tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23786196111270980752024-03-19T04:00:27.439-07:00My Maci, The Most Beloved Human Amongst Us AllUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378619611127098075.post-19300864400929145582013-07-30T04:51:00.000-07:002013-08-07T07:25:50.859-07:00Of Signs and Doubt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I’m sorry I ever doubted… I was in doubt and it didn’t do me any good…</b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>The joy I felt thinking that it was Maci that sent me that
wonderful book vanished </b></span></span><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">slowly and </b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">allowed doubt to creep in. What
if the thought that Maci sent me the book to help me live through the change was just an
illusion? What if it was pure coincidence?</b><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I cried and got really upset at myself for losing confidence.
I was feeling remorseful for overthinking things and continuously splitting
hairs until all the magic was gone… What’s the use of it all? Everything is just
as hard as always… Again, I find myself looking desperately for signs… Again, to my bewilderment, they continue to appear… </b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Yesterday, our best friend Andreea received a book which
bears a striking resemblance to mine :) “SMS For You” – It’s a similar story to the one in the book I received.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Better take a look at their covers yourself… It's amazing, I know. :)</b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Gj-MqQd0hh2ihnRONLU_2w4VFMV2lkFSfy-CgWB9klIq4zpEC-SEDTnKtO9mJHOPJ8FlQPcWiYpAe34q6jN3hAS3oGqKyiA1yFGsZtQs4eYOym5ZCXraDPMXB131QdkjcetvXkpNXAKO/s1600/sms+fur+dich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Gj-MqQd0hh2ihnRONLU_2w4VFMV2lkFSfy-CgWB9klIq4zpEC-SEDTnKtO9mJHOPJ8FlQPcWiYpAe34q6jN3hAS3oGqKyiA1yFGsZtQs4eYOym5ZCXraDPMXB131QdkjcetvXkpNXAKO/s1600/sms+fur+dich.jpg" /></b></span></a></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Should I ever doubt that Maci sent me “P.S. I Love You”? I will keep myself from making any other comments. :)</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f-pNSShlJqlgOSQ0DaY_hTX9XOYj3nyUDjGDdcioFczJxQMDUbuNEHNOuywO1EtC2AOaFPyqlnIxAi6vMEah3dcUlPS-I6f8rVgghMb6UkNaabLoz5S8UJeqWbKHPG6fZ7_jLAkysuC7/s1600/Ps+ich+liebe+dich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f-pNSShlJqlgOSQ0DaY_hTX9XOYj3nyUDjGDdcioFczJxQMDUbuNEHNOuywO1EtC2AOaFPyqlnIxAi6vMEah3dcUlPS-I6f8rVgghMb6UkNaabLoz5S8UJeqWbKHPG6fZ7_jLAkysuC7/s1600/Ps+ich+liebe+dich.jpg" /></b></span></a></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378619611127098075.post-20778918987165762222013-07-28T04:19:00.000-07:002013-08-07T07:29:08.849-07:00The First Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />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…</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was 20 and I was full of dreams and
hopes. I was a 1<sup>st</sup> 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.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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.</span></span></span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />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…</span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“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.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> 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.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Relax, Andrei is single. Surely, there
are many girls around, but…” she said laughing.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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…</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first day was that intense… Like a blinding light, like
an endless happiness which can almost kill you under its weight.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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…<br /> </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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.</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzaGvV2bSUefLZq2SmN_JCNkCDVY-e8YKh0lVxFa6LCea3D5BgJrN8vXd4koVA2EBYSryk_pKbA4MUKBU8qg-gBDxhoYOlwL-tLB2kQlG71RmNLInoA_dxRKjq8e9WM_9Aae8Q2n_hQs5/s1600/Ps+ich+liebe+dich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzaGvV2bSUefLZq2SmN_JCNkCDVY-e8YKh0lVxFa6LCea3D5BgJrN8vXd4koVA2EBYSryk_pKbA4MUKBU8qg-gBDxhoYOlwL-tLB2kQlG71RmNLInoA_dxRKjq8e9WM_9Aae8Q2n_hQs5/s1600/Ps+ich+liebe+dich.jpg" /></a></span></span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“My Andrei has sent me something
beautiful today. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"> The other day</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> 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?</span></span></span></h2>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Last night was a big
threshold for Maci and us… Last night was the 40<sup>th</sup> night… It’s been
40 days already…</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I haven’t been
writing anything until today. I simply couldn’t do it anymore. I felt the need
to stay away from everyone. Sometimes, my feelings become so intense that words
lose meaning or purpose, for that matter… Yet, there are times when words come to me so naturally that I
don’t see why I should resist them.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Soon after my first
posts, I felt as if standing at a crossroads. I was so amazed at the
number of people who read my posts that I got really scared and refrained
from writing. I had to stop and see what I had to do next.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I may continue writing
about my love without getting discouraged by erroneous prejudices or
comments regarding my writing style, etc. I will continue writing just like
before, wholeheartedly. If it does me good, then this is how it’s going to be.
To me, writing is therapy: it helps me accept things, it gives me the strength
to move forward, it protects me. Therefore, I will keep writing.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/JIeTdpp6dn0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am very much aware
that you cannot find the right words to tell me or that you do not know how to act around me. That you’re
struggling for the proper approach. Well, you should know that the girls and I
are in the same (uncomfortable) situation. I do not know what to tell you either,
but don’t be afraid. It’s still me, it’s still the same Daiana, only sadder and
more adrift than usual. Other than that, it’s still the same dreamy and forever-in-love me. It feels good to see you unchanged, to watch you act normal. Whenever you
call me, the hardest thing to handle is your questions, your desire to find out
details about what happened. Please be patient with me, I will answer your
curiosities here, in writing, but slowly, at my own pace. In exchange for my
confessions, I am asking you to try to act normal for me and around me. Please
don’t expect me to tell you what happened because I cannot talk about it. I
will however write about it…</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>Going back to my beloved Maci, we are both Orthodox by birth
and, according to our religion, the soul travels in its dearest
places and visits its close ones for 40 days. All this time, the good and the evil
forces are fighting over the soul of the dead. On the 40<sup>th</sup> day,
depending on the direction of the scale, God sends the soul to a temporary
place, until the Judgment Day. That is the threshold…</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>You have no idea how hard I have been searching for answers all this
time. I have to admit my faith is not that strong, and that made me fall and
stand up, believe and renege on everything so many a times. It was a painful
battle, but eventually love conquered once more. At least, that is how I feel.
I feel Maci is the light and the love; he is in everything that's beautiful and good around me.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>An acquaintance told me that she had a dream about Andrei. As
she said, he came up to her wrapped up in light and accompanied by an angel.
Many friends had dreams about him and told me similar stories: “Andrei is well”,
“He misses you”, “He loves you”, etc. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:) </span></span>
A monk told me not to worry because Andrei is in the care of an angel and he is
doing fine wherever he is. In a way, all these stories were alike; they only
varied in form. I have to confess all of these stories gave me the energy to go
on, even though I often doubted they were true.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>These past weeks, I’ve been begging Maci to visit me in my
dreams, to comfort me and give me strength, to send me signs that would relieve
the fear. When he was still with us, I would often have dreams about him and
would often make jokes about not being able to fantasize about anyone else. :) After his passing, I
was terribly frustrated because I only had 3 dreams about him and only
once did my soul fill with joy – it was in my last dream, at the threshold of
these 40 days. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>I think I already told you that, ever since Maci left us, a strange
dialogue keeps popping in my mind: “Maci, can you feel me? And my mind keeps
answering back. “Yes, I can.” And my thoughts get carried away. Each and every day, three
questions and answers keep coming back. “Maci, can you hear me?” “Yes, I can.”
“Do you love me?”, “Yes, I do… and finally my most recent dream has once again
answered these three questions. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></span></b>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>In my dream, Maci was wearing his blue linen shirt. He was
beautiful and in good spirits as always. He was sitting at a table, eating. Although my
consciousness was aware that it was only a dream and Maci was no longer with
us, I went up to him and hugged him. It was such a joy and at
the same time such a wonder that I could feel his physical presence that I had
to tell him.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Maci, I can actually feel you!” </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Of course, you can. What were you thinking?” he said with a
smile.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>He was talking a bit slowly, so I went on.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Maci, you left and you only came back in this dream. Look,
you can’t even talk the way you used to.” </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>He burst out laughing and started to talk like in the old
days (he was teasing me again). </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“So what if I left?" he answered smiling. </b><br />
<b>I was dumbfounded, at a loss for words. I was so happy to see that nothing had changed
and at the same time so terribly scared that someone would wake me up from my sleep. I wanted to
spend as much time with him as possible. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>So, I asked him: </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Maci, tell me
quickly, what is it like on the other side?”</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“It’s beautiful, it’s good, it’s perfect!” he replied in his usual laidback style.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Perfect? I asked him in surprise, waiting for more details. But Maci swiftly changed the topic.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“My feet feel really cold... that water was so cold…”</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>I was not surprised to hear that, since he had hypothermia. I took a
better look at him and noticed he was bare-footed.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>[I would like to mention that I
was not allowed to bury him with his shoes on, for ecological reasons.]</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b>
<b>In my dream, I remembered his red Converse trainers and reassured him:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“Don’t you worry! I will handle this very soon!” I realized that I need to give them away. I hugged him one
more time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt so full of live, it
was unbelievable.
</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>“I miss you and the girls!” he said.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>I felt overjoyed and overwhelmed. I glanced at my watch.
Apparently, we were in some kind of rush. I noticed it was 5.30 pm. Then I caught a
glimpse at a couple of friends waiting for us in their car. I realized we
were supposed to meet them, so I told him.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b>“Maci, we’re going to be late for
the christening of Alina’s baby boy. We need to hurry!”</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b>[Alina is our good old friend. We were the spiritual parents at her wedding, and the godparents of her little girls. As a matter of fact, Alina got pregnant around Andrei's passing.]</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b>"Wait, we cannot be here and there at the same time!" Andrei said.</b><br />
<b>"Here where?" I asked him, but then I woke up alone in our bed.... </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b>Reality hurt so bad that I closed my eyes forcefully so that my dream would continue, so that I could hold on to that feeling of well-being that I would always have around my Maci... In vain... I could not make my dream go on, but I can still hope... Somewhere, sometimes we will be together again! Of that I'm sure!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b><br /></b>
<b>I love you, Maci. Thank you for visiting me in my dream now, as you've just crossed the threshold towards the light. May your journey be safe, my love, and although it hurts to admit this, I know you are well...</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 250.05pt;">
<b><br /></b></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378619611127098075.post-62162735596908907652013-07-09T01:07:00.000-07:002013-07-29T00:05:49.747-07:00Maci, I Miss You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s been
30 days. 30 long days. Long, sad, and hard days.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know we are supposed to learn to
laugh again and I swear we will be able to do that somehow…someday… even though I do
not know exactly how. As always, I will listen to my heart... It always showed me the right way.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today’s post was supposed to be about our first day, about
how I first met Maci. But I feel so tired I think I’m going to leave it for
later. It deserves an unaltered narrative. It deserves to be written with a light
and joyful heart.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The girls are already asleep. This evening has been somewhat
easier than the past few. May your sleep be light and smooth, my sweet babies,
and may we have a dream of our dearest Maci tonight!</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-ZJDNSp1QJA" width="459"></iframe></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378619611127098075.post-38407381131059600452013-07-07T13:17:00.000-07:002013-07-29T00:06:49.089-07:00A Journey of Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 18.8889px; margin-top: 10px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 18.88888931274414px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Andrei. My Maci. My Dusa. Or even simpler than that, the most beloved human amongst us all. I’ve always known that love does not die, that love is the only thing that travels through space and time and between worlds. I still believe that, from the bottom of my heart.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b></b><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><b style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 18.88888931274414px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Right before meeting Maci for the very first time, I had just finished Rebreanu’s “Adam and Eve”. That fascinating love story… From the moment I laid my eyes on Andrei, I knew. That very first second, even though I could not make any sense of it, I realized I had met him before. It was clear to me that I already knew him. Since forever, since the beginning of time, since the beginning of the world. In an instant, my soul, my entire being recognized him… yet my brain, stubborn as it was, refused to put everything together. The mystery behind that moment troubled my consciousness and destroyed any logic that I was capable of. Indeed it was HIM. He was the one I was waiting for. He was my Adam, I was his Eve. Together we were one, just like in that piece of fiction that had mesmerized my mind before our first encounter.</span></b></b><br />
<b><b style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 18.88888931274414px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What I'm about to share with you is no fiction. It's our love story as I saw it, our love story seen trough my eyes. It's out of love, about love, and for love that I feel this immense need to write.It's a story for my love. It's a story for our daughters, the fruits of our love and desire. It's a story for all those who love us and have witnessed our flight as a whole, our journey as one (Mara, Sara, Andrei, and Daiana). It's a story for those who have known love and have come to the truth that love is truly the best energy in this universe, the greatest of them all, the one that shines the brightest. Love is this life's engine. Exactly one month ago, my Maci chose a different path... Farewell, my love. I'm always with you...Maci, can you hear me? I can hear you... Can you feel me? I can feel you... Maci, do you love me? I love you...</span></b></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>
</b>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 18.8889px; margin-top: 10px; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 18.88888931274414px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">P.S. This blog is open to anyone who wishes to join us on this new journey. Any thought or story that can complete the image of our wonderful Andrei in the eyes of our sweet little girls is more than welcome. A big hug and thank you to all of you who wish to stay close.</span></b></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 18.88888931274414px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love, <br />Daiana</span></b></span></b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2378619611127098075.post-5730790726809182752013-07-07T01:03:00.000-07:002013-07-29T00:06:25.832-07:00Riding on a Single Wheel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Day 28. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another day went by without as much as a
single laughter. Days pass by slowly, at a snail’s pace. I’m trying to fill
them with all things, little things, so that I can make it easier for the girls.
It’s useless, as everything has changed. Our sunrises are not the same anymore.
Every day we stay outside the house for as long as we can and we come back
home as late as possible, because falling asleep without hugs or roars of
laughter is just too much to bear for us three.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today we were on our way back home, leaving behind the huge and lazy orange light of the sunset. I watched it in the rear window and had the feeling it
simply did not set like it used to… Or maybe it just seemed that way…<br /><br />The road was lying empty before us and behind us, when two motorbikes caught up with us
out of the blue. My heart throbbed so sudden and so hard you can’t even
imagine. For a second, I thought it was Andrei riding that motorbike behind our
car. Too short and too sweet an illusion! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I waited for a little while, hoping
to see the biker ride his bike on a single wheel, just like Andrei used to
do, only to tease me. In vain. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s hard to get it into my head that there’s no
one left to do all that fooling around to cheer us up anymore. There’s no one left
to ride his bike on a single wheel, no one left to do everything unlike anyone.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a while, somewhere along the highway, we lost track of
those bikers. Yet, my heart kept trembling with emotion at the illusive thought
that it could have been my God on that motorbike. It should have been him. Or
maybe I was trembling because of the emptiness that came with the realization.
I could not tell exactly what it was… </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember myself gazing at him on that Friday,
the day of the accident. He rode his bike on one wheel down the street, until he
reached our driveway. The girls ran outside to greet him. He was happy and
optimistic as always, and Sara hung her arms around his neck like a baby monkey. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I watched him for a
while, feeling proud and thinking to myself that our Maci was a hell of a guy,
<i>the most beloved human amongst us all</i>, as I would often call him. And on top of
everything else, he was handsome too. That’s how we, his girls, would see him.
Not even for a tiny second did it occur to me that it was the last time I would
rejoice in his presence.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today we startle at the sound of every scooter or motorbike that passes us by. Around the time he used to come back home, </span></b><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">we become anxious like sparrows</span></b>… We
wait and listen closely to every
footstep, but our Maci is not coming back…</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There’s nothing left, but a turmoil of emotions, the
remainings of daily habits that have become unbearable, and lots and lots of love.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My Maci, we love you so dearly…</span></b><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0