2041

People call me many things these days, and i’m glad they do, for they helped me improve my vocabulary quite a lot (although i’m not sure in which way knowing 5 synonyms for the word geek is going to help me in life, but i’m still grateful). However, in 20 years of fragile existence i have never been called old, or ancient, or outdated, or whatever (nevertheless, i refer to myself as being oldskool, but that’s a different matter). Well, not until today, when i turned 20 years 4 months and 1 day. To put you in context, somebody at school couldn’t fail to notice how clean my Converse trainers were, and after proudly declaring that i did in fact wash them, i had to answer a flurry of rather rude questions (not that i mind them, truth be told).

you cook

you clean your shoes

you never come to parties because you’re always reading

you take notes

just

what kind of student are you?

I don’t know man, a good one?!

I do have a record of evasive responses, but i think this might be on the top of my list.

The problem with me is, i’d rather be old than starved. Intellectually challenged than physically. Etc. Maybe i’d make a good mother, i’m not keen on finding out that part. Even smart as a whip as people think i am, i’m still having fun, so just stop worrying about my clean shoes.

On another note, i’ve always imagined people gravitating towards each other in concentric circles. Most of them manage to reach the centre, while others feel more safe at extremities. What the centre people don’t seem to understand is the fact that the others are not really struggling to get where they are. What the centre people fail to see is the fact that the others act as their life buoy, even though at some point we all drown, one way or another, for that floating idea of safety in numbers is a mere deceit.

(Marty: Thirteen. But I have an old soul.)

end note

- At his back the light’s gone blue at the hills

and what’s oncoming night continues to rise from the valley floor ,

enduring slopes and small crested villages,

until what is not under blue, that deepening scrim of blue,

surrenders its final dapple and winks out, breathing away from the windows, dark

and completed

to complete: a breath that bears reflection.

Don’t ever get old. -

and how do you call it

8 years ago I was lucky enough to meet my significant other, a Parker fountain pen, and yes, it was love at first…touch. However, the pen belonged to my desk mate, so our relationship couldn’t pass the timid glances stage, and as it wasn’t precisely cheap, I had to get used to the thought that i would never get one.

Last year in August i had some spare money and i convinced myself it was high time i had that pen, so i went into the shop, looked at it and went back home. 2 months ago i found it here at half the Romanian price so i said yeah, why not. 1 minute ago i realized i’m using Word for basically everything, so the pen was a dream come true, but i don’t feel happier having it in my pencil case. Thus i thought maybe sometimes we invest too much into our dreams, wishes, desires etc; so much that when they actually start to materialize we cannot be happy anymore, for they cost us too much soul.

Anyhow, 2 weeks ago i had to meet someone and that person had to write something down so she asked me for a pen. I gave her my fountain pen and i was amazed to see she didn’t know how to use it. I tried not to be judgmental, after all i cannot expect everyone to hate ballpoint pens and love neat notebooks, but the situation saddened me. I know i don’t know many things, but what i know for a fact is that my life would be so much more empty without the occasional stains of blue ink. And if you want to hear more, i also know that everyone should try to write with a fountain pen every now and then, even though the process of finding the perfect one might take, well, too long.

pt 2

You know what i would do, i’d spend a few days on that bridge, staring at people passing by me. I’d try to invent a story for everyone, like i used to do a couple of years ago. In the end, maybe i could see my own big picture. Maybe their looks would feel more familiar. But no, i do not suffer from the displaced child syndrome.