Posts Tagged ‘Romania’

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dream: apocalypse rob.

September 18, 2009

This dream is a masterclass in me.

The first thing that I remember is being at lunch in a fancy restaurant, ordering French pastries with Charlotte from Sex and the City.  We were discussing relationships and sex, and about whether I was a failure for not having gotten married yet.  Charlotte was as lovely and reassuring as she is on the tv programme, and I remember as I took bites out of my French cake (strawberry – which I normally don’t like), she told me that I was young and that there was plenty of time to fall in love.  We sprayed each other with the new Prada fragrance, L’eau Ambrée, and it was delicious.

I left the restaurant and Charlotte, and met up with Rob (the Romanian) and we went back to my place (I had a very white apartment) where we sat on the bed and were talking and flirting for ages.  (I am wearing my Opium Pour Homme today as I type this as a result) At one point I was so tempted to kiss him, but I couldn’t do it because he had/has a boyfriend and that would not really be ethical.  I reached out and stroked his face, and he nuzzled into it while saying “You know that I can’t do that”.  The tension mounted and I kept my hand against his cheek, but eventually the moment passed and I had to go.

The next thing I know, I was walking along the edge of a bayou (!!!) and I came to a big wooden Colonial-style house with lots of people crowded around on the veranda.  I mingled with the crowd, looking for Rob and it transpired that his family owned the house.  There was a raft on the river of the bayou, ready to “set sail”, and I tried to get Rob to go on it with me and we could go down the river together.  However, once I sat on the raft I discovered that his sister was going to use the raft with me, and she was a prostitute.  She got on the raft, along with a couple of other guys, and Rob disappeared and we started to drift upstream, towards the big white gates of the city.  The gates opened, and after some forgettable conversation, I got off the raft and left Rob’s sister and her guys to it.  I walked along the street and went back to my apartment.  The whole city looked as if it had been whitewashed, and it was ominously pristine and futuristic.

I went into my apartment block, and suddenly a siren sounded and the dean from St. Anne’s College at Oxford University, Martin Jackson, came thundering down the stairs and informed me that we were on ‘high alert’.  He told me to follow him up the stairs to a safe part of the building, and I had no choice but to do so.  He led me to an isolated part of the apartment block on the top floor, where all of the doors were sliding and gleaming white, with no handles or anything – they seemed to open and close of their own accord, as if they could see us coming.

Once I arrived on the top floor, I found out that the country / world was on ‘high alert’, because the Chinese had massive guns that they were using to shoot down all the other countries.  (Dreams are not logical.)  Although we were trying to fight back with our own guns, our guns were not as big and therefore we were almost certain to lose, and the world was due to descend into warfare and possibly the end of the world.  So that was why it was important to take refuge now, before it was too late.  In the top floor of the apartment building, there was a hallway leading off to three rooms.  I chose to enter the room on the left, which was furnished largely in red velvet with chairs set up for an audience.  At the front of the room was a massive flat-screen television, and it appeared that we were supposed to be watching something.  I have no idea what was supposed to happen in the other two rooms, but I had the impression that it was something more sinister and that I had chosen well.

Little by little, the room began to fill up with people, including my friend Hannah, and also a girl from school called Hannah Drake.  Hannah found me and we were relieved that we were both safe.  Meanwhile, the screen began to show Street Fighter games for different gaming platforms (including the Playstation and the Sega Saturn; it was some weird hybrid of Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat).  Akuma from Street Fighter actually entered the room and sat himself down, all fiery red hair and glowing eyes, and finally the film began to start.  It was very abstract and didn’t explain much.  At one point, me and Hannah looked at each other and started giggling because it made no sense, but one of the old women seated behind us hushed us and told us to pay attention to the film as it was important.  I remember lots of cityscapes and white gleaming buildings, and that was it!

Anyone willing to psychoanalyse?  Sigmund Freud?

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temptation.

August 9, 2009

I am watching Desperate Housewives on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and the current episode is rooted around the topic of “temptation”.  According to Mary-Alice’s narration, “the best way to get over one addiction is to replace it with another”.  I have always had an obsessive personality (I used to collect everything concerned with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, then dinosaurs, then Power Rangers, then the Spice Girls…) but I seem to have it under control as I’ve grown older and learned to balance my pleasures with other commitments with responsibilities.  However, sometimes my temptations or vices play on my mind more than they perhaps should.  Being responsible all the time is impossible, and on this lazy Sunday afternoon, I have been internet window-shopping looking for new jeans, a winter coat, jewellery (in Desperate Housewives, I am without doubt the male personification of Gabrielle)… So I thought it would just be interesting to list my current vices so that I know what I am dealing with.

Designer labels.
When I was younger, I didn’t have as much money as I do now, because I was too young to have a job and I used to enjoy saving my money (oh how the times have changed).  I always wanted to look good and have nice clothes, but my motto was to buy cheap things that looked expensive / classy.  Looking through my wardrobe now, not only do most of those clothes not fit (I have lost a lot of weight since then), but some of these items are a little bit style-less.  I never wore garish colours or anything particularly unflattering, but I have grown and learned that the only real way to look classy is to dress with class.  That doesn’t always mean having designer clothes, but when it comes to making clothes, designers do know best.  So little by little, I’m acquiring a nice little
collection of designer jewellery and accessories, as well as a couple of designer tshirts.  I’m looking to expand this collection because I’m growing up now and I want a wardrobe which says that I am professional, sophisticated and classy.  That is the image I want to portray, because that is what I aspire to be.  So little by little, I’m upgrading my fashion game so that as I get my life together, I will have my look together also.

Cigarettes.
I feel a lot guiltier about this than I probably should.  I smoke on average probably 4 cigarettes a day, so it’s not a serious vice or anything like that. But being a singer, I know that it could potentially damage my voice (though it hasn’t seemed to yet).  I got into smoking during my year abroad in Spain, then I came back home and gave up over the summer, then I started again at Christmas, I stopped again, started again and then once I rejoined the Perfume Shop family of smokers, I kept it going.  Since I finished work, I have generally cut down a little bit but a lot of my friends reprimand me for my habit.  However, I do enjoy a cigarette – it passes time while I’m waiting for the bus, it gives me something to do on my breaks at work, and it is delicious when I am out drinking or clubbing with my friends.  But I think my favourite cigarette is my “midnight cigarette” where I creep out onto the patio once the house is quiet and night has fallen, put my ipod in and listen to music while I smoke.  I find myself thoughtfully thinking of all sorts of things, gazing at the moon and stars (unless it’s raining) and just grabbing a bit of piece.  So I feel that as long as my consumption doesn’t increase, I’m not looking to give up my little bit of smoking just yet.

Attracting crazy men.
Since university, I have discovered that I possess the talent for attracting people with a multitude of insanities.  Whether they be struggling with depression or serious health issues, or they want to know my every move and can’t keep their hands off me, I seem to live in this strange dichotomy between believing that I’ll never find someone for me, and seeking out people who clearly aren’t very compatible with me.  I have my head screwed on when it comes to giving other people decent advice, but whether I’m starting up something with a man who could soon emigrate and has a boyfriend who is apparently a little jealous of me, semi-dating a man who one minute doesn’t have the energy to communicate with me let alone meet up in person, and then the next wants to make innuendos at me and know exactly where I’m going and whom I’m seeing, or deciding to block a guy who just won’t leave me alone by text or on msn, and buys me gifts after one meeting, I just seem to know how to pick ’em.  Where are the sane ones?  Do I attract drama by default?  My colleague Louise told me that I need to take a long hard look in the mirror and then go and aim higher and be more confident in myself.  Maybe that’s the key, but then I also think that the sooner I can move away to another place with another attitude, atmosphere and fresh crop of potential suitors, the sooner I will find someone more like-minded and suitable.  My desired destinations currently include Brazil, Hawaii, Italy, Spain (haven’t narrowed down any cities yet) and Romania.  Any other recommended areas?

Starbucks.
Since sixth form, when I gained the luxury of free periods, I have fallen in love with Starbucks.  I always meet friends there for coffee, and I spend entirely far too much money there in the process.  You know when you spend too much time there because the baristas recognise you, and predict what you are going to order (I always respond to this with “Actually, I want *drink I never usually order*, I fancied a change!” because I find being considered predictable a fault).  During my last term of uni, I spent practically every day in there meeting friends in a bid to escape finals revision.  It became an expensive habit, and yet I can’t resist it.  I have learned to always order skinny drinks (it nearly halves the amount of calories!) and get filter coffee refills on hot drinks, to make my money go farther.  But I love the appeal of Starbucks – it has a relaxed, intimate atmosphere where the decor is just dark enough to convey privacy, the drinks are deliciously sweet enough to keep me coming back for more, and it’s a perfect venue for reading a book by myself for a couple of hours, a date with a new man, or (most commonly) a social event with friends where we can share problems, stories and trivialities alike.

Spending money.
A lot of the above categories are an offshoot of this one.  Of course, nobody can live without spending money.  But I have a genuine talent for it.  Jewellery and fragrance with high price tags, coffee which always tastes better when someone else has made it, little packs of cigarettes, rounds of drinks and bus tickets all add up and somehow I make my way through my funds.  I am not so bad as I used to be, because I have changed my spending habits somewhat (instead of buying lots of small purchases such as CDs and DVDs often, I now save up for larger things such as clothes, jewellery and accessories) – but I still appreciate the healing powers of retail therapy.  Here is a good test: find a catalogue and open it at a random page of clothes.  I guarantee you I will automatically be drawn to the most expensive item, even without knowing the prices beforehand.  Unfortunately, I don’t really see myself being able to give up this addiction, because prices only seem to go up and my aspirations only seem to go higher and higher.  But hopefully I can raise my earning power to keep up with them, because I would rather raise my game than lower my ambitions. Currently, I feel that I have all my temptations under control, so that they give me pleasure without taking over my life – and as long as I keep myself balanced, like everyone, I can afford a little vice. 😉

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i cry real tears.

August 4, 2009

On my way home on the bus after a lovely day spent with Hannah and Nick, I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to be instantly wrapped up on the sofa.  With the rain flooding down the windows as I gazed out at the grey, overcast cityscape passing me by, I couldn’t help but feel that the weather echoed my inner sentiments.  As if, for all the nice chats and coffees and perfume I enjoyed today, I couldn’t escape my own sorrow, loneliness, fear and ennui – I could only subdue it and try to ignore it.  But with the rain coming down all around me, I could have started crying – not bursting into tears, but silently letting them fall from my eyes.

Why? I have a pretty good life, and I had had a nice day.  But I guess that being on my own, in the middle of a crowded bus (the windows steamed up by our collective body heat) with nobody to talk to and my ipod drowning out everything, surrounded by anonymous faces and anonymous rain, the solitude just got to me.  I’ve fallen for somebody real bad, and it’s crazy because right now, I can’t think of anything better than escaping my life and running away to another country, learning another language and living a completely different life.  Obviously I’m not going to do this, but I can’t help but imagine what it would be like, and how happy I could be if we really did fall in love with one another.  I’m wrapped up in a fantasy and it’s so sweet, it makes reality all the more bitter in comparison.  And I’m wrapped in his cologne (Opium Pour Homme) so that I always feel it on me, and it’s torture because it smells so good and yet he’s not there.  I’ve met the guy once (though we talk most days) and I’ve gone utterly crazy.  Rationale literally out of the window.

I have a ridiculous amount of music on my iPod, and at times like this I can’t help but pick songs that echo my mood, or lyrics that echo my situation.  My current choices range between optimistic and heartrending: Blu Cantrell – “I Can’t Believe“, Mariah Carey – “The Beautiful Ones“, Shontelle – “T-Shirt“, Toni Braxton – “Spanish Guitar” & “I Don’t Want To“, The-Dream, “H.A.T.E. U” are the examples which come to mind.  Of course, tugging at my heartstrings doesn’t make me feel any better or enable me to forget my situation, but instead keeps me moping, though at least I am moping to a good soundtrack!

Anyway, I didn’t cry.  I am not the kind of person who would break down in public (I don’t like looking imperfect, even sweating in public, so tears are out of the question – I do my utmost to keep my façade weakness-free), and I’m not the kind of person who breaks down even in private.  Ever since I was a kid, I was taught to keep my emotions inside so that nobody can see your weaknesses (particularly when my dad would try to upset me with the goal of making me cry, my mother taught me not to give him the satisfaction).  So even during trying times, I try to suppress any extremity of emotion in public, and take deep breaths and clench my fists and just get on with things.  After all, the quicker it’s over, the quicker it’s done.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cry.  I believe in the cathartic power of tears, and once you’ve cried your eyes and your heart out, there’s nowhere left to go but to start healing yourself and picking yourself back up.  Although they make your eyes puffy and swollen, and seem to bring out dark red freckles around my cheekbones (lucky me), tears do serve a purpose – they let you acknowledge your sadness and express it and move on.  Sometimes, my restraint from expressing my sadness even privately means that it festers, whereas if I could just let myself go and cry, maybe I’d move on a little quicker.  Who knows – that’s just the kind of person I have come to be, it’s probably to late to do anything about it now.

Yet I disagree with the widely-held belief that “boys don’t cry”.  They just don’t let anyone know that they cry.  There are a lot of secrets kept between the sexes that I think stop us from understanding one another and feeling close to one another.  Of course people are going to think that men and women are from different planets; that’s the way we live our lives.  The machismo the boys don’t cry does stem from the fact that crying supposedly signals weakness, and men must never appear weak.  But why is it ok for women to be weak, in that case?  Everybody gets weak sometimes (even though nobody talks about it, we all know it’s true) and in that weakness, the best thing we can do is to seek strength from others.  But (and I am particularly guilty of this), seeking strength and asking for help once again points out our weaknesses to other people and we are too proud / afraid to bare ourselves in this way.  So we cover it up.  But I think that to make it a gender thing (Fergie made things no better with her song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – boys cry, men cry, big girls cry, petite girls cry, grown women cry, transexuals cry.  Everybody cries.) is just stupid – tears are universal.

Babies cry for attention.  Adults rebel against this because when we cry, we don’t want anyone to know – bringing attention to ourselves is the last thing on our minds.  Crying is a secret rebellion against maintaining that all-important appearance of teflon perfection.  I don’t cry (films never get to me – the right music is usually the closest thing to bring me to the brink) very often at all, but sometimes – like today – there is an evocative feeling in my heart, and I don’t know what to do with it.  And though, despite everything, I am not comfortable with letting my tears fall in public, it’s as pure an expression of hurt and longing as you’re gonna get.  And wrapped in this cologne, my longing aches just that little bit sweeter.

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spark.

August 3, 2009

I had another lunchtime meet with another guy, P, today.  I am going to keep things brief because I appreciate my string of various relationships is already getting quite complex (I will provide a spider diagram at some point 😉 ), but he isn’t one you’ll need to track.  He was nice enough, but not attractive to me physically, a bit shy, awkward and nerdy, and although the conversation didn’t run dry, I didn’t find anything we spoke about particularly memorable.  Onto the next.

Or the previous.  Poor P, because yesterday R was a damn hard act to follow.  Handsome, friendly, level-headed, close to family and friends, considerate, articulate (and being from Romania, English is not his first language) and just fun to be around.  Plus he has an interest / passion for perfume, and for travelling.  He was pretty much perfect on first impressions, and we spent a few hours together conversing, probing each others’ thoughts and opinions, talking about food, exercise, family, travelling, love, relationships, perfume, music… all my favourite subjects and more.  I introduced him to a couple of friends I bumped into, and he was courteous and chatty without monopolising a conversation, and when I apologised for socialising in the midst of our day, he said it wasn’t a problem and that it was lovely to see that I had friends whom I got on with so well.  I had the best time, and it was no effort – I was sad to leave him and say goodbye.  Of course, he revealed he had a boyfriend (my heart broke, I picked up the pieces and carried on outwardly as if nothing had happened) in Edinburgh, and then that he was considering returning to Romania in a few months depending on how his life went.  So it may never work.  But damn if I don’t want to follow him to Romania and give it a try – and at the same time escape the UK and all the bonds on my current life to somewhere new and undiscovered.  I can’t recall the last time I met somebody with whom I gelled so much (well, actually I can, but that time didn’t work for other reasons) and was so eager to see again.  Even just to stay friends with him, I would relish it because he was amazing and I had the best time.

Which leads me to ask, what is the “spark”?  I am one of those people who believes that if there is no spark between the two of you, then there is no point pursuing a relationship.  There has to be some sort of intangible magnetism, unspoken attraction that brings you both together.  It has to fit.  I’m not saying that a spark can be enough to hold a relationship together by itself – things are never that simple, and relationships take work and compromise and commitment (among many other things).  But if there is no spark, then what are you working / compromising / committing for?  What is the point of all that effort, forcing something that just isn’t going to work?  So that is why I very much believe in the power of the spark, not just for relationships, but for friendships too (when you hit it off with someone in a platonic way, it can be just as satisfying and thrilling – after all, friends can be for life!).  Because when fireworks explode and you’re floating on a rush of sparks, anything is possible and you feel like you’re on top of the world.  That makes this thing worth pursuing… because who knows what the future holds?