Words That Sting And Sing and Fly

Hello, hello, how are your last days of December? Mine are fine, but they don’t look like December, not in the very least. I have flowers blooming in my garden and green green green grass growing everywhere and it makes the Christmas spirit commit suicide. It is not even cold. So I am up for floral Christmas this year and not even that mad about it, now that I’m thinking about how nice it sounds – floral Christmas. The Earth laughing in colors around small lights and evergreen trees. Special, right?

So special it would need a word of itself. A word for everything, wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing. And by that I don’t mean leaf, leaves, tree, trees, cookie, cookies,  sheet, sheets, hour, hourglass, flower, bouquet, but thisfeelingIhaveinmychestwhenitachesfromtheneedofhumanaffection .  That type of self defining and independent word.A word that would act in the wordsociety the same way feminists act in a society made of women and men.  Whimsical and made out of laughter. A word to get it all. A word so full, words so full, that we would not need sentences or grammar or spelling – no, we would just get some syllabi out through our gritted teeth and we would be understood. Fully , completely.

I believe in such extraordinary words – words that name it that shall not be named, words that break and mend, words you can dive into and never get out of. Portal-words, magic-words, spells and darkness humming around blazing light. Simple words and careful ones. They are my myth, my belief and my hope. Words. And if I find them, the true ones, I hope I won’t be able to ever write them down. Because when bumping against my skull, they would lose some flavor. When fighting their way through my veins, they would lose their rhythm.

But I sort of stumble over mythical words. Not indeed mythical, but rather interesting. Peculiar. Filled with sense and understanding. I collect such words. And I decided to write them here today. Without definition, if I find it important for you to think about it a little , even if you don’t have the time to look it up in the dictionary. Just absorb letters, they are a nice conditioner for your soul.

By the way, they are not all in English, obviously. Also, I am going to write them with various colours, in various ways, because I think it is a good idea. Might turn out to be a difficult to read thing, but I am still in artist-mood today, so please allow me my little colors.



o  n  i  s  m

t h e    frustration   o f  b e i n g   stuck  in  j u s t   one   b o d y, t h a t   in  ha  bi  ts   only   one   place   at    a   t i m e

Quint Buchholz (German, b. 1957, Stolberg, Germany) – Der Flug (The Flight), 1987 Paintings

ir i d esc e n    t  – producing a display or rainbowlike colors

E P I P H A N Y – a moment of sudden revelation


brontide: pronunciation:

pronunciation |  “am-u-‘ran-THEn:

pronunciation |:

I am going to stop now and maybe edit this later with more various words. Because words are nice, but my mood is not and I feel like cheering up a bit with some shots of strong words, nice, burning ones. See you tomorrow, with an original “tag”, I hope, because I really don’t like the ones going around. May the words be with you !


On life and not completely understood rebellions

I’m going to start this off by saying that people in Romania have started protesting. Massively. All over the country.

Almost 30 000 people on the 4th of November, Bucharest

Even in my “nothing ever happens” town. Students march. Things have started moving. And I am excited. Because it feels and smells like change. Because the government has resigned. Because people have understood that corruption kills. Because the flames of that club have surrounded the whole Romania. And, as cheesy as it sounds, it will be reborn out of its own ashes. Phoenix-like. I hope, God how I hope that things are going to get better.image-2015-11-4-20554874-0-protest-memoria-victimelor-clubul-colectiv

In honor of this and because of my great excitement and because I love words and quotes and all of it, here are some of my favorite quotes about deep things. In no particular order, mainly focused on freedom of thought and social issues. A post full of beautiful words and exuberant phrases and the idolization of beauty shall be written another time.

“THEY TRIED TO BURY US, THEY DIDN’T KNOW WE WERE SEEDS.” – Mexican proverb art-by-dan-elijah-g-fajardo

I first read this on a Mexican protester’s poster. Kept it in mind ever since.

”War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.”

George Orwell, “1984”

“Let her sleep

For when she wakes,

She will move mountains.”

Napoleon Bonaparte ( I know no context for this one, but I love it greatly)

“I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
This is all, I think. I’ll write a 7 list thing tomorrow, I hope.
By the way, I’m in with the NaNoWriMo. I think. But I didn’t really write anything yet, so I need to keep up.


My computer had what I would call a seizure. It’s just opened here, in front of me, black screen with a white arrow capable of moving around, but doing nothing more than that. Just annoying me. Not in the fundamentally annoying way. Just making my life harder than usually.  And also making me write from this app. Such a tiny keybord,  so little space for my mental floss. Such non-existent warning when I’m a master of stupidly spelled words.
I really feel like writing because I really feel like talking, or rather being listened to, and texts about useless things, this hide-and-seek type of dialogues are profoundly dissatisfying. I think I could talk for  hours out of sheer frustration. I could talk for days and days until I’m totally unable to articulate a word, until I’m numb and useless, simply because I love to talk.
Or rather,  I love to be listened to.
No, I don’t like people looking at me, gazing at me, staring at me, getting bored or annoyed listening to my ramblings. Yes, my unhealthily pale skin cam get all shades of red and my breath can become fast and shallow and my hands can become knots and the tips of my feet can sink deep into the ground, until they reach the hot center of my gravitational field. My brain can get weirdly irrational, my tongue irresponsible.  And tho, I will keep speaking . Talking. Telling. I will keep craving the high that the idea of being listened ro gives me. I will keep craving the weight I can feel forming in my stomach while words hurry out of my mouth. Out of my hands. Out of my eyes and lungs.
That is why I felt like writing. I did. Hope I’ll make a habit out of it, because it becomes difficult to breathe  with so many words stuck between my mouth and my brain.

Life is not a sparkly bubble

No, it is not. Life is rather weird and it becomes even weirder and more difficult and complicated and weird and difficult when you have the incredibly destructive habit of overthinking it. Like I do.

Today officially was the third day of school. And against my expectations of failed human communication, I still felt fine around people. Damn it, I am truly exaggerating right now. I just.. I figure I have this interior defensive mechanism that somehow allows me to be ok and feel kind of fine, some sort of thing that makes me stand straighter, speak more coherently, look people in the eye, keep my chin up and my steps and breaths even. Some sort of thing that doesn’t allow me to think too much when feeling like I have something funny to say, that does leave me to being, to laughing too loudly and talking too much, to being proud. The problem is, there usually comes the time after that, when I get home, my feet sore from walking, my hair a mess and my hands stained with ink, when it all comes back to me. All the laughing and the jokes – that seem freaking stupid, all the walking straightly and the attitude that I could have kept for another time. For it is not totally real, but rather something that I could have been, I suppose. The problem is, there comes the time when all that put up confidence returns and feels like salt on burnt skin. Because damn, I’m vulnerable in front of myself. Because the moment I feel fine , something black and shiny and uncomfortable catches my eye and becomes bigger and bigger against the law of physics.

Maybe that’s why I despise school so much. I don’t know, but I’m really frustrated at this particular moment, because I’ve started transforming this into a cliche thing and I really feel like avoiding that.

A smarter affirmation would be, tho, that I’ve noticed that the 21 hours I’ve been in school since Monday have killed all the creativity and replaced it with frustration. And I don’t want to fall in the same pattern of hatred and self sufficiency and lack of self control and desperation and limitations that left me numb and indifferent and then sad. I think I’ve simply decided that the time has come to make the most out of what I have. But , in order to achieve that, I first need some joy and some harmonious days and some good books and cold weather and some silence and a good night’s sleep and harmony with myself again. And I need to work hard and stop wasting my time and work hard a little bit more.

I just hope I can pull it off, this harmonious autumnal life.

Because, you know, life is not a sparkly bubble of soap.


I reached my 50th summer book.

All quite large, some impressive, some stupidly and incredibly bad.

Mostly average, just like the person who got into reading them with such passion.

School starts next week and I am not even sad or revolted- which is weird, weird, oh so weird.

I’ve been away these past two weeks – travelling a teeny-tiny bit in my almost nice country. I saw some mountains, wandered in some woods , touched the sea, breathed polluted air. Met some beautiful people, been scared by others, failed remarkably and cried a little bit too much for I am so so so weak. Incredibly weak.

I am home again, now. And I am tired and hollow and literally expressing my feelings like some hormonal teen girl on tumblr. Oh wait. I am a freaking teenager. Proceed with caution.

Oh, wait another second, my jokes are bad and my life is sad. Or.. maybe not.

God, I am totally ungrateful for my chances. I should be. Different.


I felt like writing because I like talking and I have nobody to talk to or nobody to get me or nobody that refuses to blame me for things.

You see, I really function like a failure.

But that is quite fine, I suppose.

Unless you are a lonely and quite impossible to understand failuresque person, like myself.

I’m going to stop now, for my coherence is gone.

I don’t know where.

P.S. My country is beautiful, you should come around sometimes.

P.P.S. Problem is.. it is in my head, but you probably can enter it through my ear, even if I don’t have nice ears, I am not an elf.

P.P.P.S. I’ve just had a revelation. I think van Gogh cut his ear to let people in his nice country. People refused and thought he was mad. He probably died believing it as well.

Summer Manifesto

I am not really sure how summer holidays are set around the world , but I know that in my tiny, full of vampires and dragons south-eastern European country, the humongous summer break starts at the end of June and ends mid-September. Almost 3 months. Out of which almost 4 weeks  have passed. That means that I have another 10-11 weeks to fulfill my summer goals and cross all the things on my oh-so-fancy-and-yolo summer bucket list. Joke. I don’t have a bucket list going on because I can’t make myself write one or think of a number of things to do during this summer. Or any other summer,for that matter. Or this year. Or before I die. So, taking into account my inability to write a crazy and nice bucket list that isn’t totally cliche , the closest thing I have to such a thing is my Goodreads TBR shelf. Or the 2015 Reading challenge on which I am 5 books ahead after entering the summer holiday 17 books behind. I am proud of myself for that.

Anyway, the purpose of this post is not complaining about bucket lists or how everybody seems to love summer whereas all my enthusiasm has fled a couple off weeks ago when I started my very successful hobbit carrier and a very faithful relationship with my bed and my Kindle – I think I initially wanted to write about .. well I kind of can’t remember. So, instead of complaining, I think I’ll write a manifesto. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make myself write that bucket list stuff. But it won’t be a list.

It will be my summer’s manifesto.


Summer Manifesto

I’ll try as hard as I can to become healthy and slowly heal my huge lack of balance and sleep and normality and human interaction. I’ll cross paths with my anxieties as often as possible, so that ,maybe, they’ll be scared enough of themselves to run away, instead of making me turn my back to my possibilities. I’ll read as much as I can and I’ll try to try various things – not only my usual rather contemporary comfort zone. And after reading weird masterpieces,I’ll try to write about them here and I really hope it is going to turn out well. I am going to free myself of this deep struggle of keeping up with all the masks I’ve drawn for myself. ‘Cause the time has come for balance. I am not the person of cheesy things , but I aim change. And maybe I’ll become a better entity walking on this claustrophobic planet, learning how to stop killing my time.

Funny fact, tho – killing your time doesn’t make you eternal.

Hello world

My name is Ana. And it is really difficult to write this post for the same cliche reason people have been evoking for ages when trying to say something coherent about themselves – I don’t know and I lack the ability to try to find out something pretty interesting or not-weird-at-all or in any way memorable to say about myself. For that particular reason, I’m just going to go with the basics, so that you can form a mental picture of who I am and this moment of “Ana-say-hi-to-the-internet” goes on smoothly. No lists, though. Even I find listing things about yourself a little bit over the top. Whatever, you may have different opinions. So.

I was born on the 13th day of one particularly hot summer. I have a middle name, but is just as common as my first one. I have a great family, but I mostly lack friends ( that might be a thing that happens because I apparently am too idealistic for this “big bad world”. Meh.)and, for that matter, any type of huge need for human affection that you could expect from a person my age in a society like ours. I love learning – and by that I don’t mean that I swallow whole physics textbooks as a hobby or in any way approve to the way our educational system is shaped. By learning I mean acquiring information about the universe around by any means and with any risks – I mean art and a deep admiration for nature or having late philosophical talks with somebody that gets the way you think. My life is pretty much gravitating around school, for I really used to enjoy it whole back in my middle school years, when some stuff seemed way more manageable. I’m in high school now and everything got pretty much way more chaotic than I’d thought. The fact is, despite having a decent middle school life ( especially when it came to interacting with other human beings , speaking up in class and all that fun stuff ) I used to dream of high school the same way other girls dream of the ideal guy. Wholeheartedly. Sure it would turn out to be the absolute best time of my life. And once again, by the best time of my life I certainly don’t mean parties or underage drinking or a whole new world of romantic encounters – nope,not at all. I dreamed of a new bunch of people that would actually stop being prototypes, some people in which I could see potential friends, some people that shared some of my too crazy dreams of being able to make my life count in some sort of way. Not that all my classmates are bad, some are kind of friendly actually, some are funny, some are people that feel comfortable sharing some of their time with me , talking about mostly useless stuff or fangirling over this and that. There are others, though, that go with the “respecting-the prototype-going-all-tumblrish-and-we-hate-each-other-but-why-does-it-even-matter-when-we-can-make-you-feel-terrible-our-squad-is-the-center-of-the*known-universe” type of thing. I don’t hate them, I don’t think I hate anybody at all, I just have to suffer because of them , once in a while, and the things that such people do or say regarding me came hunting my strong lack of balance during the summer holiday.


Ending my bigger than I initially intended talk about how delightfully much high school sucks from the social point of view when it comes to my lovely person, I will go on .

I inhale and exhale books and words and all and I regret nothing . I read because I probably am unable of managing this life in a grand way. I red because I need people to understand and to be understood by, I read because of my great fear of being trapped. A claustrophobia extended to planet Earth.  Leaving the self explanatory style aside, I have to admit that I read lots of things, but I currently have my fantasy period, though I highly enjoy everything that catches something in me, some sort of freaky part of my mind and drags it around the pages. I can’t totally suffer sloppy, useless, stupid romance, though, the same way I don’t agree with people judging books by being part – or not – of the prestigious group of classics – untouchable through time. Contemporary books can prove to be better than old literature , but I guess that is some sort of a taste discussion I am not ready to dive in. The important thing is, I am simply fueled by literature,in general.

What I hope I am going to write here is basically on the worthy topic of books and on the far less interesting thing that the way I understand life is.

Thank you if you read this.

so. hello again, world. i’m ana and i got a lot to tell.