First of all, when I’m supposed to be mean, when someone is asking for it, I just look puzzled. I’m taken by surprise every time. I’m like: “…are we doing this now?“, like that Seinfeld episode. That’s the best I can do. Look confused.

I’ve tried. I still try. But I can’t pass over the “why are you mean to me?” stage which basically ruins my whole “who’s the bitch now” routine.

15-20 years ago, I was the kid that cried a lot. The one that never fought back. The one that yelled “Mom!” when another kid would take my toys.

10 years ago I looked silly when trying to be mean. My best lines in a fight were: “Yeah? Well… you’re mean!” or “I hate you!” which kind of never intimidated or irritated anyone.

And now, it’s not that I can’t come up with better fighting lines, it’s just that I can’t bring myself to say them, I keep thinking: “But that’s so mean, I’m gonna hurt his/her feelings…“. So I have a funny look on my face (“What do I do now?! Damn, I hate these situations!!“) and sometimes say: “Why I oughtta…” or “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you“.
Or, looking angry, I say something incredibly weird like: “You wouldn’t even be able to take care of a… stuffed animal!! ”

I make people laugh when I try to be mean, I’m that lame. I’m telling you: I’m really, really bad at this. Arrgh…

© 2012 Andressa. Toate drepturile rezervate.

Mama a spus ca daca raspundeau le uram la multi ani si cel mai probabil ne-ar fi invitat la ei sa ciocnim un pahar de sampanie. Dar telefonul nu mergea la ei, asa ca mama a decis sa mergem direct la ei, pur si simplu, eventual sa le si spunem ca telefonul nu le merge, sa stie de ce nu ii suna lumea. Mi s-a parut foarte aventuroasa decizia! Mama m-a imbracat frumos, de vizita, cu o fusta si pantofi de lac, si am plecat spre ei cu flori si nu-mai-stiu-ce cadou.

Nasii stateau intr-un apartament dintr-o vila din centru, o cladire veche, cu tavan foarte inalt, in care sufrageria e de fapt “salon” si mobila nu era banala ca in toate apartamentele de bloc pe care le stiam eu. La ei arata ca in Franta, asa imi imaginam eu cel putin. Pentru ca adesea o auzeam pe nasa spunand ca a fost in Franta sau ca va merge in Franta si mereu miroasea a parfum dulce. Uneori era Charlie Gold. Cand o pupam parca gustam din sticla de parfum. Si nasa era medic, stiti, dar nu era amuzanta ca nasul. Poate pentru ca nu era ginecolog ci facea medicina generala.

Cand am ajuns acolo am sunat la usa si a raspuns nasul meu. Cand a deschis usa era intr-un halat de casa si a zis: “Hopa, ati venit si m-ati gasit in curu’ gol!” Mama, ce mi-a placut asta. Am chicotit. A zis “curu’ ” de fata cu mine! Era foarte simpatic. Ne-a poftit in casa si ne-a pupat. Mirosea a tutun, mereu mirosea a tutun. Fuma destul de mult.

In casa lor, pe o etajera, se aflau tot felul de lucrusoare: clepsidre, mici bibelouri. Ma fascinau. Nu erau ca chinezii cu undita de la mine de acasa sau de la matusa mea. Erau chestii mai ciudate: mici botosei de portelan, floricele, clepsidre. Imi placea mult o clepsidra; intotdeauna, chiar si acum, mi s-au parut clepsidrele un lucru magic. Atunci le intorceam de multe ori in incercarea de a opri praful din interior sa mai cada. Cautam cocoloase de praf in interior ca sa blochez trecerea.

Nasul m-a lasat sa pastrez o clepsidra, desi nasa nu voia. Nasa zambea mereu dar nu era buna. Clepsidra are trei minute. Dupa ea fierb oua. Doar ca o intorc de doua ori ca sa iasa tari. Nasul m-ar fi lasat sa umblu oriunde, sa ma uit unde vreau si, uneori, sa pastrez ceva ce-mi placea. Era foarte bun.

Nasul facea tot felul de glume haioase. De exemplu, stiu o poveste de la nasterea mea. ) (Am scris-o si apoi m-am gandit ca mama s-ar supara daca as povesti, pentru ca fiind doar povestirea noastra e mai pretioasa.)

Nasul meu era evreu. Si asta m-a facut mereu sa ma intreb ce inseamna a fi evreu pentru ca era atat de la fel ca mine, ca noi, cei despre care spuneam ca nu sunt evrei, nu intelegeam diferenta asta. Adica arata diferit? Ma uitam atent la nasi sa vad daca au ceva in plus sau in minus. Si nu descoperisem nimic. Nasul era cam urat, cred, avea nasul mare si riduri. Dar nu era ceva neobisnuit. In afara faptului ca aveau “salon” si miroseau a parfum, respectiv a tutun, ceea ce pomenisem mai rar, nu era nimic diferit cu ei.

Am aflat ce inseamna a fi evreu mai tarziu. La putin timp dupa ce nasul meu a murit. La inmormantarea lui nu m-am dus, eram prea mica. Insa peste cativa ani, la inmormantarea surorii lui, Beatrice, m-am dus. Si am aflat ca la cimitir la ei nu intra oricine si ca nu au cruci si ca e foarte frumos si curat. Si ca barbatii poarta tichiuta pe cap. De ce? Nu stiam, dar oricum, daca nasul era evreu si era de treaba, inseamna pentru mine ca toti evreii sunt misto.

Mi-a parut foarte rau ca a murit. Dar intelegeam: era batran ca un bunic. Lucrurile astea se intampla. De fapt, poate pentru ca nu am prins nici un bunic in viata, nasul era ca un tataie pentru mine.

Daca as fi fost baiat m-ar fi chemat ca pe el. Mircea.

© 2012 Andressa. Toate drepturile rezervate.

What was I doing and who was I in 1998?
I was 14 years old. Wow. I’m young, aren’t I? ) Stingo was 22 in 1998. And Monsoux was graduating in 1997.

I was in secondary school. I joined the PAL-TIN project in May 1997 and that has greatly influenced me. I started focusing my immense energy on something useful and interesting. (I really wanted to do something special with my time, but didn’t know what. Piano lessons and other such things were not an option.)

At 13 years old I learned how to write projects and budgets. On November the 30th the first project I coordinated took place. It was a success – I was so proud!

And because I was so enthusiastic and passionate about writing projects and spending my free time convincing people to sponsor them, because I could speak English and had a passport, in the autumn of 1997 I represented my colleagues at an International conference in Bulgaria. That was the first time I was leaving the country. Wow. It was an amazing experience for a 13 year old. Here’s a picture of me from that Conference: (had long legs back then as well…)

In 1998 I went to the second edition of that Conference. On our way back to Romania we stopped in Varna, Sozopol, Balcik… I’ve already shown you a picture from that time, in a different post. This is me in Balcik:

For ten years I continued to volunteer in NGO’s and that has had the biggest influence on my life, not taking into consideration my mother, of course. I traveled, I got to meet people from all over the world with the same interests, I spoke foreign languages and worked on International projects. I am still very good friends with people I met in that period.

In 1998 I was doing these things: going to school (being extremely bad at drawing!) and volunteering. At school I was doing pretty well and I was already determined to become a journalist. I was writing a lot. I kept a diary for 12 years (started in the 4th grade).

In 1998 I went for the first time in Western countries. It was a Jeka trip – a few weeks in a bus – going through Hungary, Germany and Austria. It was fabulous. I visited Schonbrunn, the Mozart museum (his home in Salzburg), I went shopping in Budapest, I cooked in Tirol! ) A guy talked to me about “goa” and Moby and my taste in music changed.

This is me in Salzburg, climbing on Mozart’s bust. I was a vandal.

I had a huge crush for a guy who was 3 years older than me and looked at me as “a nice kid”. I was hurting so much! ) He never kissed me although I wanted that so badly. Haven’t seen him for years. I think he became a pilot or something, I remember he cared a lot for planes and studied some kind of engineering. Anyway, he was cute, that’s the important part.

My best friend was Ioana. A girl who I lost contact with although she lives a couple of buildings away. We had a fight about something (when we where in high school) and I refused to talk to her for a couple of years. After that, it was impossible to go back to our friendship. We went separate ways, I guess, we are very different now.

We used to laugh a lot. All the time. For silly reasons. For example, when the first Romanian Music Television started to air, they had promos with different artists saying the name of that television: (Hello. I am X… and I am Y.. and together we are W band. You are watching Atomic TV”) Salut. Sunt X… eu sunt Y … si impreuna suntem trupa cutare. Urmariti Atomic TV. And we would say “Salut. Eu sunt Gaz.. iar eu sunt pe foc… iar impreuna suntem Gaz pe foc” or “Eu sunt Negura… si eu sunt Bunget… iar impreuna suntem Negura Bunget” and that made us laugh for hours!!! ” )) Damn, I still think it’s funny!

In 1998 I listened to rock music. Mostly because my friends were big fans of Metallica or Sepultura or Marilyn Manson. I liked them to, but wasn’t that much into that. I went to wild parties where I was usually the youngest guest and one of the few girls invited and I loved that.

I had very bad taste in clothes. I was either wearing a lot of black (the rock music, you know…) or colorful outfits bought from the street market by my mother. That’s the only thing that makes me frown when I see old pictures: the clothes.

In 1998 I liked Romanian novelists. It was the age, I guess, and the school. I liked Marin Preda very much. And Sadoveanu.

I had a computer: 486. A typing machine, really. I used Norton Commander! )

Also, about then was the time I started surfing the Internet (Alta Vista ftw!) and using mIRC – for that I went to my mother’s office.

Stingo said I should post pictures from that time. It was fun looking through the pictures from that time, to select a few. Really. I was very happy back then. I still am.

© 2012 Andressa. Toate drepturile rezervate.