PersonalBlogging

Barză, varză, viezure

“Pupăza, zbrr! pe-o dugheană şi, după ce se mai odihneşte puţin, îşi ia apoi drumul în zbor spre Humuleşti şi mă lasă mare şi devreme cu lacrimile pe obraz, uitându-mă după dânsa!…”

V-am mai povestit ce îmi mai place mie acasă? Imi place că sunt multe berze. Nici o legatură cu pupăza de mai sus, dar uite-așa mă gândeam eu la Creanga și am ajuns la berze. Da’ chiar, pupeze or mai fi? (chiar e retoric, parol). Că berzele sunt peste tot. Mergi tu așa cu capul in nori, și ce să vezi? Încă un cuib din ăla imens cu o barza! Si ce cuib! La mine in clădire la birou avem o curte interioară – din aia in care corporatiștii își fumează frustrările (daa, știu, chiar ne lasă). Și în această curticică organizată există si niște boscheți – sa îi numim. De câteva zile, un porumbel face destulă hărmălaie cum vine el încontinuu cu rămurele de își construiește un cuib. A atras atenția corporatiștilor – și nu neaparat intr-un sens pozitiv. Cum eu mă aflu des acolo, vă promit, nu i se va întâmpla nimic. Anyway, dumnealui se preface că nu existăm si muncește cu spor la crăcile alea. Si cumva ma gândeam dacă bietul acesta, porumbelul muncește așa mult, cum i-o fi unei berze să își construiască acest cuib ultra Pro (o să-i zicem așa, că e un fel de penthouse al cuiburilor). O inginerie o mai putem numi.

Eu chiar cred ca berzele au puteri supranaturale. Si cormoranii (sau pupezele), dar asta e altă discuție. Ce mai, berzele sunt minunate. Si totuși cel mai greu mi se pare sa îți amintești unde îți e casa – adică zbori si tu ca o barză – se știe ca au multă treaba, deși e problema cu natalitatea in România, plus că mai ai de hrănit pui sau făcut upgrade la penthouse, multe de astea, ca orice barza normală – si după revin ele acasă. Numai că. Penthausuri ca al ei sunt peste tot – stânga, dreapta, oriunde te uiți berzele au muncit cu spor si au toate niște minunății de cămine. Si atunci întrebarea este, cum deosebesc berzele cuibul lor de al altora?

Hai că v-am încuiat. Vă mai spun data viitoare. Dar, sincer, ce este mai magic decât această barză, in amurg, in cuibul ei?

A, sau dacă vreți sa le vedeți live, le găsiți aici: https://www.facebook.com/BerzeleElaCris/

Dar vă avertizez că veți cade in capcană și e foarte probabil ca eficiența-ți și așa scăzută din pricina procastinării să atingă noi culmi.

Rant over.

PersonalBlogging

Reminiscența unei nopți de vară

Să tot fie vreo 5:03. Evident dimineață. Nu știu cum e la voi dar pe mine mă trăznește subit un dor de casă. Nu mi se întâmplă des, dar iată, se întâmplă.

De fapt, mi-e dor de o vară de acasă si de toate promisiunile care veneau cu ea, cu vara. Totul era posibil în verile lungi de acasă. Tânjesc “umpica” după căldura aceea amețitoare. Și mai ales după nopțile de vară. Nopțile erau cele mai interesante vara. Indiferent unde te aflai, noaptea era caldă si eu mergeam in pantaloni scurți si tricou pe afară. Și era bine. Eram in siguranță, pentru ca nopțile lungi de vară sunt calde si te imbraca in iubire. Dar sunt si amăgitoare. Te făceau sa crezi că totul e posibil. Dar de fapt, nu se întâmpla niciodată nimic notabil.

Numai la mare nu prea îmi plăcea. Era cam multă gălăgie, muzică (pentru toate gusturile, cum ar zice o doamnă la știri), multe și amețitoare chițibușuri vândute de precupeți ambulanți – din alea in culori fosforescente pe care la aruncau în aer și te temeai să nu îți pice in cap, la orice pas.

Erau si gogoși (de toate felurile) la mare, sau așa mi se părea mie că mirosul de gogoși împânzea tot aerul, fără pauză – sau poate doar pauză cu miros de hamsîi – sau un amestec de toate mirosurile, un miros dulceag care te duce cu gândul inevitabil la un bâlci ambulant. Mai era și porumbul fiert. Porumb care, am văzut eu intr-o seara când am deviat de la faleză pe o străduță lăturalnică, era fiert intr-un ceaun mare lângă un wc – de niște, ați ghicit – țigani.  Ok, daca vrei o sa îi numesc Rroma.

În orice caz, mi-am mai amintit (oo, amintirile) de momentul acela când am mers la mare și am făcut toxiinfecție alimentară. Nu, nu doar eu – tot grupul de prieteni a zăcut in cameră timp de trei, patru zile – aproape toată vacanța – că nu exista atunci să stai mai mult de o săptămâna.

Dar chiar si așa, mergeam din când in când la mare. Dacă ma întrebați (știu eu ca vreți sa știți) dacă era si ceva ce îmi plăcea la mare? Da, domnule. Îmi plăcea, ea, Marea. În ciuda faptului ca nu știam sa înot (nu s-a schimbat nimic între timp) îmi petreceam mare parte a zilei in mare. Era un joc pe care îl aveam doar eu și ea, nu mai știa nimeni de el. Îmi trimitea câte un val și eu trebuia să sar atât de sus încât el sa nu ma prindă. Era o chițibușă marea, căci uneori mă lua pe nepregătite șî îmi trimitea câte un val uriaș de nu-l puteam duce. Chiar și așa, eu tot o plăceam și ea pe mine.

Dar, da, ce voiam de fapt să zic. Cred că mi-e dor de acasă. Și de marea mea neagră.

PersonalBlogging

Politically correct much?

It is more than often that i am struck by the political correctness that is blinding our speech (or small talk, non important chats) nowadays.

I understand political correctness. I understand why we need it and, you would be surprised, i even understand the rational of it all.

Still. Is suffocating me sometimes. It feels i cannot properly express a point without someone being offended – without having anything to do with the subject – and it is ridiculous. It doesn’t exist a generic consensus on what constitute political correctness. What that even means? It means that literally anything you say can be insulting to someone.

Now, with the risk of sounding like a well known globally known clown, i think that political correctness is a rotten egg that is suffocating communication. At all levels. I literally cannot talk about a subject, that someone will feel excluded, included, discriminated, marginalised, disadvantaged, insulted and so on. I am literally afraid to speak my mind in certain circumstances – i am sure someone will find it incorrect.

What i find politically incorrect, in another part of the world can be completely acceptable and vice-versa.So yes, being correct at all times is very much biased by our cultural background, experiences and personal battles that we fight each day. I cannot possibly be upset with you for your point of view. I can disagree, i can argue, i can refuse to listen. But i cannot imply that you intend to offend me just because you say it out loud.

The debate is not new and it comes with tons of arguments from each side. Yet, as i read recently – maybe we should not call it political correctness anymore. A new term should be found – since we cannot impose criminal penalties for making offensive jokes. Is like you agree with ISIS for attacking Charlie Hebdo for their cartoons.

I mean. Really. Yes, words hurt, create havoc and lead to violence. It is rather a “common sense” matter rather than politically correct one. You know that you are homophobic or racist or a xenophobe. Just don’t be one.

It always comes down to the “free will”. You know – that magic power that God gave you to agree with him and punish you in case you didn’t. Use your “free will” as long as it doesn’t interfere with another human well being. It’s really not that hard.

Anyway. Namaste

Nota bene – the above text is not intended of being offensive, oppressive or to cause distress to anyone.

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PersonalBlogging

#Hashtag

What is a hashtag? Or what is a hashtag used for, do you ask?
According to the urban dictionary, a hashtag is “a word or phrase preceded by a hash sign (#), used on social media websites and applications, especially Twitter, to identify messages on a specific topic”.
If you are new to social media, or simply have no idea how hashtags work and you ask yourself why hashtags are even a thing, welcome to the club. Not long ago i was wondering the same thing, so i did the research for you.
Researching about #’s i read this:
“Hunt mistook an @ for a hashtag while tweeting derogatory thoughts about him” and i laughed.
Turns out that the little # are quite useful. I mean if you perform a search about #tomatoes (tomatoes are life, and you can’t deny it) the little pound symbol can group and optimise your search to get the best results and specific generated content. Magic isn’t it? Well, not if you are Hunt, but hey! who am i to judge?
Moreover, if you are writing and you want your content to be linked with more than one topic, you can use multiple hashtags and have your content be more “visible” to a wider audience.
To get even more proficient on your hashtag game – know that you can integrate them in your content or simply write a separate list with/under your post. I suggest you aiming on using more popular themes – that are for the general audiences and equally use some that are targeted on your interest, less popular but aimed for a specific niche. If you have no idea or lack creativity, there are even automatic hashtag generators.
Literally, the internet is working for you. Embrace the power of AI algorithms and discover the most uninteresting things in the virtual world, because why not?
Namaste and get your #game on!
PersonalBlogging

Around the world in 80 plates

Some places are impossible to put into words.  It is like these places request silence and exists only within, independent of space and time. Yet, if you are lucky, sometimes you can feel a place’s soul even miles away. Only by a faint smell that belongs only to that place, the fine taste of bread and butter with a dash of salt, caramel cinnamon or the magic of colourful and crispy spices teleporting you in that very special moment in time when you were there.

As in Proust’s Madeleine – smell and taste can take you to a journey in yourself, in a place you’ve been before and you are yearning to be again, in a fantasy land that you know it exists because you have been there and never stopped searching your way back.

Often I ignore my sense of taste and smell (along with other senses equally important) – it seems unimportant with all the busyness taking over I forget to enjoy the simple joy of eating. As the pure pleasure of an apple. Have you been lucky enough, as a child, to explore the journey of an apple? An apple has a long adventurous journey from its tree to your busy hands and uninterested buds. From a tree rich in apples, is handpicked by the hands of your grandfather, carefully wrapped in paper next to other lucky winners and sent to you as the most honest and pure form of love.

I will not get all master chef(y) here, just that I get more aware of the food that I eat lately. Probably it comes with age, but I feel is equally important not only what you eat but how you take a moment to enjoy that food. So, here it comes, my Instagram series dedicated to food.  

Bonapp! As they say around here.

PersonalBlogging

Plastic salad or emergency soup?

That is the question my friends, that is the question.

Leaving aside all the important stuff happening on the continent or ailleurs, do you know that hunger feeling after one intense workout? Well, if you don’t – good for you, I am not judging your lack of discipline (or do I ?) and if you do know this feeling, you also know that you could eat basically everything that comes your way.

Now, you don’t want to ruin all the work with junk food or some unhealthy choices ( oh, but I do!). So this time I had two (!) options in the little cafeteria at my gym ( because I decided i cannot make until I arrive home, i will eat people on the way, die of starvation or decompose because of the lack of substance in my body, you get the point): so, there was this plastic salad 🥗 – if you live in Belgium you will understand, otherwise let me explain: it is some plastic in a bowl that looks like salad but still taste like plastic. My second choice would be a vegetable soup. No, it’s NOT your home made mother’s soup, but rather a green liquid, a bit puréed, freshly vomited.

So now, you see my dilemma. Finally, I decided to go for the soup, which tasted way better than its looks.

Everyone was safe on the streets afterwards. And, yes, of course It happened that I have some chocolate at home. What am i, a sociopath?

What would you do faced with such a dilemma friend? Are you surprised about the amount of blabbering I can produce about soup? Me too.

Until we meet again.

PersonalBlogging

Change (s)

I have an extreme aversion to change. That’s right. Every time it occurs ( big or small) I roll my eyes: here we go again.

Even though, since i know myself change has been the only constant in my life, you would think that, by now, i got used to it. Yet, somehow, i never handle changes well.

Any expert, (read Guru), will tell you: learn how to manage your emotions, so that emotions don’t lead you. Well, that’s easy to say. In practice, change creates much havoc in my brain, even though it has little to do with rationale. Any kind of change. Mostly it happens with people. When people (i care) disappear from my life, for one reason or another, my brains get foggy and unable to cope with the actual state of affairs. Sure, it is different with people we care about. Other mechanisms come into place to protect us from grief and/or loss.

Mostly, changes are, as a fact, good. Tested and proven, all the changes I’ve been through over the years, have proven to be beneficial and, almost, always something good or better followed. Yet, my brain gets soooo triggered when this happens. Either i completely block the actual situation to the point that i don’t even recognise it as a fact, so my brain behaves like nothing is happening, or, if by a miracle i recognise the change rationally, it becomes an emotional journey in itself. And that is good.

I think i am a lucky one, since these emotional state of affairs happen once in a while. I get to cry from seeing a scene in a movie, seeing an impossibly cute dog with those puppy eyes (admit it, that gets you too, sometimes),  or bumping into a stranger in the metro or a yoga trainer correcting my posture (that’s right, i am THAT sensitive), or some days even when i get a simple “hello”. I call it luck because i have the chance to release all that emotions. I think a lot of people don’t have it so easy.  More than often i don’t understand my own emotions. It is called emotional intelligence after all and some days are utterly hopeless.

Hmm, yes. Coming back to change: in the end it is the only constant. Embrace it.

🙏