you’re going or what you want to do in this world and in this Kingdom. You are not happy. Al, you went out to find your happiness and although you had it for a little while, now it’s gone. And you feel lost. And that’s ok. But if you want to be happy this Christmas you have to trust Me. And you don’t really trust Me, don’t you?” J looked Almah deep in her brown eyes. They had the same eyes. He kissed her forehead and said “I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” And Almah went on with her laundry going over and over the last words J said to her. She didn’t trust Him. Why couldn’t she trust Him?

Me before you.

I've waited 2 months to see Me before you. As in I waited a month for it to appear, and another to have the courage to watch it, because I already knew the ending and I knew it would give me all the feels. First I saw the trailer: a love story between a caretaker and a man with disabilities (after Mozart and the Whale and Adam, I was looking forward to a new production). But then I found an article (SPOILER!!!) that emphasized on how the message sent by this movie might be very wrong for society (the protagonist decides ending his life in favor of living with a disability). Maybe I'm not entitled to talk about it, but I definitely need to. I've met amazing women in love with men with disabilities. I've read their stories, shared their struggles. They are by far the strongest, bravest, most powerful women I've ever met. I've cried for them. I've worried for them. And I've empathized with all of their stories. 
So let me tell you a little something about my own story: I can't put on a red dress and make it all better. I can't put on a green dress, a blue dress, or no dress, for that matter. I can't do anything to make it better - but I did succeed making it worse (but that's a different topic). I don't have to change. I don't have to learn and I don't have to do anything, because the truth is, I can't. The life of someone with a disability is not mine to fix. I can't fix this, because I don't have to. All I can do, all I did (and it seems I still do) is love. And yes, it did change me. It took my life and spin it completely until I didn't even know who was starring back at me in the mirror. And I read books. I joined a support group. I learned. I wanted to do my best to adjust and adapt. I tried to figure it all out. I tried to be the best version of myself because I thought that if I will make it my life's goal to do better, to make it better, I will prove that happiness is real and possible, I will prove my love is real. And I'll share with you a little secret: it was all about me. I grew. I loved. I cried and despaired. I learned. I know so much about it that all I want is to become a professional and my life will never be the same again. But it's still all about me. I made myself better. And I made myself stronger. And I loved. And maybe I still love. And maybe I'll love until the end of time. But the other one's life is his own life and I was nothing but a pit stop. Maybe I helped, maybe I didn't. Maybe I made it better, maybe I made it worse. Maybe I'll never know. But it's "me before you". I remember the girl I was a year ago. I see another girl in the mirror.  And I'm thankful. 
There was literally nothing I wouldn't have done to make it better. But one day I realized the only way to make it better was to do nothing. To let go, to give up, if you will. Yes. I had to bite my heart and eat it up and give up. Because I realized it wasn't about the other, it was about me. I wanted the other to be happy so that I could be happy with him. I wanted the other to feel better so that I would feel better with him. I wanted good things, wonderful things, never-ending love and happiness. But implementing those was not my job. Creating those was not in my hands. I chose to love because I wanted to. I chose to wait because I wanted to. That was my resolution. But the other's decision to live, to try, to fight, that is not my call to make. To live and let live, to love and let go.
And most importantly, to be thankful. Very very thankful. Having someone with a disability in your life is the closest you can get to loving without any conditions, without any measure, without any expectations, to love beyond the power to love. It changes you, it transforms you, it betters you in every way. But what you give to the other, how it affects them or how it transforms them, that is theirs and theirs alone. You have no credit, you have no call. 
It's me before you. You made ME better. What I have given you, only you could know. But the only thing I have left to say is: thank you. You weren't just the North of my life, by which I sailed. You have been the Northern Lights: the most beautiful thing I've ever encountered. And I am forever grateful.

La 7 km de Ierusalim

La 7 km de Ierusalim e titlul unui film pe care l-am revăzut de curând. A stat la baza ultimului meu articol în engleză, deoarece se centrează pe întâlnirea (în zilele noastre) dintre un jurnalist și Isus Cristos pe drumul dintre Ierusalim și Emaus. Și relația lor e foarte simplă și constituită în aparență din lucruri mărunte (ca Isus Cristos care bea din doza lui de Coca-Cola) :).
Acest articol se presupune a fi o invitație la catehezele pe care le-am început de joi în biserica Millenium din Timișoara, în fiecare luni și joi de la ora 20.00. Care e scopul catehezelor? În primul rând ca fiecare din noi să se întâlnească cu Isus Cristos. Personal. Așa cam ca și în film. La început la o plimbare, apoi treptat pentru a ne înțelege istoria noastră personală. Pentru că e mai important să ne înțelegem viața noastră și de ce Dumnezeu permite ca drumul nostru să fie cum e, de ce suferim, de ce suntem singuri sau într-o căsnicie care ni se pare că se duce de râpă, de ce moarte sau boală, și toate de ce-urile pe care ni le punem atunci când nu putem dormi și devenim prea mari pentru a număra oi. E mai important asta, decât răspunsuri teoretice la problemele lumii sau filozofii teologice. Până la urmă, întrebarea e: de ce să te întâlnești cu Isus Cristos? La ce-ți va folosi?
Eu nu am obiceiul de a trâmbița cu credința în stânga și în dreapta și nici nu mă simt comfortabil a chema oamenii la Biserică. Nu vreau să intru cu bocancii în sufrageria nimănui. Am câțiva prieteni care știu cine sunt și știu unde mă găsesc dacă au nevoie de mine. Dar cu catehezele astea e puțin altfel. În primul rând că fac parte din echipă și nu aș vrea să vorbesc singură cu biserica goală. În al doilea rând, din cauza unui exemplu pe care mi l-a dat cineva mai demult: să zicem că pleci într-o călătorie pe mare și se apropie furtuna. Tu ai barca ta care e foarte solidă și ești convins că nu se va scufunda. Celălalt e în altă barcă care nu știi dacă e suficient de solidă pentru a supraviețui furtunii. Ce faci atunci? Nu-l chemi în barca ta?
Bine, eu nu vreau să conving pe nimeni că barca mea e mai bună. Nici că barca lui nu e bună sau nu e solidă. Dar dacă cineva simte că barca lui nu ține prea bine, că ia apă, sau poate chiar s-a scufundat, eu am experimentat că barca mea nu se scufundă și îl pot ajuta să ajungă până la mal. Nu am pretenția ca cineva să se mute la mine în barcă sau să renunțe la barca lui. Ci doar să ofer o mână de ajutor până trece furtuna, doar să împrumut o vestă, o șurubelniță, o ancoră, ce-o fi nevoie.
La asta mi-a folosit mie Isus Cristos. Mi-a construit o barcă care nu se scufundă și care mă trece prin furtuni. Și o cârmuiește El însuși, că eu de fiecare dată când am încercat să trec la cârmă am luat niște stânci mari și dure în brațe. Și a avut săracul o grămadă de reparat. Și la barcă, și la mine.
Și să ne înțelegem, nu sunt un copil model. Sau un creștin. Sunt aceeași care de Crăciun i-a scris lui Isus Cristos o scrisoare în care-i spunea că nu vrea să meargă la ziua Lui pentru că nu vrea să sărbătorească Crăciunul singură. Dar în același timp, îmi place de Isus Cristos. În felul ăsta omenesc și sentimental, așa cum sunt eu capabilă, îl iubesc. Pentru că Lui pot să-I spun „Mai bine țip la Tine decât la alții!” sau „Știu că nu e vina Ta că mă doare, dar te rog stai cu mine în noaptea asta până trece.” Și îmi place să știu că El e cu mine, chiar dacă mă simt de multe ori un eșec. Chiar dacă sunt singură și simt că va trece multă vreme până voi fi fericită. Pentru că mă bazez pe El. Mă bazez pe iubirea Lui. Mă bazez că mi-a promis că voi fi fericită și voi experimenta Raiul pe pământ. Că nu e vorba de a ajunge în Rai când murim... sincer, asta e o idee insuficientă. Isus Cristos e mai mult decât atât. O relație cu Isus Cristos chiar e frumoasă, chiar merită. E un om pe care merită să-L cunoști. Chiar dacă nu ai avut nicio legătură cu El, chiar dacă nu vrei o relație cu El. Merită măcar să-L cunoști și să bei o Cola cu El. Nici eu, nici El, nu-ți cerem mai mult. Luni și joi, de la 20.00. Biserica Millenium din Piața Romanilor nr. 2 (lângă Piața Traian). Măcar o dată. :)

Daienu - the Easter post

Every year for Easter we sing a song called “Daienu” – it tells the wonders that God has made with His people, and after each one of them it’s said “That would have been enough, that would have been enough, daienu, daienu, daienu.” – meaning that if God had done only one of the wonderful things He did it would have been enough. But He always surprises us with more miracles.

So, I too like to think about all the wonders God has made with me. And not just the big miraculous things, but especially the small ones, the moments we spent alone, the moments when I know He was there and He sat right next to me, like the loving husband He is. Like 2 years ago when I took a trip along the Inn to a small German village and there was waiting for me a Church full of sunflowers, which are my favorite. Only He could have done that.

So I sat yesterday, before leaving for the Easter Vigil, in front of my Beloved’s tomb. And in those silent moments of gratitude for His love and His death, I thought of all our beautiful moments from last year. The big ones, and the small ones… especially the small.

·When we held the catequesis in the Church and had to preach His word

·Every time we went to 1 Mai and sat on our favorite bench watching the Sun over the meadow and talking about my life

·When I was crying before my final exam and He sat with me and then walked me home

·When I left for Chisinau, scared and terrorized and He stayed always by my side, waking me up at 6 am and helping me study

· When we were in Israel, and I got my purity ring saying “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine” and we sat together in the chapel of the garden where He met Mary Magdalene

·When in Israel, on mount Carmel, He was the still small voice in the wind and He colored the entire horizon in blue, just because it’s my favorite color

·When He was holding my hand through the hard sleepless nights

· When we sat on a rooftop in Jerusalem, feeling so close to Heaven we could almost touch it

· When we visited Sibiu alone and enjoyed our time together

· When we were in Venlo and sat by the river in the sunlight and He made me feel I was beautiful to Him

When He helped me finish a special gift for someone we love
 When He renewed my strength, my faith and my hope

·When He made me feel I belong with Him and He will never let go of me

· When I read Him the whole Song of Songs on Christmas Night

·When He understood I need to wallow and encouraged me through my days of tiredness and depression

 When He told me it’s ok to let go, and reassured me He will make everything good

·Every time I feel sad and hopeless and He makes me laugh or smile about something

·When He told me I had done everything I could and sustained me through the hardships

· When I sang to Him

· When I would put Benedict to sleep and fantasize about my future wondering what He has in mind for me

·When we discovered Arad together and prayed in the Maria Radna Basilica

 And so many cups of coffee that I drank in my flat thanking Him for providing for my every need so that I could enjoy the sunlight going in through my window

My Lord is my Beloved. He died for me and resurrected for me and He is my first husband. He will make everything good, even if I don’t see it or understand it yet. One day, when I’ll look back at all we’ve been through I’ll see crystal clear that His plan is perfect and all that He does is wonderful. I am thankful for every moment we spent together, even if I let Him down so many times, even if I lost my hope and my faith, even if I didn’t accept my troubles and my pain, even if I shouted at Him many times. My sins do not surprise Him, it is His love and forgiveness that surprises me. Thank you, my Beloved, may this year make my love for You grow more and more each day!