Rada imam

...tiste noci, ko muca spi pri meni in se lahko stisnem k njej, ter duham njen vonj.

...obcutek hladnega vetra na mojem obrazu, ko se v vrocem dnevu s kolesom vozim skozi gozd.


...toplino, ki mi preplavi dlani, ko drzim skodelico vrocega caja.


...dobro knjigo, ki je ne morem spustiti iz rok.


...vonj po borovcih, ko pridem spet na morje in zvok crickov, ki pojejo kot neusklajena, a funkcionalna pevska skupina.


...obcutek, da sem storila nekaj dobrega.


...glasbo, ki mi v nekem trenutku pase tako, kot da bi bila napisana samo zame.


...zivljenske nauke.


...dober koncert, kjer se lahko znorim ob dobri muski in ki mi naslednji dan za spomin pusti hripav glas ter bolecine v okoncinah.


...mirno voznjo z vlakom. Simpl.


...gledam kuharske oddaje in razmisljam, kako bom tudi jaz nekega dneva kuhala tako dobro, ceprav vem, da ne bom.


...ponedeljke.


...ko se naucim nekaj novega.

...mirne vecere, ko se lahko ob dobri knjigi ali pred televizijo zadekam, da mi je prijetno toplo in uživam v tišini.

...potovanja. In ze samo razmisljanje o tem, kam bi sla in kaj bi tam videla.


...tisti obcutek, ki ga imas, ko spoznas nekoga novega in zelis vedeti vse o njem.


...coca cola reklame, ki dopolnijo bozicno vzdusje.


...tiste trenutke, ki mi dajo obcutek, da mu le pomenim nekaj vec.

»Če iščemo pot do ljubezni z razumom, je enako, kot bi iskal sonce s svetilko.« Dzelad ed Din Rumi

Nisem ena izmed tistih, ki se ves čas pritožujejo nad samskim stanom; da bi govorila, kako hudo je biti samska in kako zelo si želim fanta. Meni je vseeno. Ne počutim se prazno, ker nimam svoje »boljše polovice«. Ne zdi se mi, da bi mi kaj dosti manjkalo zaradi tega. Bom že našla nekoga, ko pač bom. Se mi čisto nič ne mudi. Sicer se vsem zdi čudno, da sem še vedno samska in da je, odkar sem bila s kakšnim fantom, minilo že skoraj 3 leta. Zakaj? Kdo je pa rekel, da bi morala koga imeti?

Ko pa bom nekoga našla, bi si želela, da bi bil, ne popoln, ker to ne obstaja, pač pa, da bi se z njim ujela bolje, kot s komerkoli drugim. Ne želim si, da bi me vedno razumel, temveč da bi me poskušal razumeti. Ne želim si, da se ne bi prepirala, ampak da bi se po prepiru lahko razumno pogovorila in se sporazumela kot dva zrela človeka. Želim si, da bi vedno uživala v najinem skupnem času, četudi bi samo sedela v tišini in delala nič, ter da bi znala biti tudi narazen, z drugimi ljudmi.

Če bi mi lahko, tudi ko bi bila oblečena v pižami, z lasmi spetimi v na hitro narejeno čučko, speto s špangicami in s pikasto kožo, z niti malo sarkazma in z žarom v očeh, rekel, da sem najlepša, kot sem kdajkoli bila, potem bi vedela, da sem zadela terno. Potem bi lahko vedela, da je to to.

Gre pa se za to, da jaz sploh ne iščem, ker sem svojega že našla. Problem v tem pa je, da sem jaz edina, ki tako misli. V zadnjem času tudi vse bolj ugotavljam, da so moji dnevi lepši, ko sem z njim. Tiste dneve, ko ga ni, sem vedno slabše volje. Vedno se mi takrat zdi vse skupaj brezveze. Ko pa sem z njim, ali pa že če se z njim pogovarjam po telefonu, sem bolje. Živim za tiste trenutke, ko mi s prsti polzi skozi lase, da se mi naježi cela koža ali pa če svojo glavo nasloni v moje naročje in sem jaz tista, ki ga boža po laseh. Uživam, ko se mi prikrade za hrbet in me požgečka, ali pa ko se igra z mojimi prsti. Že če je v moji bližini, je dovolj, da mi celo telo prevzame toplina.

Ko sem z njim, je preprosto vse skupaj veliko bolj magično in smiselno.

»Čudno pa je to: čim bolj ga imam rada, tem več trpim, ker se bojim zanj. In čim bolj trpim, tem raje ga imam. Ljubezen izziva trpljenje, trpljenje krepi ljubezen.« Lojze Kozar

Sounds

Zvokovi:

- čričkov v poletni noči,

- ptičjega petja,

- prasketajočega ognja,

- mačjega predenja,

- morskih valov,

- klavirja ali čela,

- dežja na lenoben dan/večer,

- žabjega reganja,

- tišine,

- šepeta, da te ima nekdo rad.

Things change

Zadnjič, bil je večer, sem malo razmišljala in v glavi se mi je porodilo vprašanje: "Kaj bi sedaj najraje počela?" Prvo, kar mi je padlo na pamet, je bil en travnik, kamor sem včasih velikokrat hodila. Šla sem na sprehod in odšla na tisti travnik, se usedla v travo ob potki, ki je vodila do cerkve in tam sedela po uro do dve skupaj, ter samo razmišljala. Predstavljala sem si, kako sedim tam in kako me v eno stran obraza žge sonce, hkrati pa mi nežno pihlja veter, ravno prav, da mi ni vroče in da me sproti malo hladi. Ravno zaradi tega bi imela oblečeno lahko srajčko, da mi ne bi bilo preveč hladno. Ne vem, zakaj sem se po tolikih letih spomnila na ta travnik, a sem se. In danes, ko sem šla na sprehod, sem se spet spomnila na to in sem zavila do tistega travnika. Vedela sem, da trava še ni dovolj visoka in da je še preveč blatno, da bi lahko tam sedela, a sem vseeno hotela iti tja. Nekaj časa sem stala tam in se poskušala spomniti, kje točno je to bilo. Vedela sem, da je bilo ob potki, malce v dolini in da je blizu rasla koruza. Pa gledam in nič. Ni mi bilo jasno, kako da se ne spomnim. In potem mi je kapnilo. Ko sem bolje pogledala, sem ugotovila, da travnika ne najdem iz čisto preprostega razloga: ker ga ni bilo več. Tam, kjer bi moral biti, se je raztezala njiva. Namesto tiste lepe visoke trave je bila tam gomila umazane zemlje. Ni bilo več tiste potke, ki je vodila do cerkve in ni bilo travnika. Potem pa me je zadelo to grenko spoznanje: stvari se spreminjajo.


Do naslednjič,

Layla.

Jaz nisem jutranji človek

V majhni sobici v 5. nadstropju bloka je tišino kot iz topa prerezal rezek zvok budilke, ki mu je sledilo godrnjanje. "Pa neee no, a nisem ugasnila tega hudiča? Vikend je, zaboga!" Obmolknila je in spet zagodrnjala, ko se je nečesa zavedla. "Drek, ponedeljek je." Predstavljajte si, koliko je bila prej pripravljena na to, da bi se uredila za v šolo, glede na to, da je mislila, da je nedelja. No, zdaj je bila še manj.
Glavo je zakopala globoko v blazino in razmišljala o tem, da bi "zaspala" in posledično ne šla v šolo. Ampak potem bi bila mama spet tečna in bi imela še večjo frko. Skoraj je že zadremala ob misli na to, a je budilka še drugič zazvonila in jo vrgla pokonci. Od sebe je izustila samo nekakšno cviljenje in se počasi vstala. Počutila se je kot kitajec, oči je imela namreč odprte le na polovico. Pomela si jih je, čeprav ni kaj dosti pomagalo, in se kot megla počasi zvlekla v kopalnico. Ni vedela, kako dolgo si je drgnila zobe, ko je zrla v megleno podobo sebe v ogledalu; vendar dovolj dolgo, da je imela na koncu vso zobno pasto po celi bradi. Jutra res niso zame... Nekako se je pripravila tudi do tega, da se je počesala in oblekla in trenutek zatem je že hodila po ulici proti avtobusni postaji. Preveč je bila še zaspana, da bi pozdravila kogarkoli, ki je šel mimo nje, zato je samo napol pri zavesti zrla pod noge in razmišljala samo o tem, da se ne bo kje spotaknila ali kam zaletela. Nato se je znašla na avtobusni postaji in se vsedla na klopco. Bila je železna in mrzla, zato jo je zeblo v zadnjo plat, a je ni motilo. Trenutno je bilo zanjo vse tako udobno, da bi lahko v sekundi dvajset zaspala. Vendar je že prišel njen avtobus in morala se je prisiliti, da se je vstala. O Bog, zdaj pa v šolo.

To This Day by Shane Koyczan

When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favourite
she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
because I was afraid I’d get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise
and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie
as far as I was concerned
life was pretty good
I told her “whenever I’m sad
my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation
and I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
and I earned my first nickname

pork chop

to this day
I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid
who grew up this way
surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks and stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
and we got called them all
so we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
that we’d be lonely forever
that we’d never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
that there’s no way for it to metastasize

it does

she was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
we both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
outside we’d have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
in grade five they taped a sign to her desk
that read beware of dog

to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn’t quite get the job done
and they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
that she’s only ever always been amazing

he
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
adopted
but not because his parents opted for a different destiny
he was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
and two parts tragedy
started therapy in 8th grade
had a personality made up of tests and pills
lived like the uphills were mountains
and the downhills were cliffs
four fifths suicidal
a tidal wave of anti depressants
and an adolescence of being called popper
one part because of the pills
and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
he tried to kill himself in grade ten
when a kid who still had his mom and dad
had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression
is something that can be remedied
by any of the contents found in a first aid kit

to this day
he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends
could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it’s about to fall
and despite an army of friends
who all call him an inspiration
he remains a conversation piece between people
who can’t understand
sometimes becoming drug free
has less to do with addiction
and more to do with sanity

we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
to this day
kids are still being called names
the classics were
hey stupid
hey spaz
seems like each school has an arsenal of names
getting updated every year
and if a kid breaks in a school
and no one around chooses to hear
do they make a sound?
are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
when people say things like
kids can be cruel?
every school was a big top circus tent
and the pecking order went
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
all of these were miles ahead of who we were
we were freaks
lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
oddities
juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
but at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
it was practice
and yeah
some of us fell

but I want to tell them
that all of this shit
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought
we used to be
and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click
maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
to show and tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
you have to believe that they were wrong

they have to be wrong

why else would we still be here?
we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
because we see ourselves in them
we stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway
and if in some way we are
don’t worry
we only got out to walk and get gas
we are graduating members from the class of
fuck off we made it
not the faded echoes of voices crying out
names will never hurt me

of course
they did

but our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain
and more to do with beauty.

VIDEO

Malenkosti

Problem nas ljudi je, da smo primitivni. Pa ceprav nekateri sovrazijo to znacilnost in se borijo proti njej, se je vseeno ne morejo resiti. V vsakem od nas je nekaj primitivizma. Nisi samo pameten ali samo neumen. Vsak ima svoje osebno mnenje o necem. Ne moremo se vsi strinjati med sabo. Vsi smo neumni, ker vsak ima neko sibkost, nekaj, cesar ne more storiti. In vsi smo pametni, saj vsak je v necem posebno dober. Ce citiram Einsteina: "Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." In je popolnoma res. Ce nekdo nima dobrih ocen, se ne pomeni, da je neumen, ker je mogoce dober na tehnicnem podrocju. Medtem ko se ti piflas, dobivas dobre ocene, najbrz pa nimas blage veze, kako se popravi uro ali naredi mizo. Je res, kajne? Nihce ni v vsem dober. Nihce. Tudi Einstein je imel v soli fiziko 2, ucitelji pa so ves cas govorili, da ne bo nic iz njega. Van Gogh je bil genij, kar se tice slikanja, v glavi pa ni imel vseh kolesckov na pravem mestu. Zaljubljen je bil v svojo sestricno, naokoli je hodil z ziletko v zepu, dokler si ni enkrat pijan odrezal uho; parkrat si je poskusal vzeti zivljenje, dokler se ni enkrat dokoncno ustrelil, a se vedno je moral, preden je umrl (po tem, ko se je ze ustrelil) ven na cigaret. Nihce ni popoln. Obrabljena fraza, a je cisto res.
Ljudje se prevec osredotocamo na velike geste. Filmi so nas zaslepili. Ravno zaradi njih smo na svoj nacin primitivni. Zenske zdaj zivijo v razocaranju do svojih boljsih (ali slabsih) polovic, ker jim ne kupijo vsak dan sopek roz ali jih kdaj pa kdaj presenetijo z doma narejeno romanticno vecerjo. Tako smo slepi, da vidimo samo se tiste velike stvari. Za nekatere ljudi ljubezen ne obstaja, ce je ne razglasajo javno. Npr. na facebooku (kje pa drugje). Spet en citat: "Maybe you just have to live for the small things, like being called pretty or someone picking up the pen you dropped or laughing so hard that your stomach hurts. Maybe that's all that really matters at the end of the day." Mislim, da ni potreben dodatnega komentarja.
Malo za razmislek. ;-)


Do naslednjic,
Layla.