Bunissima

In sfarsit, m-au lasat in pace, nu stiu cine, nu stiu de ce, dar pentru vreo cateva luni bune am fost inecata de spamuri referitoare la online poker gaming pokero jouer poker, spamuri ce compilau engleza franceza si spaniola. Quite smart, if you ask me. Gata, nu mai am spam. Ma si speriasem, credeam ca e ceva in neregula.

In alte stiri ale zilei, un tip, Tibi, isi deschide un “multicomplex” in Italia, Roma, care include restaurant, sala de nu-stiu-ce, pare-se fotbal, discoteca… 10 intr-unul, sapte dintr-o lovitura, ce sa mai. Foarte inteligenta ideea. Desi se pare ca romanii de acolo sunt atrasi de cantitatile enorme de carne si manele, asozonate cu maieuri tip plasa, zorzonele sclipicioase ce se misca ametitor in ritmul buricului, si taraf (a se citi manele), ideea in sine este izvorata din chiar sufletul de roman al patronului. Romanii, sau cel putin majoritatea lor, au o fire nostalgica. Se gandesc cu melancolie la Romanica lor si la modul nemaipomenit de viata de aici. Nimic de obiectat, totul merge spre bine, mereu. Multi dintre ei, se gandesc la ce tare o sa se loveasca atunci cand o sa cada pe spate vecinii si prietenii cand ii vad cu Audi-ul cu numar de Italia si inelele si lanturile de aur, fara numar (ok, stiu ca deja ca a hamai despre chestia asta cu manele, lanturi si dansuri din buric e expirata, dar, for crying out loud, nu si in practica). Si cel mai mult le place romanilor sa intalneasca alti romani si sa vada cat de mult i-au surclasat… sau the other way around, daca e cazul, cu mustrarile de constiinta necesare.

Si uite asa, vecinii de bloc, care bloc se afla mult mai departe de al meu bloc, nepretuit si neasemuit fata de alte minunate cutii de chibrituri gri construite pe vremea comunismului, vecinii astia, asa cum spuneam, se strang in fata blocului MEU, sa joace remy. Stiu ca am spus zaruri in titlu, dar asta e, de dragul artei, taceti si ingititi. Si baietii astia, draguti, educati si manierati, care poarta smokinguri si isi cara si laptopurile cu ei, si zic mereu saru’mana… err, asta e din alt film, scuze, care poarta slapi si probabil aceleasi tricouri cu care au dormit in seara trecuta, asadar si prin urmare, vin aici sa joace remy in fiecare zi. Zi de zi. ZI DE ZI. Zi de zi ma delectez cu clinchetul induiosator si zglobiu al tabletelor dreptunghiulare de remy si cu un baga-mi-as, ‘tu-ti mortii matii, si multe alte delicatese ocazionale si originare. Si, ca si intelenovela Madre luna, se pare ca aici este luna plina mereu. Altfel cum mi-as explica incantatoarele si romanticele urlete de lup? Iar fetele? Ce face fetele?

Fetele vine frumos la ora cinci, dupa memorabilul ceai, erm, romanesc (a se citi amaratul de job), imbracate in lanturi de aur si haine made in China, pentru a evalua tinuta - in toate sensurile, morala, fizica si vestimentara- a tuturor aia care indrazneste sa le deranjeze dulcea visare transcendentala. Ce alta delectare poate avea un suflet simplu care se duce sa isi cumpere paine, suc de portocale 100% natural sau vin, decat cea de a auzi parerile experimentate ale unor guru in toate domeniile? Parul tau e ca pusca pentru ca n-ai mai iesit din casa de cateva zile? Pai o sa te anunte ele. Apelativul Marie e suficient. A, te-ai imbracat naspa, deja stii, dupa cum se intorc pe rand toate capsoarele ala dragute si se uita la tine din cap pana in picioare. Poate dea domnul sa te prefaci ca te uiti in telefon ca sa scapi ochilor ageri fixati asupra ta, o sa numere pana la trei, pentru ca atunci vei baga telefonul in buzunar. Psihologie, nu gluma.

In alta ordine de idei, o vecina a avut inspiratia sa cheme politia sau si mai rau, sa le atraga frumos atentia ca nu se cade sa lasi bidoane goale de bere, mucuri de tigara, coji de seminte si injuraturi goale si tari in fata unui bloc in care nici macar nu locuiesti. Partea buna e ca m-au trezit mai devreme decat ma trezesc de obicei. Partea rea… Amenintarile curgeau nesmintite in toata frumusetea lor si toate incercarile femeii de aduce orice urma de ratiune in discutie au fost zadarnicite de vorbele smecherite ale jucausilor experimentati in remy.

Uneori, romanul e ca spamul. E un simplu joc de noroc.

We don’t have many myths. We are a poor people in that but I am sure that if we tried harder we could find out that there is more to it.
Think destiny, think fatality. This is what characterises the Romanian people.

Maybe the younger generations are changing (even though I heard a girl at the pool saying that what’s written for you it is going to happen no matter what, she was very loud about it too). In here God is everywhere. People do not go to church ever so often though. The “Sunday clothes” no longer exist, people do not take the weekly Sunday bath any more. Instead there are shiny disco clothes, shiny street clothes, cell phones and lots of personal goods value. But Romanians are still very, very faithful. Even if they are crazy about making fun and lauging at other people’s misfortune, about being mean sometimes and about pretty much what comes with a modern society, Romanians are like a rock when it comes about God. If they make mistakes, god is good enough to forgive them. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against modern society. You can’t be, unless you are my grandma and can’t understand why tight jeans are a must. I am not even talking about god here. Just about fatality.

One of our fundamental myths is about fatality. About how you cannot avoid your “destiny”. The story is simple: the shepherd hears from his faithful sheep that his other two shepherd companions want to kill him and take all his sheeps. Instead of fighting and trying to run, he accepts his destiny. In the whole, his testament is in fact an allegory of the death-wedding perspective, so common in Romania (they used to dress the young unmarried dead in bridal clothes, because they thought thay they will get married in the other world, le monde d’au dela).
It is not beyond reason why people choose to be so fatal-oriented. People have always gathered around the axis mundi that represented safety. It is so hard to understand that thers is nothing out there to control your life, because life is so complicated and so full of unknown threats everyday.

I do not believe in fatality, in the so-it-was-written thingy. No one can prove this exists. Just like belief, it is a matter of belief. But what makes the most sense, is that nothing is “written.” Where is it written? What happens is indeed a cumulation of facts, events, and people’s personal decisions and wishes, and sometimes you just cannot avoid this. That’s what a society is. An individual makes his own decisions and takes actions, but they are always reflected into other people’s decisions and actions. And I don’t mind if anyone thinks things are different. We are all free to have oppinions.

What bugs me though, is this fatal spirit of Romanians. “What is written for you, it’s branded on your forehead”. This is not true. Choice is a choice is a choice. Good and evil is all inside you. You have the power to decide. Ignorance and le mal esprit cna, of corse can be a factor, but that was not your choice, unless you realized you had it. Think well, what are the wishes that did not come true? Why is that? Maybe you did not want it really hard enough. When you want something, it is you who fight for it, and no one else. When you doubt, anything will be broken in half, between wish and fear. It is one or the other. It is the good and the evil. It is all inside you. All it matters is you have the choice.

I mean, I understand that, being a simple tranlsator is hard. You don’t always know all the cultural and cuisine stuff form around the world, but, I mean, some things are just simple. This job trains your ear so you get everything people say in a foreign language (you know, sounds, words), especially if you can rewind, even if you don’t understand what it means. Please do not translate “guacamole” as “aguamole” and “banana split” as “banana flips.” Kthanks.