Monolog

To all who think this will be in English I have to apologize. But I have realized that when I have written something in my mother tongue it is hard to translate it into English. The following text deals with my year abroad and what I felt about a particular issue when I was back. The topic is “changes”. (…)

Tod II

Es ist ein grauer Freitagmorgen, die Sonne sollte sich am heutigen Tag nicht blicken lassen. Sie erwachte, schaute aus dem Fenster, betrachtete die schlafende Person neben ihr und spürt einen tiefen Stich in ihrem Herzen. Die zarte, fast zerbrechlich wirkende Frau liegt mit geschlossenen Augen neben ihr, das tiefschwarze Haar ihr ins Gesicht fallend und eines der schönen großen Augen verdeckend. Sie konnte sie atmen hören, konnte ihre Lippen an ihren spüren und küsste sie sanft. Sie stand auf, wie immer ohne von ihr bemerkt zu werden. Sie dachte über den nächtlichen Traum nach, der sie an ihren Vater erinnerte und konnte sich wie jeden Morgen nicht des Gedanken verwehren, dass etwas geschehen würde. Sie eventuell keine Zeit mehr haben würde, es ihm zu sagen.
Wie jeden Morgen betäubte sie ihre Träume im kalten Wasser des morgendlichen Gesichtswaschens. Das morgendliche Ritual hatte begonnen, welches sich schon seit Anbeginn ihrer Schulzeit in sie hineingefressen hatte. Ja, es kamen ein paar Tage, an denen dieses Ritual durchbrochen wurde, aber im Großen und Ganzen kam es doch immer wieder aufs Gleiche hinaus. (…)

Is writing creative?

Yesterday, after working and permanently asking myself why I actually really work for this company, I went out to dinner with a good friend and she asked me if writing could be creative. I only could answer from my perspective and said that writing could be an active and creative process that might help to find a new Life-sense. But for this you have to be open and willing to inform yourself about something. And before that, I went on, you have to be interested in something. I got the respond that she is not interested in anything since a while and that it will be hard for her to write. (…)

Unexpected

Getting up, reading mails and receiving a new massage from a community member; opening the connection to the www and diving into another world. Letting of the scheduled plan and …

23 years old, stranger than my life I suppose but interesting. Writing massages to meet eventually. Dyed Black hair, tall, strict and old face if not smiling. Otherwise sweet and young, maybe too young?

Reading the characteristics, finding a “my space” page, opening this one and listening to music that sounds familiar. Reminds me of someone else’s music but I can’t define whose one. Slow but with computer generated backgrounds and sometimes touching.

Is it possible to find some one through the www? I never imagined joining this kind of communities but some time ago I have been entering the page and the community. Is it because of the anonymity or the unreal world? You can create your own life how you wanted it to be but if you are willing to find someone you will be honest. Won’t you? But what is to be honest? Don’t we betray even ourselves? Everybody lies. Completeness axiom?

So, writing massages, finding connections. Always one side can discover more before the meeting than the other. The one who already get to know more about the other person will get a cutout of the person and the question which arises is: Is it possible to create already a fixes, irrevocable picture of the other one? And due to this, is it possible to encounter this person exempt from any presumptions the first time?

Let’s see where this story is going to be ending …

Two weeks of normality

It is 2 weeks ago that I have written something. Why is it so hard to write about something if you are caught in everyday life? Does anthing exciting happen to me the last couple of weeks?

I did work. I tried to get my rent togther for the next month, I tried to spent not that much money on things someone wouldn’t really need. I only bought food for survival, nothing beside. I got ready for my teaching lessons, studied for my exams and went to the gym. Read books and watched some TV. And met some friends, actually, only one friend.

Should that be life? Or is there something else?

Yes, there is. I prepared my future. I asked for help to apply for the PhD in the States, I tried to figure out at which Uni’s I really want to apply to and came to the conclusion of three. A magic number by the way. Not only in life, fairy tales and fiction also in religion. (Too many scholasitc studies!!!) Even for acadamic writing you are supposed to use the three chapter methode. What is the magical thing about the number three? Anyway. I would have a lot to say but it is not the right time. So, the fact is, I prepared the life I dream of and this is of course a bubble which can explode every second.

Do I feel satisfied, right now?

I have to admit. I am. I’m not sure why. But in the moment everything seems right. The weather is nice, not too cold not too hot. The people around me are nice. The struggling for the rent, with the classes and through the gym seems to fulfill my present life. Even I have pleasure pondering above my exam reading list, and I’m still trying to improve my english grammar, especially for the sentence structure. What is this all about? Why do I don’t miss anything. And anyway what should I miss.

I’m clear and concious about all my feelings and still I feel there should be something else. Is that the notorious seeking for the reason of life? I’m not sure but on thing I have to resume: Right now I feel good even if other people might think that I’m lonely. Isn’t that strange?

I thought I’m free

I thought I’m free but everything was an illusion. I still want my year what I’ve been dreaming of. The bubble blew off and I can’t stop dreaming about it. Not about the person but about the live. It is hard to get on with something that was never there.

Instead of going out, I’m watching a TV show without respite. No stops. He is curing me, I hope so. I need his sarcasm, cynicism and his small little smiles if he let some appear on his lips. I’m trapped in this world. I want to be somewhere else. Not here. I want this life.

I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about it. Nobody should ask me about it, please. I need something but I have to find what …