Sunday, July 28, 2013

The First Day

My childhood was troubled. As a kid, I had to learn lessons of adjustment and survival that no child should ever learn… My fight for life started in my mother’s womb. I was born premature, with a complex heart malformation. At that time, the doctors gave me zero chances of survival. Therefore, they suggested that my mother should leave me there, in the hospital… Even though I was supposed to die, even though I was tiny and fragile, black and ugly, like a baby crow, as my mom would say, her love was so strong that I actually made it. Her love and care for me was the most miraculous remedy.

However, it’s not about my first day on Earth that I wanted to talk to you about, but I keep getting lost in my own thoughts…

Back to the story, not only did I survive longer than expected, but I actually lived long enough to see my mother part with this world. I was only 12 when I got deprived of her immense love. Long empty years followed. I couldn’t understand why I had not died at birth, why I had to live through so much pain. I tried to understand what my purpose was. I couldn’t help wondering “Why me?” Those years were full of unanswered questions. They were long years of soul-searching, where I hoped that someday I would love and be loved back again.

I was 20 and I was full of dreams and hopes. I was a 1st year student at Hyperion – The Faculty of Film, Theater, and Television. I got in at the top of the list, but it did not really matter that much because I had failed the entrance exam at the Painting Class of the National Academy of Fine Arts and that hurt a lot. Back then, I was working in television (Canal 38). I was a scenographer and I was happy I was making enough money to pay for my studies. My passion for painting kept burning me out though. I was missing my colleagues at the High-School of Fine Arts, so quite often I would drop by National Academy to see them.

It was a sunny day that late fall. I was extremely tired and at the same time happy because, even though I was only a scenographer, I managed to do some TV documentaries for the winter holidays. During the day, I would go to classes and to work (shows and shootings), and at night I would stay up late on the set, polishing the shooting we did during the day. I was really exhausted because of the heavy schedule. I would often fall asleep during classes. On the one hand, I was happy with my choices – I felt that I was outdoing myself. I often had the feeling I was some kind of star, although no one knew how much I cried whenever I was by myself and how much I was hoping to continue my painting studies at the Academy.

The first day was that very beautiful day in the fall. I felt like dropping by my former colleagues. I was missing the smell of oil colors. In a jolly careless spirit, I entered the studio where I knew I’d find my friend Ema. The studio was bathing in the warm light of the afternoon, looking splendid with its neat agglomeration of easels. Almost all of my colleagues had already left for classes, all except Ema and, somewhere, behind a distant easel, the Sun himself. He was slim and tall, slightly arrogant, and quite lost in his thoughts. He was wearing ankle-boots, black jeans, and a purple sweater. Long sandlike golden curls were flooding his shoulders, down to his back. His eyes were green like the sea and he smelled like holiday. He didn’t seem to notice me, which made feel uncomfortable. I found that weird… because I knew him, but he didn’t give a damn…

“What the heck is that? Who in the world is this guy and why is he making me feel so strange?” I was thinking to myself. All of a sudden, I felt insignificant, intimidated. I thought I was dressed in a childish weird way, which… I kinda was. I was wearing black velvet tights and a sweater sporting a 70cm large satin illustration of one of Snow White’s dwarves… I’m sure I was not able to catch his attention with my femininity, but I was amusing enough for him to notice me. Not only was I dressed funny, but my nose was red and swollen too. I had shingles because of the stress and the hard work that I had to deal with every day. Later on, I had many pet names, and “Rudolf”, Santa Clause’s reindeer was one of them.

All the time I was in the studio, I made sure talked a lot and in a loud voice. I was hoping to get his attention. As I left the studio, I found myself shy and quiet on the outside. But inside, I was the most exuberant and noisy human being in the universe. I remember asking Ema who that haughty guy was. She immediately sensed I was interested.“Relax, Andrei is single. Surely, there are many girls around, but…” she said laughing.Ema was lying. I don’t know why she felt the need to reassure me and give me hope, but it doesn’t matter anymore… The truth was that at that time he did have a girlfriend and lots of other flings. Fortunately, I trusted Ema. Otherwise I don’t know how our story could have possibly started…

My heart was beating wildly, but it no longer belonged in my chest. It was slightly moving up my throat, for it was preparing to fly. Just like a bird struggles to escape its cage. I could no longer listen to whatever Ema was telling me, I was no longer able to see and hear what was happening around me. I had left my whole being, my mind and my soul right there in the studio, near my curly blond holiday. As if it wasn’t enough, my brain started to record something new, something unknown, something harmonious and by all means good. It was a strange bond that I had never felt before, but have truly felt ever since… I will talk about this in my future posts. Starting that day, I felt an unexplainable joy. I was living in a hopeful state of mind, without arrest. Everything felt good and beautiful. I was waiting like a kid waits for his birthday cake. I was waiting impatiently as I was sure I would meet him again soon. 

The first day was that intense… Like a blinding light, like an endless happiness which can almost kill you under its weight.What is truly amazing is that all these years, the best years of my life, I have been able to feel that immense unaltered joy in loving Andrei. The strongest, most full of life and real feeling is that I am still carrying within this divine vibration called love. My God, Maci, how much I love you! My love, the strength and courage you’re giving me to carry on…

P.S. Yesterday, July 28th, I received the most beautiful gift of my life. I wrote a few words on Facebook about the joy it brought me.

“My Andrei has sent me something beautiful today.  The other day at the cemetery, I was telling him I wanted to read a book in German during my vacation in Romania. I was telling him I wanted an easy-to-read book to soothe me, one that I could relate to… I didn’t look for one in particular, I just waited. The next morning, as I laid the clothes to dry on the rack in front of my house, one of my neighbors came to me and said “Daiana, I have something for you!” And she handed me this book “P.S. I Love You”, by Cecelia Ahern. I was happy like a clam. How could I get it to my head it cannot be just a coincidence? What do you think about this lovely book my Maci sent me?

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