All the bright places

Everyone knows this bad feeling. Like you are sick of the world and you hate everything you know.

It is a dark place where everything seems wicked. Everybody will find himself in that place soon or later. Although it may seem absurd I believe that it has become a part of growing up. Like you could easily describe it as an phase every teenager has to go through these days.

And some have a lack of mental strength and condition. Some of them are distracted by worse things happening in their life. And some are under so much pressure that they cannot handle it anymore. All of this things can easily break their back and then they will find themselves stuck in a cruel place which is similar to depression.

Sometimes I am really scared that I will slip into this condition of my mind without even recognizing it. Often, when I feel bad and have this sudden outburst of tears without a reason, or when this heavy fatigue is distracting me from school and my social life, I wonder what I can possibly do to prevent me from being stuck in this condition.

And then I repeat a little mantra of mine. “I have to combat fatigue, charm away melancholy, wipe away all the silly tears and wear a big, gay  smile. Because I do not want to be in a dark place surrounded by darkness, fatigue and melancholy. I want to live my life in the sun with all the simplest joys life can bear. I want to be confident and gay and content and in love and … and just happy. I want to explore all the bright places of life”

This may sound like a silly, childish thing to do. But, actually, it serves the purpose quite excellent. The mantra reminds me of all the good things which had happened to me. And then, magically, the sadness vanishes. Not at once – inch by inch, piece by piece.

To all of them who sometimes find themselves in some kind of mental prison
To all of them who sometimes do not longer see the sun but all the darkness insteadTo all of them who sometimes lost the path of happiness, joy and pleasure

Please talk about. Writing and talking is the best therapy you can possibly grant yourself. There does not have to be someone who actually is listening. Just write down and get it of your chest. Because keeping it inside of you will only make this feeling stronger. And it will eat you alive from the inside , inch by inch.

Please excuse me for grammatical mistakes. I am so tired but I wanted to get that of my chest. Now I feel free to go to sleep.

Good night world. May it be a good, restful night for everyone.

 

He wrote music for the ears that could hear.

1937 in Leningrad with Stalin as the dictator. A man is sitting next to an elevator. He is waiting all night through. Waiting for Power to come and to take him to the Big House. But few, who were taken to the Big House, came back.

Julian Barnes chose a real Person for his new novel “The Noise of Time” Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich. One of the most famous and greatest soviet composers. Barnes reveals his difficult history in a wonderful way and with incredible, unbelievable talent.

The book is not a chronological report of Shostakovich’s life. Frequently, he interrupts the story with train of thoughts, reflections, flashbacks and memories. No, interrupt is the wrong word. “To enhance the story amazingly” suits better. All the thoughts and interjections are helping to understand Shostakovich’s personality, attitude and intention.

Barnes creates with an intensive, rich in images but nevertheless clear style of writing a formidable realistic and subtle picture of the composer. The author was gifted the talent to not only write feelings, but to let them live.

It feels like you could literally feel the fear, the self-doubts, the desolation and depression of Shostakovich. Barnes creates a small window, through which the reader can catch a glimpse of an artist’s life, oppressed by the Marxist-Leninist Soviet.

I think, the book helped me to understand his music, thanks to the acquired background. Even though Shostakovich “says”: What he hoped was that death would liberate his music: liberate it from his life […] his music would be . . . just music” (page 179). Frankly, before this book, I have simply admired his music, now I am beginning to understand.

Julian Barnes does not only tell the story of Shostakovich. Moreover he gives place to criticism. He levels criticism against other artists, but first and foremost there is critique of the system. A critique which is utterly reasonable and not in the least overblown. Quite the contrary. He opens the reader’s eyes and shows how it really was these days ago. How terrifying. Horrific. Cruel. And consequently the question arises: “How is the situation today? Am I, are we, the same cowardly audience, naïve and gullible, as the people are described in “The Noise of Time”?

Even though you are no aficionado of Shostakovich or his music, even though you could not care less about music, I can only recommend this book. It’s awesome, wonderful written, singularly and unforgettable. One of the best books I have read lately.

Valentine’s Day

Roses, hearts, love poems, cheesy candle-light dinner, romantic dates……
And all these things because of a day? Because of Valentine’s Day?

Not with me. I cannot approve of this idea. It seems as if people would only honour their partners, lovers, crushes because a day tells them to do it. Like they would not do it otherwise. And often, they do not do it someday else. It is the specific date that makes them buy flowers, chocolate boxes. Makes them organise cheesy, romantic dates.

But it should not be like this. I do not want a lover who only worships me and our relationship one time a year. Because of a day. In a cheesy, dishonest way.

I want that someone shows me everyday that he appreciates me and our relationship. That he does not need a specific date to show me that our relationship is worth the appreciation. I do not expect flowers. No chocolate boxes. No grand gestures. All I want, all I desire is a small sign that I am worth someone’s love. Everyday.

I do not dislike Valentine’s day because I am single right now. Do not get this the wrong way. I do not like the concept which is behind Valentine’s day. It is nothing else than a good source to make money for lots of different enterprises.

Moreover do not think I am one of those who walk around disapproving couples who worship this day. Frankly, I do not care if anyone honours it. This is not my problem. Therefore this is not a reproof for those who like Valentine’s Day. What I am trying to say is that I just want to share my humble opinion. Nothing more, nothing less.

So what do u think of Valentine’s Day? 🙂

Favorite Quote from “Perks of being a Wallflower”

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Chops”
because that was the name of his dog

And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X’s

and he had to ask his father what the X’s meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Autumn”

because that was the name of the season
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint

And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Innocence: A Question”
because that was the question about his girl
And that’s what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle’s Creed went

And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem

And he called it “Absolutely Nothing”
Because that’s what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn’t think

he could reach the kitchen.”
Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Happy New Year

2016

There it is. The year of my 18th birthday. The year of my last trip with the school.

Bienvenue…..

I did not made any New Year’s resolustions. Frankly, I think that is nuts. As if one evening will help me to focus on my goals. Nah.

Nevertheless I still want to do some things in this year:

First: Be nicer. Not that I am some sort of bullying evil bitch who makes harrasing other poor pupils her business. But still, I developed a strong sense of cynicism and I suppose not everyone can handle it. Alors less cynicism and more comliments ( sounds good right)

Second: Not be under the gun. School is the main source of pressure for folks my age. With the exams, interrogations, grades… all this puts so much pressure on pupils. Too much to bear. But I will not let school do that to me. So less pressure and more balance! (:

Third: I want to make memories. Like really good one. They do not have to be extraordinary things but at least something I could possibly tell my grandchildren. And of course that sort of events you can integrate in a wedding speech. I do not want to just exist. I want to have memorability. Alors less existing more living.

Fourth: Of course . As always. More reading, more playing the piano, more writing, more drawing. My parole: less unconcerndness more passion

This is just my first list of resolutions. There are certainly more to come. Obviously my live is not perfect, but who says I cannot make it at least wonderful for me? 🙂