on Christmas past, peace and plumerias

The joy of Christmas past...

The smell of fresh-baked cookies,

 mulled apple cider with orange rind.

The frosty air through my nostrils,

while breathing out into a wooly scarf.

Icicles hanging on the window sill.

A snowman with button eyes

staring at me.

Candle lights glistening in the snow...

A dream.

of Christmas past.

While laying out in the hot Hawaiian sun,

surrounded by palms

 and plumeria.

A wish.

For peace.

 In a new year.

Unknown.

 A prayer for protection.

And well wishes for friends

 and loved ones.

 May we all be better this year.

 Because we paused to think

 and celebrate lights, warmth, love,

peace and

the promise of forever.

 Blessings to all...

Mele Kalikimaka from an island far away.

my moldy slice of bread

Ah, this promises to be another wonderful day in paradise. Can you feel the sarcasm??? I just bit into another fresh slice of bread, if by fresh you mean, moldy! Now I'm really upset. But, they say, that's what you get by living at the tropics, Hawaii especially. Rotten food, that took forever to get here on cargo shipments, bugs at all times of the day, expensive and overrated groceries and products. ok, I'm pissed. Fogive me. But there is a huge difference between coming here as a tourist and living in Waikiki and your daily life as a citizen of this state. Did I mention this whole Aloha thing is a myth? Complete bogus. If you're "fresh off the banana boat" as most of us foreigners are, you're not welcome here. It's you against the island establishment. Same goes for if you want to find a new job. Forget those MBAs and high qualifications. Did you go to high school here? You're in. If not, move aside Phd and MBA.  Sorry to vent like this. Feeling a little like I'm channeling Proust today. The whole cookie thing that brings back memories... But I bit into a moldy slice of bread and the ugly came to a head...I've had it with the island life. Did I mention I hate aloha shirts? and those moldy little crappy houses that start at one million dollars? Yup. All of that. Overrated.

Serenity...

Today we found this secluded beach, off the beaten path, away from tourists, hotels and the sorts. Real Hawaii.

Thankful

At the beach. Sun is about to set. On a day of thankfulness. Thank you, God. For every good thing in my life...

on cider, turkeys and wooly hats

Skating rink, people wearing jackets and wooly hats in NYC. On winter days, I feel remote and extraterrestrial living in Hawaii. I went out and bought a turkey. Decorated my house with leaves and pumpkins. Even bought a Febreeze harvest scented candle. For nothing. I still look out on palm trees, ocean waves, the ever green background or foreground of my front yard. Yes, I live in paradise. But on days like these, around the holidays I feel ever so disconnected, so recluse and detached from reality. almost as if I were an alien looking down on people who go about their cyclical, seasonal lives, enjoying the highlights of what everything seasons have to offer. Living every holiday to its fullest. I am a little jealous, perhaps not jealous but overcome with nostalgia and longing. on days like these, when just the whiff of pine cones and the smell of hot cider brings tears to my eyes. Blame Marcel Proust.

Variations on the theme of...sea -a photo blog

on rainbows, faith and hitting rock bottom

I am not one to openly talk about my faith or impose my religious views upon friends. I view my faith as a most private, most sacred connection with the Divine. There are, of course, days, when one's soul seeks out a higher power more than on other days. Perhaps when you hit rock bottom, several times, there is only one way to look, and that is up.  I lift my eyes to the mountains, from where my help cometh" says the psalmist, and he is unmistakably right. Today, I was feeling abandoned, lonely, and as I looked up, I was graced with this image. A bright rainbow cast against the backdrop of my helplessness, my desperation. Bold enough to have asked for a sign, I raised my eyes to find it.

There is such thing as God answering prayers.

I'm disappointed

I am really, really disappointed. In the American political system. And in the American public. And here's why.

Growing up in a country under an oppressive communist regime, which decided unanimously that its leader would automatically be renewed for another four years without people's consent or expressions (so much for calling itself a People's "republic"), has fundamentally shaped how I perceive the game of politics and how I respond to it. Having lived and experienced the communist propaganda machine first-hand, I am perhaps more sensitive and more atuned to the undertones of mass-manipulation. A subtle monster, rearing its head via newspaper headlines, poll numbers, punditry on television.
 Today, again, I was treated horribly on a blog, by a bunch of people, liberals on this occasion, who proceeded, rather than answering the question the blogger had posed, to instead engage in ad hominem attacks addressed at my persona. Only because I expressed disapproval toward their candidate of choice. I noticed how quickly they got off-topic, searching to find someone they would unload their wrath upon. And yes, I get it. People are angry and rightfully so. But what struck me most was that, inspite of the facts presented to them, they remain incredibly ideological and stated they would readily give that candidate another four years, just because that was the party they belonged to.

I was shocked. In a country like America, which has not known a day without free speech, it is the place where free speech is most underused or misused, I should say.  I expected more people to allow themselves, by looking at the facts, to more freely change their mind on issues, or rather be more flexible.

I call that the right to free speech, the signal of an educated mind is the fact that it will come to its own conclusions, given certain facts and not herd-like follow blindly, with no direction or destination in sight. Perhaps it is my background,  my history that has marked me so badly, but I categorically refuse to have my intellect insulted and just blindly follow. Anyone.

on feeling empowered

Feeling empowered. Those forty pounds lost might just have something to do with it. Or not. I've never felt stronger and more on top of things than I do these days. I have come into myself. My opinions are my own. I stand firmly on my principles and beliefs, and while I admire people in high places, I refuse to be a sellout.

In the end, my own beliefs and experiences have guided me and continue to do so throughourt my life. And I will refuse to be a sycophant. or a brain-washed follower. Did I mention I question everything? and why shouldn't I? You only get one shot at this think called LIFE and you are entitled to question, to challenge authority, to not leave one single stone unturned in your quest for greatness, in your strive for perfection.

Yes, I have come into myself. Tens of thousands of miles away from home, away from my extended family's nurturing and guidance, I have found myself, coming into my own, birthing the new creation of self.

Next time we call a wandering soul "lost", we might just be kind enough to consider that that soul has actually found him or herself...and take a time to ponder on the greatness of that momentuous event.

monsters of our imagination

Men think women are strange, women think men are strange.

All this goes down while neither party talk or exchange nothing but assumptions. Ideas, false imaginations. All it would take to solve an issue, would be to sit down for a cup of coffee and hash it out. That, if people cared enough to clear the air. Or cared about the other person, at all. But no, let us instead live imaginary presumptions and question the other party's loyalty. It is so much healthier than actually sitting down and venting our feelings. or sending an email and stating where we stand. Or is it?

Just some things I have learned the hard way. When in doubt, talk it out.

dreams of autumn past...

Overcome by memories of autumns past, while listening to Eric Satie's "Gnossiene" on a quiet Hawaiian afternoon. Proof that you can live the life you want, even in the middle of nowhere. In your heart. All you have to do is close your physical eyes, while opening your soul.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to drift onto the sea of nostalgia, going back to days of fall, in my student years.
Ah, how I yearn for those cold days of fall, those long walks in the park, on a frosty autumn day, tweed jacket, and scarf, school books under my arm, hurrying to class. Leaves rustling under my feet, as if to remind me of paper-like thougths of yesterday, a past oh too present, crumbling beneath the rushing promise of tomorrow. A sky too dark, peaking behind those fiery leaves, a tree of many colours above me, shedding some of its glory. Upon us, mere watchers, bystanders in this grand display of chromatics. The dream ends too quickly, interrupted only by the sound of the afternoon monsoon washing over the island. Reminded of my present, while hanging on to a dear and sweet past...

on this first day of november...a memento of autumns past

November

by Elizabeth Stoddard

Much have I spoken of the faded leaf
Long have I listened to the wailing wind,
And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,
For autumn charms my melancholy mind.
When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:
The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;
The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail
Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!
Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,
The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:
They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier
These waiting mourners do not sing for me!
I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods,
Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;
The naked, silent trees have taught me this, --
The loss of beauty is not always loss!

Who am I?

I'm becoming increasingly worried these days that I might have a personality disorder. no, not in the psychological sense, but politically. I find myself not fitting into any of the prepackaged ideologies, I am neither blue, nor red. I am a colour all of my own  making, a political animal made from my own perception, the result of much thinking and thorough analysis. On days like today, when I get kicked by my dear friends on the right and shunned by those on the left, I find myself increasingly lonely, my theories insular...While my views are moderate, I believe in social justice, equality, government support, but on morals I tend more toward the conservative. Nonetheless, I feel I do not fit within the ever increasing passionate rhetoric that is now taking shape in a very heated election season. Nor am I registered as either a Democrat or Republican. And I prefer Mitt Romney. So, who am I? Where do my views fit in American politics? And how much of an impact do my European mentalities project on my political views, as I try to apply them here, in my new home country?

ode to the sea

The Salt Sea-Wind

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

When Venus, mother and maker of blisses,
Rose out of the billows, large-limbed, and fair,
She stood on the sands and blew sweet kisses
To the salt sea-wind as she dried her hair.

And the salt sea-wind was the first to caress her
To praise her beauty and call her sweet,
The first of the whole wide world to possess her,
She, that creature of light and heat.

Though the sea is old with its sorrows and angers,
And the world has forgotten why love was born,
Yet the salt sea-wind is full of the languors
That Venus taught on her natal morn.

And now whoever dwells there by the ocean,
And feels the wind on his hair and face,
Is stirred by a subtle and keen emotion,
The lingering spell of that first embrace.

on apathy and collective amnesia

Not too long ago the media was covering a president who was defined as disconnected, apathetic, aloof, out of touch with the American people, living in a bubble or a glass-house called the White House. But, of course, only a few of us choose to remember that. The rest seem to have gotten collective amnesia in the midst of what now seems to be a fully-fledged presidential reelection campaign.

During the past two months, the strategy of the White House seems to have shifted toward regaining lost voter confidence, morale being at an all-time low, with people either crowding the streets en masse during Occupy Wall Street protests, or sitting 'round the dinner table depressed, reading the latest job numbers or economic indicators. Or just checking their bank balance and realizing they did not stay in the black this week.

We are dealing with a country that is living its day-to-day struggles in a repetitive inferno, offset, if only by show after show of political pundits making their rounds, robot-like,  reviving a campaign propaganda of a candidate whose approval ratings now linger at a miserable forty per cent.

What is even more astonishing to me is that, while it is clear how the economy has suffered during these past three years, ardent supporters of this president refuse to accept the notion that the man was elected on a platform of hope and change, be it hyped. and he has let this country down. He was elected for a four year term, and in year three we see little of what was promised, in a grandiose, but oh so naive exposition of the way America should be. And most of us, myself included fell for the rhetoric. Yes, even I, who consider myself among those less gullible. Happens, when you are overcome by feelings versus rationality.

But I promise not to repeat my mistake come 2012.

on why you should vote for people who don't excite you

I have had it with pundits claiming that one candidate or another does not excite them. Since when is the role of a candidate to excite a nation?
Ah, surely you're reminded of the emotional response to a young candidate not long ago that electrified a nation, and was elected in an almost irrational sweep of frantic votes, fueled by hype and excitement that bordered on mass-hysteria?
 Let's just say, the nation's emotions have peaked, better yet, it has bottomed out on those feelings.
Blame the disastrous economy, or those nasty job numbers, or the stagnant wages. Or the rising food prices. Or just the simple fact that a general malaise has set in for the past three years and we have come to a screeching halt. Psychologically. Emotionally. We have changed. Perhaps we are not so gullible and credulous anymore.

It's only a normal response to calm down, think rationally and vote pragmatism this time around. Excitement, hype and hysteria will not work on the masses this time. The country is angry, fed up, at its boiling point. A pragmatic, balanced candidate, with real solutions will be the answer.

And to those who say they want a candidate that excites them, I suggest they try a carnival ride instead. This country has seen enough excitement. Try stability and predictability, for a change. It's good for the heart and mind, I hear.

America, my love

I dreamt of you as a child, who got glimpses of you through the rare and clandestine times my parents would tune into The Voice of Europe or through the occasional magazines or postcards someone would receive from their friends who had illegaly "immigrated" to the Promised Land, via some very dangerous routes, like crossing over to Serbia in the middle of the night, swimming.

You were in my dreams when my grandparents would secretly whisper about how the amazing Reagan had ordered the German Wall to be brought down. I created this place in my mind, that was heaven on earth, a much desired paradise among wandering mortals.

And then I arrived here, later in my life, and was overwhelmed by everything you turned out not to be. Or more by my dreams, that were just that, mere phantoms clashing against the reality of a place, a fata morgana, a fantasy.

More than ten years I have now lived here and I woud like to believe that he great days of Reagan are still possible for this for you, my beautiful country.

 If only politics didn't get in the way of creating the paradise of my childhood dreams...

on a bittersweet exile (of sorts)

Tears are streming down my face as I write this piece to the tumultuous tunes of Beethoven's fifth, interpreted, no less than by the great Minnesota Orchestra. Oh yes, the Minnesota Orchestra in Minneapolis,.. my home for more than ten years. ten wonderful years. of love, life, success, tons of accomplishments. Before I moved here, to my lovely, but oh, too far Hawaii. Too far from Minnesota and yes, too far from my dear old Europe. My eternal home, my love. Consider it an exile of sorts. A purgatory.

Not so many mainland executive recruiters do. Can't begin to tell you how many times I get the same question: and why exactly would you ever want to move away from paradise? and do I realize how terrible the economy is on the mainland?  you know, in that ostentatious tone, as if to start a fight, or insinuating that there is something very wrong with you, if you want to move away from Hawaii. There may be. If you consider that someone as ethnocentric and family-oriented as I am, has been away from their homeland for more than fifteen years, with only a brief ten-day visit back in the spring of 2005, then yes, you get to judge and assume.

I, on the other hand, continue to drown my sorrows in Beethoven and look out into the immensity of the sea. Which reminds me with every crashing wave of the immeasurable distance that is between me and my homeland.

Have I arrived? by no measure. what should one say when their soul continues to break, leaving behind mere fragments of one, in every place they go to? however, we are conditioned to keep going, pretending to go about our chores as if life were as normal as ever...if only we cold keep up with fooling ourselves to no end...

on an angry, fed-up mob

Okay, got my answers from some #occupywallstreet folks. They are neither pro nor against Obama. they are people upset at everybody, although I think Obama's people might use it in their reelection ads against whoever might be the Republican they'll run against.
While this movement might appear be the answer to the Teaparty, it will lead to no results, if their efforts are not centralized and focused on specific issues. Some of these presidential candidates might just need to go out and be seen as standing with Wall street protestors. Perhaps it is too late for that. The people are very angry.  These are the same people who energized the Obama campaign in 2008. Your "independents", your middle class, who feels, and rightly so, that it has been screweed. By whom? By the same people who helped fund fancy political fundraisers. By the same Wall Street fat cats who donated to presidential campaigns. Goldman Sachs ring a bell? The energy is real, palpable. These people cannot and will not be fooled this time around.

Hope and change? Try and sell that to this angry mob, this time around. That is not an invitation. It is a dare, Mr. Obama.

on poetry

Poetry- an etherial music that transcends language and speaks directly to the heart. Absolutely adore this American poet, this poem especially...

Litany
by Billy Collins
You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine... —Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.

learning to let go

probably the hardest thing I shall ever have to do. Letting go. of feeling, of control, of pain, of love. relinquishing control to the universe, while I focus inwardly and remember to take a deep, calculated breath, followed by another cleansing one. one step in front of the other. Calming a mind racing... I don't think I have ever understood what it meant to give up control and how liberating it can be. I am trying. It is a process. but a path I have now chosen. a path to life. to serenity.

on pain, guilt and other monsters we must overcome

My son just touched the iron and burnt his fingers. Screams erupt. I run to stop him, while in a complete frenzy, find him, hug him and try to capture all his pain and make it all mine. Within that split second, I can not only feel his pain, but my mind immediately goes to a thought greater than myself. Not sure exactly who planted that thought there, all I know is that it comes to me. Is it that I am overcome by guilt?... Is it just a normal response to the situation I am dealing with? I feel as if his burn might have something to do with a hidden sin, a punishment of sorts for disobeying. Or it could very much be complete random. I hug him with my entire being. and I realize that while we do not know whether events are random or have some unknown consequence in the grand scheme of the way things pulsate around this universe, all I have right now is his need. and I am here one hundred per cent. Luckily, it is only a very minor burn. The guilt though, still looms ominously, conditioned perhaps by my upbringing. It doesn't help that my mother just called, saying she had a premonition of sorts. Oh well. Some things you can explain, some we try to explain. Most are just random to us. Or at least they appear that way. Some things are just better left unknown, unturned. Undiscovered.

on different kinds of culture

On days like these I especially thank the fates or whoever else is in charge of my craptacular life, for this amazing opportunity of cleaning toilets, mind you my own. and I can't think of what else I would or could have possibly be doing, had I not gone to a most prestigious school together with other elites, studied hard, had all my dreams in front of me so that one day I could come to America and be called a housewife, okay a mother, but one that knows to quote Latin, can identify a Monet from a Massenet, can advise you on political strategy. but no, I am busy cleaning toilets, hoping that one day I will have found my life there while I was cleaning. Ah, did I mention that I listen to opera or radio theatre while I am busy doing all this? culture is not only a bacteria in yogurt. but it comes in handy on days when I have to clean toilets. which I absolutely adore.

afraid of the answer

Plagued by an incessant question that almost defines my psyche and that of so many women who have come before me. I struggle and wonder in silence almost afraid to upset a higher power, or some worldly rule, scared to disrupt the laws of the Universe or some unwritten law...afraid of the question but more afraid of the answer, of the powerful hurricane about to unleash in my life...as I look out on an ocean of unknown, I wonder if this question is too much to ask...

“Each suburban wife struggles with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night- she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question-- 'Is this all?”
― Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique

on a sad anniversary

Feeling quite down today. The shadow of the ten year anniversary of 9/11, ominously lurking in my psyche for the past decade has been awoken. Those images are bringing back the same raw emotions I felt, oh, it seems, not so long ago. Time heals all things, they say. I challenge that notion. Time numbs. Like a good friend, it provides a cloud of amnesia to protect our ever so vulnerable psyche from self-destruction. To maintain life. To preserve health...
A deep, unspeakable sadness surrounds me. The spirit of 9/11 is more alive than ever today. Highly palpable, raw, almost gritty. Death, oh so real.

on writing

The need to write overwhelms me sometimes. I always keep a note pad and pen by my bedside for those "middle of the night" inspirations. It is amazing what will trigger them. Sometimes a song, a poem, a moving picture, or just a random smile by a bypasser on the street... the need to write, the ardent desire to express oneself. At times it comes quietly, while I wash dishes. Of course, I have to drop everything and feed the beast. Other times, it wells up like a storm, slowly churning away in the quietest corners of my soul, but increasingly becoming ever so loud. Again, I find myself, grabbing for my ipod or my notebook, just to capture a flash of those ideas. It is like taking a photograph, writing is. If you don't catch that perfect moment, you might have just missed. At least, I find that to be true when it comes to poetry. it comes to me almost as in a song, a whisper, a world away, ever so soft and tender, other times it takes a more determined, courageous tone...a dare, perhaps. a call of something, that I fear but I want; something that I both negate and desire. almost like a passionate love. forbidden.
My ardent desire to write.

On friendship

I write this post with a heavy heart. I've lost some very good friends due to political disagreement recently and it has really affected me. It has saddened me. 
I am a firm believer in friendship that transcends political ideologies and dogmas. Those should never be allowed to define a camaraderie by any measure. 
I have actually always drawn the line between the person, whom I deeply admire way beyond their political convictions and politics, which in the end is only a game, may it be grand at that.
 I have always been one to lead with my mind, but also with my heart. And I believe it is absolutely possible to disagree politically, but maintain friendships that transcend this chasm 
To those who read this: do not become pawns in a losing game. True friendship, in the end, should trump differences.

Some people come into our lives and quickly go.  Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.  ~Flavia Weedn

There is no pride in prejudice

"Raus mit Euch, ihr bloeden Tuerken, ihr Schweinasylanten" screamed he, his bald head getting ever so red with anger as he stomped his boot on the ground hoping to intimidate us. Yes, he wanted us out.
Today his target were two innocent girls, who just happened to sit on a bench at recess and look. Not at him. Look foreign. Something he obviously took great issue with. And he was going to let those girls know that this was the land of his ancestors and he had no desire to share it with some nasty immigrant pigs, who came here illegally.
I had endured a lot of superior treatment until that day, but on that day I decided I had had enough, be he a bully, who was barking orders at me, hoping I would either disappear or try to get on my knees and somehow be guilted into asking for forgiveness for a crime I supposedly committed.
I looked him straight in the eye and in the purest most eloquent German accent told him: "Wir sind Studenten, keine Asylanten. Wir sind hier um zu studieren."  He looked at me almost in shock that out of this little lady with long black hair and non-Arian facial features would come such a strong response, but also an impeccable German accent.
This happened years ago in Germany to me personally, but I have since felt the sting of intolerance and prejudice in America as well. While not so strong, I get chills every time people talk about taking their country back. I see that big Neo-Nazi bully in my face. And he gets increasingly bigger and fiercer, the more a society entertains prejudice and intolerance. He feeds on injustice and inequality.

renaissance

“It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power.” ~ Alan Cohen

I'm confused by what I am feeling and witnessing myself become...and scared. at least on some level.  I've always had a very good head on my shoulders and feet planted deeply into the ground. but I admit: I am now confused, more confused than I have ever been. and on so many levels.
Some people would call it a crisis of faith. It is not. If anything it is an overall eureka moment, a renaissance of the heart, mind and soul. It is almost rebellious, revolutionary in nature, the feeling that I experience. Mind you, I have never been one to be told how or what to think. I have always reserved that right exclusively to myself. But recently, this has taken a life of its own.
I've started blogging, returned to my long-lost love of writing poetry, managed to find the will to reclaim the body of my youth and lost forty pounds in the process... I guess, in the eve of turning thirty three, I must have found my voice, my identity. While still on an ongoing odyssey to enlightenment, my new persona is taking shape. This is not happening without sacrifice or some disapproval being voiced. The old does not like the new.
But I have found myself in the midst of this. and I like what I see...

The hope that changed...

You probably already know what  I will be blogging about, just by looking at the title. Or perhaps you won't. Today, I will talk about my feeling on what seems to be an ever-changing President of these United States. I am looking at this purely from a psychological perspective, leaving politics and what little I understand of its machinery, aside. I will shortly walk you through my perception and feelings toward what I have seen over the past three years. I have seen a man, who has started out running as a fired up Democrat in 2007, who was elected by a landslide of enthusiastic supporters, young, old, middle-aged, who believed in his message of hope and change. Then I watched him settle into life at the White House, or what I like to call "the bubble" and seen his enthusiasm and passion die, except for those interminable speeches, which he so enjoyed giving. That kept me fired up for a while, almost like an adrenaline injection, I would awake from my slumber and be excited, for even a short while. He seemed to do extraordinarily well in times of great crisis, of great humanitarian distress. There was a very well crafted speech  awaiting an audience of mourners, or families of fallen soldiers, of factory workers who had lost their jobs... I wonder if that is what he meant by hope. Being there for people in times of crisis. But that is not what I had in mind when I voted for him. Seems we have been in one continuous crisis since the man was elected in 2008. Then, after the great defeat of the Democrats of 2010, I have seen him change his strategy and move to the middle, in an effort to attract the folks who elected him in 2008, the stay-at-home moms, the young college kids. So, suddenly, he wasn't Obama, the blue Democrat anymore. Now he was a moderate, who was talking about bringing people together in a bipartisan move. OK, I was still there watching remote in hand, my face becoming ever so droopy with disappointment over time. Was this the same man I was so excited about only two years ago? Had this love affair turned into a prolonged marriage that had gone sour, too quickly? Along with my enthusiasm, his polls had started to slide as well. Gas prices, along with food prices were creeping up. It seemed that the next time I saw him on television, he seemed wearier and greyer. And trying really hard to sell hope to a country that had changed. Along with him. Who had also changed. Repeatedly...

Why I am a moderate

• Because I will not be confined to a box, not ideologically, not physically, or spiritually.
• Because I will not allow anyone to define my views on issues, I will do so on my own. I will always vote my conscience, independently of what anyone tells me I should think.
• Because I will not wear a "star" and carry anyone's label.
• Because I believe that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few and by that I mean that the greater needs of a society outweigh my loyalty to presidents or political  figures.
• Because my heart is always on the side of the people.
• Because I trust my god-given intellect and gut-feeling enough to make my decisions based on my own judgment.
• Because I never have nor will I ever believe in crowd or mob mentality. If I have to, I will stand alone, but on my principles.
• Because I don't take anything at face value. I make a special effort to investigate and find the truth.

This is why I am an independent, a thinker, a voter and above all, an American.

THIS is America?

"Give me your poor, your tired, your hungry"  reads an inscription on a tablet found on the Statue of Liberty. An American symbol of independence, strength, toughness and survival in the face of adversity.
Only, those words don't ring much true to me on a day like today. When I woke up to read a headline that shocked me, more than anything, by the simplicity of its reporting such grave, serious news. A middle aged man with no health insurance had allegedly robbed a bank, in a very courteous manner, mind you for the grand amount of , wait for it: one American dollar! Yes, you've read it right. One dollar. He then proceeded to take a seat to the side and patiently wait the arrival of the authorities, which later booked him and sent him to jail. So, now you're thinking, yeah, so where's she going with this? Well, here's the catch. Turns out the man had orchestrated this entire "robbery" attempt in an effort to get to jail in order to receive free government subsidized healthcare. Now it's starting to get interesting, no? He was forced to resort to doing the unthinkable out of desperation, because his dear country and those who are at the helm of it, haven't figured out a way for an average, middle American to have access to the most basic of human rights: healthcare. Reading this opened up an avalanche of the rawest emotions within me. I felt an outcry for justice from the depth of my soul rising up inside me. I was angry, I was hurt,  and I could feel this heavy cloud of injustice hovering over millions of my fellow Americans. What this man did was deeply symbolic. And so deeply moving...I am very sad to report that as long as America does not find a way to provide healthcare access to all if its people, be they rich, poor, black or white or from any other walks of life, we will only be a civilized society on paper. For now, and until things change drastically, consider the words on  those documents the Founding Fathers signed invaluable. This is not my America. Nor should it be yours.

Things I've learned continued...

Don't be anybody's second choice. Not on a sports team and definitely not in love

If you love someone, tell them. Even if they don't return your feelings, it is better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all. And you wouldn't want to walk around for the rest of your life carrying the burden of regret. What if there actually is a chance that that person loves you back, even a little?

Tell your kids you love them and they're the very best. It's a self fulfilling prophecy and in times of trouble they will remember and draw strength from there.

When feeling down and depressed, go for a brisk walk or a run, if you can. It will liberate you from oppressive thoughts and you might enjoy great exercise benefits, while doing it

It's okay to cry. Tears cleanse the soul. Don't hold it back. Cry on the street, in the supermarket, at the beach if you must. Remember to wear shades..;)

Dance, jump, run. Release your negative energy through a sport.

Do not change your ideals and lower your standards to fit anybody's agenda. If it doesn't satisfy your needs long term, don't do it. Or there will be regrets and resentments.

Don't let anything in life tie you down. Feel free to walk away. Be free.

Forgive. You're doing your heart, mind and soul a great favor.

Drink tea.

Know that you are of immense value, even if most times your value or contribution are being downplayed.   

Things I've learned

This is an ongoing list of things I have learned in the course of my daily life, lessons taken from a variety of experiences. Life, as seen through my eyes...

1. I have learned that just because people say  "I love you" doesn't mean that they actually do, nor do they want to know your life's story

2. One's religion is private and sacred. And nobody should ask any questions and push their own views and experiences on another person. It is not only rude and condescending, but disrespectful toward that human being and whatever they may experience in their unique way.

3. I've learned not to trust people, no matter how awful that might sound.

4. I've learned not to build my hopes and dreams on anyone but myself and my own abilities.

5. I've learned that unicorns and fairies are not real, no matter how much we wish them to be. At least, if you believe in them, keep them hidden in a very sacred place in your soul.

6. There is no such thing as a handsome prince on a white horse coming to rescue you.  Stop waiting for him. The sooner you understand that, the better your life will be.

7. I've learned that there are so many different kinds of smiles, some more sincere than others.

8. Some people don't have to say anything, but you feel their love from across the oceans.

9. My kids are my everything, but there is a life to be lived outside of being a mother or a wife. I have found my way as a writer and an artist.

This is an ongoing list. of pearls of wisdom that I accumulate on a daily, hourly basis....

A psalm

 i call out to you, yet you have forsaken me my lord
and while I lay here in the midst of waters my soul cries out to you

where are you king of the universe 
do you hear my cry 
do you? 

am I blind because I can't see you? am I suffering the punishment of deserting you.? 
Are you a friend? My friend...? 

why would you care about a grain of sand?  My passing, my insignificance? My journey through this tunnel we call life. What is the reason?

though I walk in darkness, I am here
Waiting for you...
 Surround me with your presence. Shine your light upon me... Hold me...Love me. 

journey

a soul fragmented asking for direction

 lifting my teary eyes toward the universe

my tired hands point to a distant place

 not yet known to me

while my lids are closed, the universe unfolds within me

my mind crosses oceans and fields...

a land not yet known

is awaiting me

on my tireless journey

to yet again

another destination

a figment only of mosaic are

my dreams, my wants

a frozen flame, not yet alive

is burning deep within me

perhaps a memory of something

that hasn't happened

yet

I am only a thought in my Makers' mind...

some thoughts

Perhaps I am too sensitive. Perhaps, as they say, my skin is too thin. It very well may be true. But that is how I was raised. I was raised to offer my utmost respect and expect, if not in equal measure, but some of it in return. Even toward people I disagree with. I was raised to let people finish their thoughts and sentences and only respnd if I was called upon. Perhaps that is my European upbringing. What I saw today at the Congressman Weiner conference has shocked  and upset me. Yes, the guy has problems of some sort or another, but to heckle him the way those "journalists" did, was uncalled for. I used to believe in journalism as a most noble and intellectual profession. That was until I moved to America and tasted of the bitter fruits of pack journalism, only enhanced by the rise of social media. Let's just say, I am really disappointed.

Is this it?

"The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy:..." The Myth of Sisyphus

Today I shall ask a question, one, many times I ignore or I am too afraid to ask: is this it? is this all there is? While dealing with an avalanche of thoughts, feelings and sifting through my daily fears, almost prioritizing them into a can't ignore-must ignore category, I am overcome by powerful, almost scary emotions. Is there more? How? Where? or sadly, is this it? At thirty-two years old, when only the sky should be your limit, I feel stuck. Yes, I have two wonderful, intelligent children and a great husband, but where am I, what has become of me and my dreams? Have I been lost? Has my life and hard-earned academic studies just dissipated into nothingness? Have my decisions been selfless, while looking for everyone else's happiness. Have I sacrificed too much?... Logic and conscience dictate that I should be happy with all the blessings I have received, as not to upset God or some divine power. and thankful because as my parents say, you have all these things, while other people have nothing. True... But I am not. I am on a constant, restless journey of the mind and soul, perhaps chasing the eternal carrot, the utopian grass-is-greener-on-the-other side place. the unfindable...and I write this with tears in my eyes.

death by picture

This past week, or couple of weeks have been an unnerving reminder of not only the dangers of social media and overexposure on the Internet, but also of the fickle human nature. I was both shocked, disappointed, disillusioned by the events involving Congressman Weiner and also by the impact this story has had on an entire political arena. What struck me most, was the uncanny reminder of the society as a mob, the reversion to old Roman days when by a single point of the finger the word of a gladiator would either be spared or come crashing down on him. It would either be life or death. Well, we have not come very far from those barbaric days. Human nature has not evolved past basic barbarism of primal, instinctual behavior. Not on either side of society. The accused was pummelled with stones by a sanctimoniously, righteous society, which is eternally looking for the next victim, the next headline. Now, in no way do I excuse Congressman Weiner's pervers behavior. But, I also acknowledge that more people in high power have probably been guilty of the same sin, if they had only been found out. Think about it.

Under the spell of the mighty volcano

Still and always dreaming of the Big Island, my love. There is a special shrine with its name in my heart. Love, love, love that place... A place where you feel the lava pulsating through the land's veins, birthing new land into the sea. I have never ever felt more alive and in sacred communion with nature than while I spent time on the Big Island of Hawai'i recently. It beckons one's innermost soul, it awakens every cell of one's being. I remember leaning on the edge of the volcano, closing my eyes, and breathing in pure life, a palpable life, and experiencing a cathartic, almost transcendental feeling as I approached the crater of the mighty volcano, as I walked through along the Crater Rim, watching hot steam escaping through steam vents, only hinting at the powerful force that coarsed only feet beneath me...I bent down and touched the earth and could feel its rumble, its heat, it power, while the air outside was frigid. It was alive. And it welcomed me to partake in its majesty.

We're off to see...the mighty fire-spewing Volcano!

I remember as if it was yesterday, as a child holding a big, red atlas in my hands and wondering about the vastity of the world,  pressing it tightly against my chest, while closing my eyes and dreaming of worlds not yet discovered. To me, a child of then ten, those worlds were a distant dream, a mere drawing on a book... Romania, my native country, was then under heavy Communist rule, which meant that the borders were shut. Foreign travel was strictly prohibited and frowned upon by the Soviet-style communist regime. To us, the idea of travel was a foreign, utopian and non-existent concept. As foreign perhaps as seeing bananas or other exotic fruit, which were imported only on special occasions and very special holidays.

As years passed, and the regime fell, I found myself moving to America, which opened many doors of opportunity, most of which, if not the most important one for me: the freedom of travel.

As I embark on another vacation-style adventure to, this time, the Big Island of Hawai'i, I carry with me that ten-year old's insatiable thirst for discovery, knowledge, that immortal spirit of adventure and communal oneness with the world and its nature.  I shall update this blog from the road with many pictures, comments, photos. Aloha...

Odysseus - Friedrich Schiller - a poem that reflects some of my inner turmoil, my odyssey, my wandering, which seem aimless at times...

Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water;

Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells,

Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,-
E'en to the kingdom of hell leads him his wandering course.

And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him;

There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.

random beauty

I take time to look at things closely and take in every ounce of beauty an object might express. Today, I found beauty in this...

Allow yourselves to feel, to love, to touch, may it be an object, a person, a life...Speak words of wisdom, encouragement and love into that person's life. Inspire someone. Support and love them. Let rivers of life spring from within your heart and bless people around you with your presence...

"I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides."  - Elie Wiesel

Just placed an order via Barnes and Noble for this magnificent book...

Music for the heart and soul...I live and breathe this...

a dream within a dream...





Paradise...found

Hawaiian crocus

Palm tree at sunset...