Monthly Archives: decembrie 2014
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,900 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 32 trips to carry that many people.
O cheama Marinela Argentina, are zece ani si ochi mari si albastri. Intamplarea face ca ea sa fie una dintre finutele familiei. O alta intamplare, mai nefericita, face ca acest copil sa nu fi avut niciodata pana acum parte de sarbatoarea Craciunului.
Marinela a aparut ca un copil “accident”, la fel ca multi altii. Ghinionul ei e ca acest accident i s-a intamplat unei femei care nu vrea sa-i fie mama. Si nici nu se simte in vreun fel obligata sa aiba grija de ea, desi statul o plateste (cu o suma mica, e-adevarat) pentru asta. De ceva timp a lasat-o la bunica ei, o femeie prea putin capabila sa aiba grija de ea insasi chiar si atunci cand era mai tanara. In timpul asta, mama Marinelei isi ia bataie de la un barbat oarecare. I-a spus fetei ca nu o mai suporta si ca nu vrea sa o mai vada. Si e multumita cu viata ei.
Marinela nu crede in Mos Craciun. Nu pentru ca si-ar fi surprins parintii cu cadourile dosite pe undeva, ci pur si simplu pentru ca in zece ani de existenta Mosul nu a venit la ea nici macar o data. Intrebata cand este ziua ei, poate sa-ti spuna ca e pe 7. Nu stie daca e in luna iunie sau iulie – nimeni nu i-a zis vreodata “la multi ani” sau i-a serbat ziua in vreun fel.
In fiecare sambata, Marinela stie ca trebuie sa faca baie. Asa ca isi incalzeste singura apa si se spala asa cum poate. Trebuie sa o ajute apoi si pe bunica ei. Si sa-si spele hainele singura. Pentru ea, o zi normala incepe la ora 6 dimineata, sau chiar mai devreme. La zece ani trebuie sa aiba grija de ea, de o batrana si de-o casa. Cine sa mai aiba timp si de Craciun?
Marinela nu e singurul copil abandonat fara sa apara in statisticile de gen. Nu e nici primul, nici ultimul copil pentru care niste adulti iresponsabili vor incasa bani de la buget. Nu e singurul copil inteligent care nu va avea sansa sa plece din mizeria in care a fost aruncat de “oamenii mari”. E unul dintre miile de copii care va creste fara sa stie ce ar trebui de fapt sa fie Craciunul.
I’ve seen the title a million times on elefant.ro, yet I never wanted to take the time and check the story behind. That was until I read a quote on facebook. A quote so touching and so down to Earth and sentimental in the same time that I felt this is a have-to-read book.
The book was given to me as an early Christmas gift. It was the most easily granted wish I ever made and it taught me how little it takes to make someone truly happy. And for that I want to send a huge “Thank you!” to the person giving this lesson to me.
Contrary to my habit, I did not read Looking for Alaska in one breath. Simply because this isn’t the kind of book you read in one afternoon. Its main character lives and actually enjoys doing so and after the first 20 pages you feel you should do the same.
It’s true Alaska dies in the middle of the story. You might say this shows she wasn’t very fond of living after all. But just like Olguta, from La Medeleni, she lives while others only exist. The book isn’t as much about the actions or choices of its characters. It’s mostly about why we are here and why at some point we won’t be here anymore. It’s about looking forward to your future, maybes and all those great questions you have as a teenager. Pudge is just an actor that guides you through this labyrinth.
Though it’s a young adult book, there are pieces of knowledge transcending this. And they make you think about your everyday choices in ways you did not consider possible. I liked the book mostly for this and especially for the line below, read under ten layers of bubbly foam in a hot tub.
“Everything that comes together falls apart.”
Everyone knows books are magical. However, for me this bears more truth than for the others.
A week after starting The Grapes of Wrath I learned I had to search for a new place to stay. And while reading Austen’s Mansfield Park I found a lovely and quite cheap studio that became all mine. Perhaps it’s my wishful thinking, but every time I start a new book its life starts influencing mine.
I’ll say just this: the book I’m reading now has a very bad influence over me.
I’ve been “good” for so long that I forgot how to handle the “bad”. And it’s back and it wants to take me places I’ve never been before. Places I never wanted to go to before and which I find numbly comforting these days. And everything but my common sense pushes me towards them. At this point I don’t know if it’s better to be honest and a little bored or spontaneous and a little lonely.