Tell Me About Yourself Award

I got to this point due to the kindness of my fellow blogger at Virtual Masks that tagged me in her Tell Me About Yourself Award blog post.Thank you loads! It's a post meant to draw attention on the blogs you like and then pass it on with a "catch": add some personal disclosures to the post and show some blogging "skin". 

Sometimes it's not easy to put yourself out there and fire away like no one's reading. But I'm glad they did and that we pass each other something from within that makes us better and throws in a sun ray to the everyday gloom.

Ok. Now the rules:

1. Thank the one who nominated you and post a link back to that person.

2. Write 7 different things about yourself, it can be anything.

3. Give the award to 15 fellow bloggers.

Traditionally, the list of funny facts under the sacred number 7:

1. Romanian, living in America and secretly wishing to have been born English.

2. Fool enough to believe that the Prince Charming myth can actually meet reality. Someday.

3. Underneath my shy crust, I'm painfully sarcastic. If you think otherwise you need to reconsider knowing me.

4. I still giggle watching a romantic comedy.

5. Bear gummies. My one weakness. Harribo, if faith allows it. Also, don't forget about Nuttella or anything blessed enough to be hazelnutty. Yum!

6. Ok, I'm clumsy. Really clumsy. If I get nervous.

7. Occasionally, I like to get crafty and..sew.

Last but not least, I got to the part where I nominate the blogs that caught my eye. And the nominees are:

Virtual Masks

The Last of the Idealists

Arta ca formă de cunoaştere

You know I'm gonna be happy this year

Daniel Dăian

Dont meet my gaze

The Flipside of You

Oh, it's all about that you you used to be, it's all about a dusty you in the back drawers of a history that once was the now. As dear as it may be, you have to afford the luxury of looking back on the present whose label suddenly changed to history. It's always been there, laying within, the present that is. A content waiting to be revealed, once the pretty bow of the present is broken. How can I put it this?I long for a you whose echo no longer resounds, whose presence no longer mirrors mine.  Perhaps I should chase away the ghost of that memory and let time wash away the shore of my soul with its timely waves.Oh, but my feet will still thread the same sand, my hands will reach out for the same foamy waves and my eyes will have the same thin horizon line to rest upon. It's strangely odd one never changes and the other does; must be some strange twist of faith that allows such difformities and incongruity; I finally found it: incongruous you!but, hey, incongruous me as well. I resent change as much as the desert resents drought. I think of that you as if it were an instance frozen in time, an independent unaltered structure that I'm trying to transfer to reality - well, from my conceptual world. Ugh, I feel like this rambling is nonsense and that it doesn't lead me anywhere except for that trotted trail where I could potentially find you. 

I don't want the you you've become, I want that historical you, that fretting vibrating you whose song spoke of life, poetry, exaltation, dedication for the other and well, yes, love. I know the trail, whose ground my feet fearfully touch but I can't go there anymore; for the trail is deserted now and invisible walls climb up to the sky and back creating an unbreakable seal. But I'm a daughter of light and I wish the light of my you shines through the light of your you "because between skin and skin, there is only light". (John Fowles)

You Tell Me

Well, it’s been a while but music has come to life one more time. Dim room, flashy lights flood the stage before the show begins. People everywhere, chatting, greeting – some more formal than others, some more sober than others. But the evening is still young and spirits are still tamed. Funny how they get untamed when the clock is close to a later strike. At a boom of minute, speakers begin to blare and the crowd gets all warmed up. It’s a flocking movement towards the stage and suddenly the crowd is there. So effortlessly do people get together on such occasions and at a really slow pace do they repeat the action under different circumstances. But it’s a night of letting go, of getting out (of yourself as well) and  giving in to the music. That togetherness has to me nothing different than the togetherness a sports stadium shares. It must be the inciting thought that a mass of people are there for the same purpose. A sort of walking together feeling.  And that equality of purpose serves as a pretty good identity fader. 

You’re no longer yourself in the crowd, you don’t stand out like you used to, but the mere participation to the crowd makes you a tiny limb of the gigantic body, a steadily changing organism whose flow and go is the only constancy. Some come in, other get out. But wait, individuality comes to the surface to the beat of music. One chord here, one chord there, one goes up, one goes down and mysteriously a harmonious sound forms, floats through the air, molds the crowd and regulates irregular motions crossing the crowd like a uniformly spread wave. But there are voices that want to be heard and drinks that want to be spilt. And there is hardly any air to breathe. Let alone the space in-between. Or a lot of reason; the thin strand of consciousness linking the dimness of the evening to the light of the mind. But it’s still a crowd and you’re so close but a thousand miles away. And there are thousands of reasons that keep you drenched in a swamp of awkwardness, beneath the crust of friendliness; for the most part, it’s reasons I don’t rhyme with, but I resume to swallow as if an invisible fire is being consumed. Whichever the reasons, they remain coated in a cold crust of diffidence and mistrust. For a crust will always be a crust. Unless you crush it.