Author Cristina G.

Behind the Scenes: The Chaotic Journey of the iPERIMENOPAUSE Book Launch

2023-06-03T12:02:00.001+01:00

My dear readers,

It's been quite some time since I last published a post on my author page, hasn't it? Actually, it was on the 1st of April when I announced that I was closing myself in a monastery. It was a joke, of course, but unfortunately, I didn't find the time to clarify it. Not the joke itself, but the news, because at that point, few people realized it was a joke. Anyway, today I want to reassure you that I am not going to become a nun. I am 99% certain that nuns have more of a social life than me.

Instead, I am working on fulfilling my childhood dream, so I am not complaining. Wait, does it seem like I am? I see. Okay, I am not complaining; I am just expressing the fact that I work all the time. To stay in touch with my friends, I wrote an open letter to all of them. How tragic is it that I shouldn't be surprised when they forget my name?

Even I forget my own name sometimes, since I am perimenopausal.

And now, I come to the vital piece of information that I need to share. Yes, the title is not misleading. It's not a joke—I am perimenopausal, and I wrote a book about it.

Actually, I wrote two books: one in Romanian and one in English. Neither of these books were planned. In fact, after I published the first one in Romanian, I never thought I would go on to write another one in English. I was so fed up with the topic, or rather topics: menopause, premenopause, perimenopause, endometriosis, and dementia-like symptoms, that I didn't even want to think about it.

Long story short, one day I woke up drenched (as usual, since I am perimenopausal) and said, "Okay, let me write another book on menopause, this time in English, because the world has never heard of such books, and everybody needs them."

Well, not exactly like that, but you get the point. And here it is, "iPERIMENOPAUSE: The Latest Upgrade to the Operating System of My Life - Malfunction: Hormonal Mayhem," is live today (click).

I have done everything in my power, and even more beyond my power, to promote it. I paid for press releases and other book promotion services while I was busy rebranding myself.

Yes, because since 2022, after a 4-year break from writing, I decided to make an epic comeback and sign my books with my full name: Cristina Gherghel. As you know, all the books I published between 2016 and 2019 were signed with Cristina G.

This blog is authorcristinag, isn't it? So, I had to open new blogs, because who has the money to invest in a website? Certainly not me.

But let me cut this long blog short and invite you all to read my book on perimenopause, with insights on endometriosis.

You can even gift it to other women, perhaps as a joke, to see their reactions. I'm telling you, this book makes a perfect present for every woman, regardless of her age.

However, the happy recipient shouldn't be menopausal because, my friend, she wouldn't even know she is menopausal. At best, she would know if she is perimenopausal.

Menopausal issues can be quite complicated, isn't it?

Well, it is if you are a woman. That is why I wrote these books.

I am overwhelmed with the advertising efforts, although they are not extensive campaigns since I don't have the means to launch such things.

Here are my new blogs that carry my real name:

Click on the above links and visit them if you like, and maybe you want to keep in touch.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Yes, the launch of "iPERIMENOPAUSE: The Latest Upgrade to the Operating System of My Life - Malfunction: Hormonal Mayhem" was a fiasco.

If you check my author page on Amazon, you won't find it there because it is signed with my full name, Cristina Gherghel, and my official account is Cristina G. Basically, it's a pen name. I had no idea that this was going to happen. But it did, and I take full responsibility. It's nobody's fault but my own.

I sure hope to see your review on my Goodreads author profile (click), which is also new. Rebranding.

Thank you. It has been a privilege to have your attention. I am truly grateful for each and every one of you who takes five minutes from your precious time to read what I write. May the universe always be on your side.

🕮

The e-books in Romanian, signed with Cristina Gherghel (no longer Cristina G.), can be found here (Google Play).

Credit photos

Some are from Pixabay, and some are from PNGtree.

I am leaving the world to become a nun🙏

2023-04-01T07:50:00.001+01:00

Dear fellow human,

It is raining cats and dogs where I am now.

As my blog post title says: I am leaving the world to become a nun.

It's been a great privilege and an absolute honour to have had your attention all these years.

Not me, as a person, but as a writer.

You have bought my books, you read them and left a review too.

It was simply more than I could hope for.

I have tried really hard to stay in this world, among people, but in the last few years, it has become harder and harder.

I am introverted. All I have wanted to do since I was 8 is to write.

I gave my best shot, but I am no business person and I couldn't manage to find someone to represent me. My earnings are what they are.

However, I won't retire my books from the market. No, I can't do that.

Even as a nun, I need to eat.

Prayers are not enough to make my body survive.

I am... I will be happy where I am going now. It feels like paradise. No TV, no internet, no electricity, no running water.

May God bless you all! 🙏🙏🙏

Thank you so much. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Have you read any of my stories and liked them?
Why not support me by leaving a review on Goodreads and Amazon?

📚

If you haven't read my books and are interested in doing so (English+Romanina), feel free to click on this link. It will take you to an external page (Amazon).

The e-books in Romanian, signed with Cristina Gherghel (no longer Cristina G.), can be found here (Google Play).

Were you looking for my author blog?

It is here.

🕮💝🕮

If you read in Romanian, you can find my books everywhere online. Also, you can ask a librarian to order them for you.

If you'd like to review them, you can have them free of charge, of course.

Just give me a shout using the contact form on the page and I'll be more than happy to send them to you.

Credit photos

Some are from Pixabay, and some are from PNGtree.

If you feel generous and want to help an author help others, click here.

It will take you to PayPal.

No amount is too little.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I Have a Dream: To Write to Live: Shameless Self-promotion

2022-10-23T10:13:00.005+01:00

I have a dream: to write to live.

It’s not only an expression; in my case (and many others), I live only when I write.

Writing is my life. It really is. If I could, I’d lock myself in a lighthouse for eternity... Because I am afraid I won’t have enough time to write all I have in my mind. Such chaos.

The following is shameless self-promotion.

Indulge me if you life.

My name is Cristina Gherghel.

I know, I know, Gherghel sounds like “gurgle”.

Well, that’s what my stomach does most days: it gurgles.

Why?

Because I am an independent author/writer and my earnings are… what they are, so my stomach gurgles.

I am kidding.

My stomach gurgles because I do intermittent fasting. It’s a necessary action due to my income, yes, but also because I do not like to exercise. I love eating, but I dislike exercise more.

Never mind.

Let me start again.

My name is Cristina Gherghel.

You might have heard of Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country, Ten years in Italy, 3 weeks a Human or other books I signed with Cristina G. – full stop after G.

I was born and raised during Ceausescu’s communist regime. I am the seventh daughter and the eleventh child of a farmer’s couple, but I am not the youngest.

Aged 8, when reading “Les Miserable” by Victor Hugo, I knew exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up. But during communism, farmers’ children were not allowed to dream; therefore, I locked my dream in a box and kept working for the collective and helping my parents with the land.

At 40, adrift, I found the box with my impossible dream. I opened it and made it possible.

In 3 years, I wrote and published more than 35 books in English and Romanian. And I am just getting started.

My introversion compels me to mainly write memoirs and self-help books, but novels are no strangers to me, despite aphantasia.

That’s it.

Thank you for listening.

Oh, if you’d like to stop my stomach’s gurgles, buy my books. Buy them now and read them when you want, if you want.

Just stay away from Half my Age Plus Seven. I am serious. It’s a bad story.

Once again, I am Cristina Gherghel, an independent Romanian author and this was: I Have a Dream: To write to live: Shameless self-promotion.

Ciao!

I am a racist, a textbook racist - Human fragility

2022-07-07T21:37:00.025+01:00

This post will most likely eat me alive at some point. But hopefully not.

A couple of months back, I met a guy - quite famous, knowledgeable and respected all over the world.

I happened to say that I know what discrimination feels like and wrote an essay about my experience with a minority in my country.

I was somehow offended... hurt – hurt is the right word - that he asked: `why do you call yourself a victim when speaking about this minority?`

I didn't think `I called myself a victim`, I was a victim in the right sense of the word.

I was proud of this essay that was my experience in which I added a few stereotypes, based on studies.

I won't say what minority was involved and what stereotypes were quoted. I am already risking too much.

I've never heard from the guy again.

I didn't like him from the start. He was... out of my league and I normally don't mix up with people that are above me. I know my place in the world. But... at 46, people, both male and women, could and might have a midlife crisis.

For some stupid reason, I thought he would understand what I meant.

He... clearly did understand a lot more than I wrote. A lot more that I knew about myself.

He read between the lines.

Then I listened to a very famous book on... racism. A book he mentioned and suggested I read – that before the dreadful essay, of which I was... somewhat proud.

While reading it I realised that I was a racist.

A textbook one.

It made me think. Reflect.

Am I really a racist?

I write books on racism. `Ten Years in Italy, Three Weeks a Human.`

I was discriminated against and faced discrimination often.

Can I really be a racist when I am discriminated against?

The answer is... Yes. Sadly.

I am racist against all my beliefs. I am racist, despite being a good person, a good Christian... and I am ashamed of myself.

Then again... whatever I say in my defence would be a textbook excuse. One after another.

`I am a good person.

I have friends from all over the world.

I am a Christian.

I faced discrimination. I know what it feels like. I couldn't and would never be a racist. It's against all that I believe in.`

Bam, bam, bam!

Textbook excuses.

I am white. I was born in a `white country`.

I have always benefited from `White Privilege`.

But is it really true?

In my country?! Back then, during Ceaușescu's communist regime?!

It didn't feel that way, quite the opposite I would say.

Is it true that I am a textbook racist?

Is it true that I don't know that I am a racist?

I thought about it.

I shed tears.

For my sins you say...

Maybe.

I am yet to know what my sins are regarding the bigotry.

I mean, I am a sinner, but.... a racist?

God, please, forgive me for thinking that this is not fair. That it is not right.

What about the opposite, the vice versa, the other side of the coin?

What if I am not a racist?

What if... what if I am a racist against.... bad people? Regardless of their skin colour, nationality, gender and sexuality?

I used to be a racist, a homophobe... a long time ago. Twenty or more years ago.

I am disgusted by how I used to think.

I didn't know any better.

Then I emigrated. Left the village, left the church, the society, the country and saw another world, learned about other cultures. Met homosexuals, and became friends with them.

I mingled with all sorts of people. All races, all religions.

At first, I was prejudiced. Yes.

I was afraid,

Judgemental.

Critical.

God, God... how horrified I am now of those feelings.

Despite being a racist and a homophobe in the past, I have never, EVER, not once been unjust. I have not treated them differently.

I didn't joke about them.

I didn't laugh at them.

I was secretly... appalled by some things... things I didn't understand.

But I wore a mask and nobody ever knew... except for myself.

I admit that I was racist.

But I learned to love everyone who was good.

BAM! This is another thing that a racist would say, according to that book.

Therefore, I won't say it because if someone were to confront me, I can't defend myself.

I could never.

I didn't bow my head, I didn't die inside without a fight. I fought racists.

Openly. In real life and in the virtual one.

It didn't bring me any good.

It didn't make me feel better.

I didn't win.

I could never win.

So, when they will come for me... when I will be accused of racism again... I will simply admit that I am.

It will save everyone's energy and maybe they - the ones who would want to decapitate me for ever daring to speak about my experiences... about me being a victim of a minority - will focus on...

I don't know.

On reality?

People, regardless of who they are, where they come from, their education, their religion, gender and so on etc. people discriminate against people.

That's what we do. We are flawed. Big-headed. Arrogant. Presumptuous etc.

But I am not a racist. Not anymore.

BAM!

Another textbook phrase.

I have to write a better plea.

But I am not as educated or knowledgeable as those who came up with such texts.

I know who I am, how I think, what I felt... how I was treated by... people like me.

The `Fragility` goes both ways. All ways.

I won't make a list.

You know what I am talking about.

German people pay for what Hitler's done even now. They will always be discriminated against by... people.

People who think they have the right to do that because...

I am a victim. I was a victim. My parents were a victim. My siblings were victims.

No, not of Hitler. No.

I do not blame an entire society. An entire country. I blame those who did it.

Those people only. And they are gone.

I don't take it upon their children. They have no fault.

You want to be fair?

Acknowledge that (some) people are racist against... other people.

But I do understand why the books, the seminars and the fight.

I fought too.

I just couldn't shout that loud.

May all of us be forgiven.

And those who think of other beings as being inferior humans.. well, I hope they will come around.

One day.

I support the fight against racism, discrimination and injustice.

But punching me in the face... is not... fair.

I have the right to defend myself the way I know.

It isn't with big words.

I am who I am and I am not ashamed of myself as – nowadays, in 2022 that is – I would never think less of a person because they are different.

I do, however, reserve myself the right to think less of those who are MEAN. Those who pick up on others.

I do not blame it on their race, I blame it on their... humanity.

Have I taken the rights of others?

Maybe.

But I didn't know about it. I still don't know and I don't think it applies to someone born in a `white` mostly country.

I am sorry for that, but now I am fighting for myself against all sorts of discrimination.

Should I go back and fight for the people who picked on me when I was a child? Who bullied me? Who terrified me to death?

I am not a saint.

I am just a human.

A very fragile human. And some of that fragility is down to them. But I don't blame every person from that minority.

I don't blame anyone anymore.

We were children.

Children can be cruel. I was unlucky. If I were stronger and bolder I would speak openly about it and make a tremendous scandal... #

But when would this be over?

I wish I could be forgiven for ever being a racist. I wasn't a xenophobe out of hate.

Now I know it was wrong. I have known it for a long time and I condemn racism.

As I condemn those who call an entire race... `bigots` and make everyone pay for what others have done wrong in the past.

How is that fair?

In which world?

How does that make it better?

For who?

Eye for an eye?

I am sorry for those who have ever been discriminated against. I wish I could take it away. But it's not in my power.

All I could say is that I am penitent of the way I used to think too.

I am embarrassed about being a human sometimes. Quite often really. For one reason or another.

Those who hate me for trying to explain... are not good people.

How do you know what I feel inside?

How do you know what I have done in my life?

I could never win a debate on this or... any other subject.

I am a weak target.

Please don't come after me.

But maybe you should. It would turn me into a strong human.

Maybe.

Or it would be my demise.

Whatever is reserved for me, it will happen and I am okay with it.

I love you.

Yes.

You. Human or animal. Or thing. Whatever you are. I love everything for real. Except for bad people.

I do not like bad people who make others suffer.

In the name of... God or justice.

Just be a good person.

You don't have to care, but don't hurt. Don't step on others' dignity.

I might be delusional, but I hope the right will prevail against the wrong.

One day. On this earth.

In all universes and dimensions.

One day we will learn to love one another. I won't be alive to see it. But I could write about it now. As a prediction.

I still have a lot to learn about racism, prejudices, and bias. I will. I am.

People, mentalities, beliefs... change.

We grow.

We are malleable.

We evolve.

I wish it was a good thing.

It's a very confusing and contradicting post, I am aware of that. I am not happy about it.

I am glad I never heard from the person that provoked me to rethink my feelings regarding racism. It helped me understand that I am not without sin and I need to work on it. And I am.

So grateful for that.

Human fragility. That is my crime.

A War Next Door and a War Inside

2022-04-03T14:51:00.002+01:00

There is a war at our doorsteps, many wars not so close, but the only war I know all about is the war inside me.

My persona is in crisis.

It's not the first time. No.

I've been reading some of my old posts...
Wow.

Some of the affirmations, confessions, statements... mine, of course, made me cringe.

What in the world?

The impulse to delete all my content from everywhere on the web is very strong.

And I've got... some content. Like 50 blogs or so. I've lost count.

Who was I when I wrote them?

A different person?

It sure sounds like it.

Well, maybe not a different person per se. Same person with different feelings.

The journey into myself started late in life. It's a work in progress.

Just like English. I should be great at it but I am not. The more I learn, the less I seem to know.

So many questions. Such confusion.

And don't get me starting on my pronunciation.

Terribly frustrating.

I can't remember if it felt the same when I was learning Italian.

Most likely.

Enough about languages.

What about the books I've published.

Do I feel the same about them?

I mean, should I take them off the market?

Because that was in the past. I've changed a lot. It's scary.

Spoke to my brother.

He said I shouldn't. All I wrote in my books, on my blogs or in the newspapers is proof of my growth.

I shouldn't be ashamed of who I was. Or how I used to be, feel and act.

I was born a farmer in a large family. I was raised under one of the most oppressive communist regimes in Europe.

When we've got free, my personality was clearly defined. I was stuck. Locked in a cage. The gate (or is it a door?) was open but I was afraid to fly. That was my reality. I didn't know better.

It took me ages to find my true self.

Freedom is a concept of mind.

Writing about my childhood in the Golden Epoch and the reminiscences of it made me feel ashamed of myself.

How can I make it about me, when there is a war next door?

Ukraine's sky is clouded with shelling, the soil is covered in blood, innocent people had to run... if it wasn't too late. An entire country in ruins.

It's preposterous and heartbreaking.

It's 2022, people!

Have we not learned anything from the past?

What is wrong with us?

The humanity I mean.

How can we let this happen?

How did we get here?

Where will this go?

Is it really true that we cannot stop these atrocities from happening?

Can we not annihilate the idea of invading another land or country at its incipient state?

Why so much greed?

From where this endless cruelty?

Not only my persona is in crisis, but the entire world is also.

When will it end?

Photo from Pixabay.

Facebook retracted the warning: Cristina Gherghel

2021-08-09T14:04:00.015+01:00

Facebook retracted the warning!!!
Get out of here!

For real?!

Check this print screen of my Facebook profile out (taken on the 7th of August 2021).

What do you see?

Now compare it with this other one taken today (09 August 2021).

Warning removed!!!

Honestly, I can’t quite believe it.

Wrote about it on Linkedin too.

I’ve never thought Facebook will read my open letter and actually withdraw the unwarranted admonition given on the 25th of July 2021.
I thought they wouldn’t give a damn.
To be frank, I was expecting to be kicked out for good.

In that almost unavoidable eventuality, I spent some time trying to come up with ideas of how to attract attention to my righteous plea for justice.
Contacting newspapers was going to be the next step.

But today, when I received an email from the... whatever or whoever they are impersonating,...

How did this joke of a page escape you, Facebook?

Some time ago I tried to open another account and you've blocked me instantly!

I don't understand how Facebook works.

It makes no sense to me.

None whatsoever.

Anyway, mistakes can happen. We're only humans.

After checking out the above abomination, I was brave enough to log on to my personal account, and the warning disappeared in thin air. Like it was never there.

Have they read my letter, or is it a coincidence?

Maybe a manager discovered the villain behind this folly, reviewed their dishonest actions and… Ta-da!
Gone!

A clean profile. Neat. As it should be.
Ha!
You look at that.
I am (almost) speechless (wordless?!).

That’s actually because I am tired. I couldn’t sleep last night – I lost sleep since Facebook has partnered with my abuser (another and again) and sanctioned me instead of them – therefore, I wrote another appeal to righteousness.

https://iliveisuffer.blogspot.com/2021/08/facebook-mistakes-happen-you-excel-making-them.html

I sincerely think that all this babel is the work of a member of Facebook’s staff who doesn’t like me.

It can’t have something to do with my activities, content, replies, comments and such because there aren’t many accounts on Facebook as innocuous as mine.

There have been a lot more, but Facebook’s oversights made them close their accounts. It was a toxic environment, like all social networks.

Let’s face it, how much content is valuable in these places?

Infinite frivolity, falsity, frustration, negativity etc.

Not worth it (as an individual).

Why have I – a pacifist – fought for the removal of the warning then?

If you asked yourself that, then I don’t have to answer. Do I?

Facebook – or the owner for that matter – is not to blame. Well, not entirely and not directly.

If it’s true that the warning was a personal vendetta of a singular person, and not based on a faulty program, then Facebook is responsible for its staff.

Do you know what?

If Facebook paid attention to those who report activities like mine (differential)

If it questioned the reasons behind such actions (when not justified)

But most importantly if they actually REALLY AND PHYSICALLY checked the content (in this case, mine), warnings like these would be giving sparsely (to innocent members).

It's a lot to ask, I know.

I am a reasonable person.

It can't be done.

That's why they need to keep a Green list alongside the Black one.

My name should be on the Green one because I have never, ever infringed the community rules and I will never do.

It's in my nature to be a rule-follower.

Heredity from the communist regime that I treasure.

However, I don't do it for the love of the law, but for the love of people.

I choose to be a respectful person. Always.

I strive to be good, regardless of what's been done to me.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

My Golden Rule.

I would love Facebook to have an internal investigation, query the staff who partner with bullies, offenders, abusers, vile creatures etc. and sanction innocent members as a result.

Train them properly or fire them if they are incapable of distinguishing between the good and the bad... ‘numbers’.
Because that’s what we all are: numbers. To every company. To the entire world. Numbers.
There isn’t something to feel outraged about.

I won’t say thanks for the removal of my warning. I shouldn’t have been punished in the first place. They should do a thorough check, unbiased, before issuing such a threat.

Is there is any reason to be grateful for this?

I’ve given much thought… because I lost my sleep since this… what a waste of time and energy.

I have so many things to do.

So many responsibilities.

Do I really need to be on Facebook?
Do I want to be there?

I don't know anymore.

It's not that I am not happy with the removal of the ammunition, I just don't think it's enough.

An explanation of why that happened on their platform and an apology should have been in order.
Because I will always look over my shoulder and ask myself what have I done wrong.

I am still in the dark.

I am a bad person?
Is it my name that made them fail to notice the reports of genuine content?
My nationality?
My looks?
My beliefs?
Am I too catholic?
Is my body too covered in my pictures?
Am I not worthy of being here? Not worthy of wanting to help others?
Should I be here?
Why I am here?
Can I share this?
Would they issue another warning?
Would they remove my pages? Block my content? Twist my messages? Erase my hard work?

I was raised during a communist regime. I know what censure is. It shaped my life.

Mistakes happen. I know it too well.

Facebook's mistaken the actions of vindictive and evil people as genuine and reliable.

After they allowed them to bully me publicly, smear my reputation, ruin my credibility, they partnered with them and punished me for their crimes.

Whatever I do, I ask myself: 'would I like to hear, read, deal with that, be accused of, criticised, questioned, condemned for x and y; is it fair, just, appropriate?'

If the answer is 'yes', I go along. If not, I take a step back and reason.

I don't accuse people.

I don't condemn them in absence.

Whoever gave the order or the permission for that warning to be issued, asked themselves if it's fair?

On what grounds?

Or it was a plain and simple abuse of power?

Personal vendetta?

This is not over.
They haven’t fixed the wrongdoing properly.
They've penalised my pages too when you gave me that warning. They’ve taken them aback, away from people’s eyes.

They need to reinstate my credibility.

After years of abuse, it's only fair.

They know how I know.

They know everything.

God, I am so tired.

Open Letter to Facebook

2021-08-07T16:03:00.152+01:00

Dear Facebook,

I have been a member of your community for over a decade.

During this time, I kept in touch with old friends, made new ones and discovered some extraordinary people.

Many stories and pictures moved me to tears or made me sob for hours on end, some others made me burst into laughter.

You helped me grow my readers’ circle, you facilitated my spiritual development and allowed me to see my family through your messenger video calls.

I am ever so grateful for all this.

You, as a social platform, are a great tool for introverted people.
My world was so, so terribly small and you unfolded the entire universe in front of me.
I learned a lot and I cannot thank you enough for opening my eyes.
I can’t even remember what I was before you.

You, dear Facebook, are the social platform that I’ve felt attracted to from the start. I found you easy to use.
As a writer in search of a readership, you are the one that I’ve used with predilection to share my blogs and thoughts.
You meant a lot, a real lot, to me and for many years I held you in high esteem.

That until, all of a sudden, you’ve started to block my pages, hide my comments, deny my adverts, prevent me from sharing links from my blogs… Over, and over and over again.

I was so, so very confused as to why you would do such things to me.

You've never explained. Not once made it clear.

'Why me?!?!’
Asks everyone, right?
Except for I am not everyone.

You see, dear Facebook, I am a fervid advocate for kindness.

I stand against every sort of discrimination, but I am not a catalyst for war against the bigots. I don’t instigate people to violence and savage behaviour.
I don’t like arguments, so I don’t lead any. I am not a polemical person.
I don’t offend those who offend me. I don’t pay in the same coin.
I refrain myself from becoming like them: irrational, mean, malicious… plain evil. Shallow and despicable.
I encourage tolerance and understanding.

I say that ‘I am a good person' because I truly am a good person to the core.

That, of course, if you don't go chasing people who despise me.

There are always two sides to the same story, right?

Rest assured that those who hate me most, those who laugh harder when I am hurt, are people I helped.

Dear Facebook, in 11 years of being part of your community you allowed quite a few monsters of evil to harass, bully and defame me (and so many, too many others), ruin my reputation, destroy years of hard work with a click of a button with no repercussions for them.

You didn't delete spam comments from my posts (as requested), you failed to protect my account etc. and I still stood by you.

I always spoke highly of you.

So, imagine my surprise, when on the 25th of July 2021, you gave me a warning.

And yes, I want the entire world to know it, not only me.

And that happened following this comment, which you hid from my personal account as soon as it was posted.

Because it’s in Romanian (with a few grammar mistakes), I am going to translate it for those who don't read gibberish (grammar errors left out - they don't impact the readiness of the message):

***
'You don't have to, ma'am. But I don't think such a comment is fair, considering that I have shown with facts that I care about you. I'm at work 24 hours a day, esteemed madam (dear lady?).

I have about 100 projects that I work on in my break. I don't even have time to log on to Facebook.

And I shouldn't have to explain myself to anyone.

Even though I understand your frustration perfectly, I do not appreciate gratuitous malice.

If you don't care, don't comment.'

***

My words were a diplomatic reply to an unnecessarily callous comment left by a wicked being.

Sorry, I didn't have the chance to take a print screen of it when it was posted.

I remember it well, firstly because it (was short) lacked punctuation, capitals etc. and secondly because it wittingly lacked tact.

It was deliberately disrespectful and mean. See below why I am so sure of that.

***
Romanian or gibberish: 'nu imi pasa ca nici altora nu le pasa punct'

English: 'i don't care because others don't care either period'
***

It’s important to know that the individual behind this controversial demonstration of unkindness is an educated one. Moreover, it’s someone I helped.

I spoke my mind as a victim of abuse. I defended my harmless post and its meaning (which, by the way, was irony).

My reply wasn’t mean, it wasn’t bullying, it was just and perfectly appropriate.

If something, it was too kind.

I don't enjoy being slapped in the face by those I help.

Here is the link to it.

To add salt to injury, you’ve given me a warning (see print shot).
That was what outraged me.

To be clear, the comment wasn’t removed by you, but by me (sort of).
When you block someone, their activities (and your contribution to them) disappear from your pages.

In this case, you hid it, I blocked the frustrated being.

Comments gone. Both.

I refuse to keep 'friends' like that.

And again, this hasn’t happened last year or 90 days ago (as the print screen states), but on the 25th of July 2021.

What post from last year?

Why these incongruences?

Is there a real person behind this babel?

Then, on the 29th of July, you’ve prevented me from sharing this blog post on my brother’s page.

It’s a Happy Birthday post (click to read it) in which I express my love and gratitude towards my little brother.
A couple of minutes later – I don’t know how and why – you permitted me to post it in the comments.

Why would you block a post like that (instantly I mean)?

Is my account on your Black List?

Based on what?

According to whom?

Whose reporting?

What have I really did wrong?

What is it?!

Is it my name that doesn't sound well?

My nationality?

Are my pictures too pudic?

Am I too catholic for you?

What is it with me that annoys you?

Am I intentionally targeted by someone (in your staff) that can't stand my presence in this virtual world?

It isn't my content. I can't be! My content is harmless.

It looks and feels personal.

You know, I wouldn't be surprised if someone who hates me, works for you and does this deliberately with the only intent to harm me.

Must be someone I didn't reply to. Maybe declined their 'attention'.

Dear Facebook, I am a writer and a blogger who raises awareness of racism without racists, of heinous actions veiled in all sorts of aberrant beliefs, of conceit disguised in constructive criticism.
I am ashamed of being a human in this world lately.

Therefore, dear Facebook, after days of careful consideration, I denounce your warning and actions towards my activities (posts, comments, ads etc.) as misfeasance.
They are unjust and discriminatory.
I would be entitled to plead ‘not guilty’ to whatever you're accusing me of in a court of law.

I officially invite you to thoroughly check all my activities on your platform (posts, messages, everything) and blogs, if you like. It will be time-consuming though, I write on 50.

You could use a program to start with, but as soon as your algorithms start to show red flags, I expect you to put a person in charge of my ‘investigation’.
But, please, delegate a grown-up human being, not one of those adolescents for which common sense, respect, conscience, compassion, soul etc. are abstract notions. Myths. Legends.

You don't lack staff, do you?

Unless they are all busy restricting accounts that don't click on adverts or check out clickbait material.

Mistakes can happen indeed, dear Facebook, and you excel at making them.

My legitimate questions are:

Do you do it knowingly?
Have you planned on getting rid of good people from your platform?
If that so – as your actions towards me (and God knows how many others) prove it – to what end?

Take the warning away, dear Facebook. Scrap my account from your Black list and put it on the Green one instead.

Your algorithm doesn’t differentiate a sincere and nice person from millions that say they’re good people.

No algorithm would ever be able to do that.

There are too many variables.

As a reasonable and objective human, I am perfectly aware that my feelings for you have never been reciprocated.

My presence on your platform wasn't allowed out of sympathy, but as a means to an end.

I appreciate why I am just a number to you (and most companies), nothing to be offended for.

The society we live in dictates it (sort of) – but I am much more than a number and my online blogs and activities on your platform support that, without a shadow of a doubt.

Is that the reason you are mean to me?!

Please, ceasefire, end the war on kindness and meaningfulness.

Stop hindering people like me from spreading love and doing whatever is within their power to make this world a better place.
Confirm that you don’t discriminate against humans of substance.

Those humans' whose actions don't grow your bank accounts and don't add value to your investment.

Useless to you.

Ban those who deserve it. Really.

Sanction those who reported me.

They didn't report my content, they reported me.

They were upset with me.

It's personal.

You want to make an example of someone?

Look at your staff.

The warning, the removal of all my content (in the past), the blockages of my pages and links, every (negative) action that was ever taken on my account was pure abuse of power.

And don't do it as easily and automatically as you've done it with me (and way too many other innocent members).

Take them to trial before condemning them in absence, based on testimonies of vindictive people (that have nothing better to do with their time and energy) or algorithms that misbehave.

If instead, you choose to delete my profile, the 15 pages and the 4 groups I founded and manage (alone), well, then there isn’t much else to say.
Is there?

Would you really do me a disservice if you kicked me out?

To what extent?

I take full responsibility for my actions and I'll use another platform or application to video call my 86-year-old mother next Tuesday.

It's a shame, it took her a week to learn to switch the laptop on and go on Facebook, to wait for either of her 9 children to call.

She was 78 and had never seen a computer before, never heard of Facebook and video calls.

Two other posts were published on this blog denouncing similar experiences.

I've completely forgotten.

Many Happy Returns Mother Nature: Restore Our Earth

2021-04-22T14:06:00.005+01:00

I am sure you know that today, the 22nd of 2021, is Earth Day!

Many Happy Returns, Mother's Earth!

You should be celebrated and cared for every day, not just today, or randomly.

Without you, there would be no us.

Yet, what do we do to honour and save you, dearest Mother Earth?

The theme for Earth Day 2021 is Restore Our Earth.

To learn more go to:

https://www.earthday.org/earth-day-2021
https://www.un.org/en/observances/earth-day
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth_Day
https://iliveisuffer.blogspot.com/2015/04/earth-day.html

There are days in which I am absolutely terrified when I reflect on how much harm we do to our planet without even taking notice.

We point fingers and blame the big corporations or companies...
But aren't we all to blame when we waste food and water, when we cut trees without planting any, when we don't recycle, when we drive everywhere... short distances even?

Look around and inside you and ask yourself if you do everything you can to preserve this planet for future generations.

We must start taking accountability for the destruction we cause by our consumption.

I often wonder where all the refuse we generate goes.

What do you do with it?

Do we dispose properly of it?

How?!

We can’t send it into space, can we?

We send it to poor countries, right?

Couldn’t we burn it all?

No, because it creates a lot of smog.

Do we bury the garbage we produce or we bury ourselves in it?

Believe it or not, there are days when I fell ill at the thought that most of us contribute to the ruin of our planet willingly.

We don't want to admit that our long-lasting environmental destruction deeply affects future generations.

Will they know how to deal with it all?

Will they be able to breathe fresh air?

Will they know how organic food and clear water taste like?

I am simply terrified. And you should be too.

But don't sit with your arms crossed.

Don't wait for the end to come.

Don't bury the guilt, but raise awareness and take positive action.

Do your bit to restore our earth.
Stop wasting, start recycling, enjoy walking, plant trees, seed flowers, don't kill but preserve flora and fauna.

Photo credit: Pixabay

Christ is Risen! Happy Easter!

2021-04-04T14:59:00.005+01:00

Nowadays, in many highly developed countries around the world, Easter is all about bunnies and egg hunts, watching animated movies and eat loads of chocolate eggs.

Maybe not these last two years – Unprecedented ugly and worrying times – but, generally. You know, national holidays and loads of fun in the family.

I did notice that, as I mentioned above, religious holidays have different connotations and traditions in emancipated countries.

Easter… Easter is the most important holiday for Christians around the world. It commemorates the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. The most sublime miracle ever existed.

So that is what I am celebrating today.

Christ is Risen, fellow Christians!

Let’s all be joyful while eating chocolate eggs!

Because chocolate gives you energy.

Photo credits: Pixabay!

International Day of Happiness: Let's be happy together

2021-03-20T09:44:00.013+00:00

Today, the 20th of March, the entire world is celebrating the International Day of Happiness.

This celebration is an annual recurrence since the 28th of June of 2012 when the United Nations General Assembly established it.

Although the planet is going through a nightmarish situation without precedent, due to the Covid-19 virus, we must do our best to keep smiling.

As Cicero said: Dum spiro, spero. This means While I breathe, I hope.

We are still alive and this terrible state will change.

Everything that has a beginning, has an end too.

That is how I see it and that is how it is.

Happiness is a choice, most of us know that.

Yet, how many of us choose that?

As someone wrote in a book: `Every morning when I get up I have two choices: to be happy or to be sad. And because I am not stupid, I choose to be happy.`

Eat, laugh, sing and dance like nobody's looking!

Smile, without a reason why...

It's a very good exercise for both the body and mind.

And if you can't do it for yourself, do it for those around you.

Have an amazing International Day of Happiness: Let's be happy together

Photo credit: Pixabay

Happy International Women's Day!

2021-03-08T16:14:00.004+00:00

Dearest womanhood, today, the 8th of March, countries around the world celebrate Women's Day.

International Women's Day is a Civil awareness day. History teaches us that women around the world suffered and sacrificed a lot for their/our rights.

Many of these rights that we take for granted nowadays.

International Women's day is celebrated every year since... it's quite a long story.

Russia's played a huge role in all this, says Wikipedia. In 1917, Petrograd, some women textile workers began a demonstration for bread and peace.

After that, many women worldwide demonstrated for freedom and rights.

As I wrote here (click, it will take you to a different blog), in my country (Romania), women's day is celebrated every year on the 8th of March, but mostly by mothers. The communism regime respected women who gave birth to as many children as possible.

Many have died for rights but is the world in a good place regarding this?

Are all women around the globe treated with respect and dignity?

Does womankind have what they need everywhere on this earth?

No.

There is a long way to go for that. It is heartbreaking, though, that in 2021 there are so many girls on this planet that are denied an education, for example.

It's unacceptable that many women are not free to decide who to marry, if...

I truly hope that sooner, rather than later, all humankind (not only women) are treated with respect and have equal rights.

I will always have hope that we all do the right thing one day.

Happy International Women's Day to all humans who are and feel women!

A Happy and Successful New Year to all writers and readers!

2021-01-01T15:38:00.002+00:00

Dear lonely writer and reader, I want to wish you, all, a Happy New Year!

A free-Covid one!

2020 was a terrible year for the entire planet, however, I've been told that writers flourished last year. And if they throve, writers had a lot of titles to choose from.

I haven’t written in 2020. I haven’t written in 2019 either. My writing career had to be paused due to earthly issues. In other words, having built my mother’s house got me in debt. A lot of it and had to pay it as soon. Sooner than agreed. So, I didn’t have to write, I had to find a job, `real` one. One that puts a monthly pay on the table. A pay that went to those I was in debit with.

What sort of job?!

Carer. I have been (still am) a professional live-in carer for the elderly.

That was the only job I felt that I could do without feeling completely overwhelmed by the lack of writing. I have a caring nature and being isolated wasn’t hard for me. In fact, it was a blessing.

In 2020 I collected a lot of new materials for books I’ve never thought I could ever write. Books that aim to help carers – paid or not – and to open an eye to each of us. We’ll all become people in need of carers, caretakers, caregivers and so on.

For that purpose, I started a new blog called: The Carer who Cares.

Therefore, for me, last year, from a writing career point of view, couldn’t have been worse – but from a practical and worldly or material point of view, wasn’t too bad. I didn’t finish paying out people, but I am on the right path.

If you’ve written in 2020, I hope you conquered the hearts of many readers and earn loads of money.

If you didn’t, then I hope you did something else. I hope you were not depressed and despondent. Misery never helps. Never!

I hope you’re feeling better now. I hope you left the bad behind.

I hope you’ve started 2021 with a lot of energy, ideas and plans. It’s going to be better if you start writing and forget the past.

Every year is a new beginning. Actually, every day is a new beginning.

As a reader, I am sure you didn’t have such a bad year. With so many new titles seeing the light every day, you had it tough to choose from. Especially when so many writers offer their books for free on several online publishing platforms.

Happy New Year to all of you, readers and a very successful one to the writers who write for you!

Is Aphantasia Genetic? What about Hyperphantasia?

2019-12-07T15:24:00.000+00:00

Aphantasia is the inability to picture things in your mind (bring to memory faces, places etc.).
More on it here.

Hyperphantasia is the opposite. One sees everything they think about: good and bad. They can't close their eyes without seeing something.

Let's do a small test.

Close your eyes and think of an apple.
Can you see it?
If you can't, try again, because your mind might be temporarily blind and it needs a push.
Take an apple, look at it, smell it, hold it in your hands.
Then close your eyes again.
Can you see it now?
How does it smell?
What's its texture?
Still nothing?
Try again as previously, but this time, raise the apple in front of your closed eyes.
Can you picture it in your mind now?
Are you able to make a memory to take form in your mind?

If yes, then you don't have aphantasia.

Is one born with aphantasia (hyperphantasia)?
Maybe. Scientists affirm so.

Is it passed on from a generation to another?
Perhaps. Idem.

Can one lose this ability to see with the mind?
Yes.

Why?
Physical (head) injury, emotional trauma etc.

Is there a cure? Can you bring it back? Can one learn to see what's not in front of them?
Some say practice will make it work.

Is there a remedy for hyperphantasia?
Scientists are working on that.

In my opinion, aphantasics and hyperphantasics can be healed.

Please note that aphantasia and hyperphantasia are not diseases and one shouldn't be afraid or think they are going to die.

Your life won't change for the worse if you find out that you have aphantasia. You won't need pills, doctors and surgeries. You're not ill. You're normal. Perfectly imperfect.

It's not a big deal!

It's just unfortunate if you're a painter or any sort of creative person.

But, if you always believed you're crazy because your thoughts take form when you close your eyes,

your life will change for the better when you realize that You don't have a mental disease.

You're not insane.

Your mind isn't broken.

You have a condition and you might be able to control it with the help of knowledgeable people and science.

I am affected by aphantasia and I am doing everything I can to understand why because my job is to create stories.
I don't believe that I was born with a blind mind, as some say.
It can't be true.

Scientists affirm that a person might lose the ability to picture anything in their minds due to head trauma, disease, strong emotional pain, shock etc.

After years of research and experiments (on me), the following are my thoughts on why am I an anosmic aphantasic.

As I mentioned, I don't believe I was born this way.

It's true that I have never been able to dream or imagine anything in my mind in my entire life, but I recall a (short) period of time from my childhood in which I was very proud of having a visual memory.

I was 10 maybe. During a literature exam in school, I saw with my mind the pages of the notebook on which I wrote the resume of the story we were tested on.

Every word was clear, I could see them as you read these ones. Every word except one.

I wrote everything down, exactly how I was reading it from my mind's work notebook and left a blank in the place of that word.

I was convinced it will come to me in the end. Somehow.

I closed my eyes trying very hard to see that damn word. Many times. It didn't work.

I could see the whole page, every word, except that one. It seemed to be covered on purpose.

I read what I wrote a couple of times. I was looking for a synonym of the word I couldn't see or bring to memory.

The weirdest thing is that I could not come up with any term whatsoever. I knew what I was looking for, but... nothing. My mind was blocked.

When the teacher asked us to stop writing, I looked at my test and felt an impostor.

I knew I was going to get a good grade because writing has always been "my thing", but that didn't make me happy. I really didn't care about grades. All I cared about was knowledge and doing the right thing.
There was no use to visualize for I loved reading and writing. I could write a resume with eyes closed.

"What will the teacher think when she'll see the blank?" I asked myself.

"She will believe that I have cheated! OMG! How am I going to explain it? Will she still see me for who I truly am? What have I done?! I ruined my entire scholastic future. I will always be hunted by this."

Now, there is a need to explain some things about me.

I have exam phobia.

That is because I never believed in myself. I never trusted my memory, I never had any faith in any of my learning abilities. All these despite my grades. I was a very good student, most teachers were aware of that.

I was aware of that because I loved studying, I adored school. Yet, I never believed I could pass any exam or test. I was terrified of being questioned.

"You know I know because I love studying. Have you ever asked me something and had no reply or the wrong answer? Why testing me? Leave me alone!"

During an exam, eight out of ten, my mind goes blank. I can physically feel a wall around my brain. No knowledge or memory can breakthrough.
They are all trapped inside until the test is over.
You have no idea how many times I went numb and desperate during tests even after studying hard and having the answers in my head at all times.
Do you know how frustrating that is?

If I still managed to pass my tests is because writing comes naturally to me. I write by instinct and sometimes is the right thing. Not always. Sometimes.
I never got upset when my test results were bad. I knew why. But I was upset with me. Angry with my mind because it refused to collaborate.

Truth be told, I haven't failed many tests in my life, but that's because I stayed away from them. I didn't go to university because of that.

Fear petrifies people.
Lucky for me, I don't panic when someone's life is in danger and I can easily solve difficult problems or make possible things considered impossible by many.
You're safe with me. Just don't test me.

I was (still am) terrified of breaking the law so I am a rule follower.

In every situation, no matter what.

My dad's heredity.

So, cheated was never a resource for me. It was wrong, dishonest, despicable. Besides, there was no reason for that.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't have all the answers. I wasn't a flawless pupil. In fact, I was the most ignorant scholar that has ever walked on this earth in geometry, physics and chemistry.

These were Gibberish to me. They still are.

But literature, grammar and algebra were my passions. I was obsessed with them.

I couldn't not know everything and more, much more than any of my teachers expected.

Years have passed since then... Life happened and I forgot everything. I am ignorant now and I am deeply ashamed.

So you see, I wasn't born with a blind mind. I could see some things.

Actually, that was the only time I have been able to see something that was not in front of my eyes.

Is this enough to be convinced that I wasn't born with the inability to imagine or recall pictures in my mind?

I believe so.

So why can't I dream then?

The conclusion (or explanation), valid in my case only, is that is due to the period I came on this earth, the place and the education I've been given by my parents (mostly indirectly, but constant).

My dad was never happy when he caught me reading books that were not requested by my teachers.

Reading was a waste of time for him. "Books place weird ideas in the heads of people and ruin the fragile minds of children. It's all manipulative fiction. Same as movies."

My personality and traits of character didn't help either: sensibility, hypersensitivity, empathy, a deep sense of responsibility...

I grew up too fast. I became an adult way before seeing a doll in front of my eyes. I was 5. Maybe. I wrote about this in "Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country".

I have never known how to play... or dream. There were always better things to do... like working the land, cooking, going to school.
Luckily, I loved school. I said it before. But working the land and cooking weren't bad either. Somebody had to do them, they were necessary. And I was not the only child doing adults' stuff. My siblings were next to me, neighbours, friends... the whole village.

The art of survival during a very oppressive communist regime.

I am not implying that all people living in places cursed by geography and history are born or become aphantasics, but, in my humble opinion and based on my experience only, the hypersensibility of a human has the last word.

And not any kind of hypersensibility, but the one that controls your life entirely. The exaggerated sense of responsibility. Growing up too fast, not obliged by others but by you. You chose to become an adult because you care too much for the others.

If you're forced by people, you might still be able to dream in your free time.

I never had free time when I was a child. My choice.

Dreaming is a characteristic of children, usually. Isn't it?

If you didn't have time to be a child, how can you dream when you're an adult?

You don't know how to do it.

You try, but the reality hits you in the head so badly that it knocks you out completely.

The negative reality I am referring to. You've got that.

It's rather difficult for any person to break the circle of negativity that suffocates them and makes the land of dreaming infertile.

Many come out of these brilliantly, but every person's situation is different. There are many variables. Maybe they had someone who supported them and taught them to dream at some point in their lives. Perhaps a parent, a sibling, a friend, a teacher, a priest, a doctor, the internet, a book, a word from a television program or radio transmission... Anyone, anything.

I can't think of a single soul I ever told something about my hopes when I was little.

Except for God. But He has never spoken back. He only listened. He might have given me signs, but I didn't know how to interpret them. I had no knowledge. I was mostly a slave. A puppet.

We had no internet, almost no Tv or radio programs.

Religion was never mentioned in public. You couldn't just go talk with a priest. You only confessed your sins. In utmost secret for it was against the leaders' beliefs.

Most teachers wouldn't even consider us human beings. By "us" I mean farmers and children of farmers. We had no rights, just duties.

It's true that I devoured un uncountable number of books, however, it was during a communist regime.

A regime that didn't leave anything to the chance. The communists could not allow people to think for themselves. They censored every written and spoken word that might have encouraged us to want more. Any idea implanted in our heads meant revolution.

We ought to be ignorant and submissive.
The perfect proletarians.

It is quite complicated to explain what communism felt like for me.

People always tell me how good were things back then.
They insinuate that my memory fails me.

They accuse me of being unfair.
They say that I am distorting history to my liking.

But how do they know me?

My perceptions, emotions and feelings don't match with everyone's else.
They don't know what I lived, they know what they lived or felt or read about.

If 1,000 people say a lie or one version of a story, it doesn't make it true for everyone else.
My siblings have a completely different opinion of the communist regime than me.
And we lived in the same house.

We all have selective memory.
For example, ten people who live the same experience, at the same exact time, remember things differently. And not deliberately.

Memory is influenced by mood, emotions, personality, beliefs etc.
The weather plays a huge role in it.
It's all subjective.
A matter of perspectives.
Have you ever thought of that?

You can't tell anyone that their memory is wrong because you were there and things didn't occur as they say.
How can you be sure that yours is right?

Here is a very interesting article about memory, if you're interested.

I believe that I cannot picture what I want because reality has bullied my mind every time I thought outside the box, outside my world.

Self-sabotage.
Not because I want to, but because (my) reality doesn’t allow me to escape it.

However, I don’t give up on my dream – wish/purpose/desire. I will make a living from writing one day.

Visualizing is a supernatural power for me. Whoever possesses it is a sorcerer who can bring anything into existence.

That’s what Maxwell Maltz says in “Theatre of the Mind - Psycho-Cybernetics”, with different words, of course. I am only a self-taught dilettante.

Have I ever dreamed with open (or close) eyes?

No.

I was only three when I tried to imagine my future life. Having a family of my own, children, a house...

I couldn't, no matter how many times I tried.
As a result, I was convinced that I was going to die before reaching maturity.
I knew then it was not normal not being able to imagine what most people do every second.
I took it a sign of destiny.

I didn't know it was a condition so beautifully called aphantasia.

Do I have dreams while I sleep?

According to researchers, everybody dreams.

But I only remember two dreams.
They were awful. Nightmares.

It was a war.

My family was being hunted down by soldiers for pleasure. We were terrified.

All my nine siblings and parents were shot dead, one by one, in front of me after being chased like rats.

When the last one was gone, I came up from the trench with my arms wide open.

There was no reason for me to keep running. Everyone I loved was dead. I would have never forgotten what I witnessed.

They emptied their guns at me.

I was beyond feelings and emotions.

The second one is about my little brother. The youngest, really. He is not that little anymore.

He was on a plane and I was on top of a skyscraper.

The plane crashed and I watched it diving into the abyss of an ocean.

I am scared of flying, tall buildings and deep water. But the biggest fear of them all is to lose my little brother. We grew up together and were inseparable.
My heart was bleeding.
I couldn't bear it.

Happy dreams?

I don't know what they feel like because I don't recall having any other dream than the ones narrated above.

Do you relate to any of this?

Are Aphantasia and Hyperphantasia Genetic?

I asked again.

I am not sure.
The human mind is so intricate. We cannot rely on our minds and memories. They trick us.
My father is gone, I cannot ask him.
My mother seems to be able to visualize quite well.
My siblings too.

What's hyperphantasia?

The opposite of aphantasia, I said in the beginning.

Too much is almost never good.

So it's too little.

We all have some things that we could live without and enjoy a better existence.

But this is... Life.

People tell me stories in which I am one of the protagonists, but I can't recall them at all.
And they are not old. I am not old. Just in my mind.
In these cases, I think that I might have a sort of an early Alzheimers.
Could it be aphantasia instead?

I believe it's the fact that those stories meant nothing to me. They made an impact on others but left me impassible.

How can I believe what I read in history books?
Maybe that's why I don't like history much.

Anyway, I am sick and tired of feeling so helpless regarding visualization.

Meditation might save me.

So I will continue looking for a way to "cure" my aphantasia and change my thinking patterns.

There must be one. I am sure of it.

I am just not looking in the right direction.

Do you have any advice for me?

Any solution, idea, hunch?

Do you know anyone who can help me so I could help others like me?

If aphantasia is not a disease, why am I so determined to find a cure/solution?
Because I need to create another reality.
I never liked the one I am living in.
I don't belong here. But I can't escape it. I ran away so many times... It brought me back. I am on my knees and they hurt too much for I am forced to kneel against my will.

Do I blame communism for everything bad that happened in my life?
Au contraire.

During Ceaușescu's regime, I had the opportunity to read thousands of books. Many can only dream about this... But they don't have time. Technology keeps them busy. There is so much to watch on TV and the internet and a day has 24 hours only.

What I lived then taught me to appreciate the good things in my life. Things that most take for granted.
Like a shower, a toast or a cup of coffee. Real coffee.

So, allow me to remember that oranges were not grey as I used to believe, for I only saw them (milliseconds) on a black and white TV.
It's a fact. One of the innumerable you might have read about in books, magazines and newspapers.

I have the right to put my memories into words for others to read, even if I can't imagine.
I was there, I felt the pain and struggles of everybody around me.
I relive these.... everything, every single time I hear the word "communism".
Because for me, memory is about feelings.
Ceaușescu was about power. We were nothing to him.

And orange is not the new black.

Perhaps in your life or imagination. Not in mine.

What was the word I couldn't see in my mind or bring to memory during that test?

Isolated.
That's everything I recall from that resume because when the class was over, I looked up the covered word and read it out loud several times, so I will never forget it again. In no context.

Which story's resume?
I can't tell.
And this has a profound meaning to me.

Photo from Pixabay

Free e-books for you on my birthday

2019-11-14T13:40:00.002+00:00

What a day I am having...
I wish I could say that I am having a blast, but it's the exact opposite.
Never mind, I am still alive and I learned another lesson. It will hopefully help me in the future.

Today is my birthday.

However, I am not celebrating the day I was born in, but the day I started to live.

On this day, the 14th of November, four years ago, I have decided to fight to fulfill my impossible dream.
The dream of becoming a writer. The dream of making people laugh, cry, fight, hope, believe, love when reading my books.
The same emotions I felt while reading "Les Misérables" by Victor Hugo.
I was 8.
Since that day, I wanted to become a writer, but I was born a farmer during a very oppressive communist regime. And children like me were not allowed to dream, they were required to work the land, to pay the debts of the country that Ceausescu made.
So I never dared to dream. And because I never dreamed, I never lived.

When I turned 40, I promised myself that I will start acting upon that dream and live.
I started right away.
It wasn't easy, on the contrary, as my English wasn't that good.
I worked night and day, I studied, I educated myself, I learned how to self-publish and I wrote.
A year later, on the 25th of December, I have published my first book ever: "Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country".

It wasn't the first story I wrote, but the first to publish as 25th of December is the day the communist dictator was shot dead.
A sad day for my family and I. Christmas was our favorite holy day and it was ruined forever.
We cried and twisted in pain. For him, Nicolae Ceaușescu and for his wife, Elena Ceaușescu. They deserved to be punished for what they did to their people, but what happened then wasn't fair. It should have never happened. Not like that. Not on that day.

Anyway, today is my fourth anniversary of the day I started to live.
And I am happy so from today, Thursday - 14th of November and until Monday, 18th of November, four (4) of my 12 books written in English are free to download from Amazon.

Childless: How to Cope with Endometriosis & Vulvodynia – Holistic Approach
The Heaviness of Breathing: A testament of forlorn hope
iLive: Emotional Abuse on Women who Love too Much
Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country: An Inspirational Memoir

This is the worst book ever written. Seriously.

Please download them now and feel free to read them later.

And if you like them and feel it in your heart, please write a review.

And if you read Romanian, you might want to read this: https://scriitorcristinag.blogspot.com/2019/11/de-ziua-mea-confesiuni-si-cadouri.html.

How I built a house in 2 months: Retrospective

2019-08-02T18:06:00.017+01:00

Dearest humans,

Since I've left Great Britain, I wrote nothing in English. And that's a bad thing because I love writing in English. I lost so much of it...

Leaving England was a very difficult decision for me. I mean, since Brexit, I have been thinking of leaving, but not moving back to my country. Yet, here I am.

If you don't know or follow me, allow me to take you to the beginning of this journey.

Why have I left England?
After my father's passing (in April 2018), my mother could not live alone, and we were not able to remain or move to live with her. Most of us have a life in foreign countries.
One of my sisters, Ana, the second-born, took my mother to stay with her in a city far from the village my parents spent their entire lives in. She took very good care of our mother.
May the universe pay her back the infinite kindness and generosity she had for our mother.

But my mother didn't like living in the city, and she missed the only places she's ever known for the last 83 years.
She wanted to come home at any cost.

Because we had no other solution, on the 9th of January 2019, I decided to move back to the village (it happened at the end of January) I was born in, and bring my mother home.
But my parents' house, built from mud bricks, had structural issues and was falling apart.

Once I got here, Gheraesti/Neamt, I discussed the situation with a few builders. The conclusion was to tear it down and build another one in place.

I don't know if it's a cultural thing regarding demolitions. Almost everyone prefers to take something down completely and build from scratch.
It makes sense if you think about it.
Mud bricks, almost no foundation. Imagine building on top of that.

March. It was still winter. After we tore the house down, it snowed a lot for a couple of weeks.

Honestly, I didn't have a huge amount of money to start building, but I had to.
Sounds excessive, I know.

Anyway, it's easier said than done, right?

I am a writer, I know nothing about construction. I never dreamed to build a house. I wanted to have one, if..., but not to make a plan and build one from nothing. Literally.
And again...

I rolled up my sleeves and started planning.
Since I had almost no money, I had to come up with a solution fast.
Most people, except Romanians, are convinced that building in Romania is cheap.
Wrong.
If you want something like ordinary people have in "normal" countries, you need loads of money.
It might not cost 300,000 pounds to build a house like the one I did, but 100,000 pounds would not suffice - 200,000 most likely and still...

And do you know why it doesn't cost 300,000 pounds?
Because we don't spend 5,000 on a cabinet or a toilet. If we did, we'd need 300,000 pounds.
That's the logic.

Don't get me wrong.
In some areas of Romania without roads, electricity, internet and mobile reach, you could build something with little money.
But it would be an old-style house (mud bricks, no bathroom, no running water in the house, no central heating), or a house that will fall down in a few years.
Or you could build it yourself, helped by loads of friends.

But that's valid in any other country on earth. Probably in the UK too. If you own the land.

Anyway, I had no intention of building an old-style house and, most importantly, I had no knowledge to build it myself. And my friends are all away. Or gone for good.
So I had to find the money. Loads of money.

But first I needed to find a company to help me build. And this was way harder than I would have ever imagined.
Skilled Romanians are almost all away. Yes.
Everybody thinks that mostly criminals leave Romania. The truth is that is the other way around.
But this is another story.

I owned a small (very, very small) flat that I cared for deeply. It was the only thing that I ever had the name on. That flat meant stability, roots for me. That flat was me!
I sold it in three weeks.
It was February.
I couldn't allow myself to cry or be sad. There was no time for that. My mother was running out of time. She couldn't adapt to life in the city and her health was deteriorating at the speed of light.
I had to make everything in my power to bring her home in two months. Tops. Not a day more. It would have been too late.

The money wasn't enough, not even close, but it was a start.
My mother had some savings. I had a few bank accounts, but not huge amounts of money in them. I emptied all of them.
Three of my siblings - two sisters and a brother - gave me certain sums of money. Some of these I have to pay back.

Nobody is rich in my family. It's not that we have money we don't need.

In March 2019, I started the building, but continue to look for more money.
What I had, was barely half of what I needed just to make the house livable. Not to finish it. No way. For that, it was required @ 90,000 euros.

I made several calls and wrote dozens of emails.
Nobody had the money I needed.
I prayed and begged. Over and over and over again.
One evening, I received a phone call from an old colleague.
He's heard about my plans and asked me for more details. I told him everything. Then I heard him asking:
"How much would you need?"
"At this point, @10,000 euros."
"I can lend you this money right now. I will need it back in a year or so. I need a new car. That's why I have these savings."
I was speechless.
It didn't even cross my mind to ask him for money. At all! I've never thought he had savings, besides, we had no contact in years. Then again, it wasn't that we've always been close. We were just colleagues. Nothing more. Ever.
Three days later, I had 10,000 euros in my bank account.
A miracle!

The builders moved on.
Then, a pause. I spent every penny I had and I couldn't buy the windows and the doors.

We could not continue.
I was so close, yet... And my mother was running out of time. Literally.
My sister told me to get ready for the worst. She was not going to make it. She wasn't coming home alive.
I was so desperate that, one day, I lay down on the grass while it was heavily raining. My teardrops mingled with the sky's drops.
Exhaustion.

My dear sister-in-law dragged me inside the house - her house, I was living there - dried my hair, made me tea and forced me to get changed.
"You'll find the money. You'll bring mama home. I don't know how, but you will. I know you can do that."
Deep down inside, I knew that too. But I was so, so tired and so worried.
I ran out of options, of people to call.
And it's been so difficult for me to ask for money! I was ashamed! I never did that before. I would have never! I couldn't. But I did it for my mother.

I found the money for the windows. A friend of mine, a beautiful woman inside-out, Valentina, gave it to me. Without a warranty.
How lucky was I?

My mother came home. As promised.
It was the 18th of May 2019 - her birthday. Two months after I started building.

I am in huge debt, but my mother sleeps in her bed now.
This house was my mother's dream, not mine.
I would have never come back if it wasn't for her.
I was planning on moving to a Spanish-speaking country.

The house isn't finished. Not even half of it, but the downstairs is livable.
The bedrooms (2) are okay, the rest, not so much.
We don't have flooring everywhere (I am referring to the first floor). The corridor, the stairs, the living room are without. I put a rug in the living room.
The bathroom and the kitchen are without doors. The corridor also needs two doors.
The kitchen is missing the furniture.
But we have running water, a toilet, and a shower. The essentials.
That's why I needed to build the house in the first place.

The mansard consists of walls only. It will never undergo other work.
I built it for storage space because the downstairs has none.

I put rugs on the rough floor, a bed and a small cupboard, just in case we have guests.
You are invited if you want to see it in person.

I also made a couple of beds from boxes filled with books. I have no library to put them in anyway.

But the mansard can only be used in the summertime.
Once the cold settles in, you won't be able to sleep in there. Because the outside of the entire house (and the mansard) is not plastered or insulated, the walls have holes in them. It doesn't rain inside, but you can see the sun - if it shines.
It surely needs insulation or plaster at least, but I have no means to do it.
The only thing I absolutely have to buy before autumn is a stove to heat the house.
The first floor only.
I have stretched myself and installed underfloor heating. I've done it for my mother. She suffers the cold incredibly. Normal heating will never be enough for her.

And because the walls are not plastered, we will need loads of wood to make the fire.

We have wood. It's from the old building.
It took me many weeks to prepare it for the stove.

And it's been a very dangerous job to do, as every piece of wood (huge) had loads of nails in it.
I used a wood cutting circular, an axe and a sledgehammer to cut it into stove-sized pieces.

No, they can't be called logs. You can see why.

During this time, I also worked on the land. It wasn't easy because it rained a lot and I've been extremely busy with the building.
But I couldn't leave it without onion, garlic, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers and so on.

I didn't plan on abandoning my writing career. I thought I would keep writing, but there is so much to do. I am absolutely exhausted.
And my mother needs a lot of care.
When I brought her home, nobody believed she would make the trip alive (300 km).

But she did. We prayed a lot.

We watched her for 2 days when she got back to the village. We were afraid she will not get better.
Here was my brother's place. The house was being decorated.

Then I took her to a recovery centre close by - Centrul Medical Barticesti. For two weeks we stayed there. They saved her life there.
My sister, Alexandrina, offered to replace me for a week so I could get the house ready for my mother.

Every day we took my mother to many doctors, various treatments, physiotherapy and baths in the swimming salt pool.
My mother has never been to a pool, a sea, or a river before. She never wore a swimming costume.

She couldn't walk at all when she got there, she came home walking. Not on foot, of course, but she could stand up and walk.
She still does, even if her health isn't perfect.

On the 31st of May 2019, my mother and I moved into a new home.
Two months (and a couple of weeks really) after I started building.
What a journey that was!

Many people will criticize the size of the house.
If I didn't have money, why have I wanted something like that?

It sure looks big, I can't argue with that, but it really isn't. The mansard is for storage.
I know that many will think that I could have finished the house if it had one floor only.
That's not really true.
It cost less to build it this way. It was more practical.
I couldn't have finished it, no matter how I'd have built it.

I forgot to mention that on April, the 7th, I launched the book: "14 nuanțe de roșu: Amintiri din Copilăria Comunistă: Epoca de aur/14 shades of red: Memories of a communist childhood: The Golden Epoch".

A memoir settled, as you understood, during Ceausescu's dictatorial regime. 500 pages of true-to-fact stories.
The launch, that took place in the church I was baptized, was blessed in every possible way.

Despite the launch being a huge success, I didn't become rich. No. I still have a long way to go to reach recognition and start making a living from writing.

I couldn't have done it without the help of a few people with huge hearts.
My brother and my sister-in-law gave me shelter and food for free.
On top of that, they helped me with many other things.
My neighbours helped me move all my stuff from one place to another.
My friends brought my mother home.
Some of my brothers and sisters gave me some money.

But mostly, while almost everybody told me that I was crazy to give up my future and come back to my country to bury myself in the countryside, only one Romanian person supported and encouraged all my choices: my uncle.
Without him, I would have probably gone mad. Because building in Romania it's not as easy or cheap as many think.
We have laws and rules too. It's not the Wild West.

Of course, my sisters and brothers also encouraged me. But, somehow, I knew they will.
Some of my friends from England were on my side too.

I don't know what would I have done without the people I mentioned above.

Thank you, Valentina - a beautiful human being and true friend - for the fact that you gave me money without any warranty. I must be honest, it took me days to gather the courage to ask. I didn't know you had the money and you would give it to me without me begging.
You're an angel.
With that money, I bought many windows. Without them, my mother wouldn't sleep in her bed now. Without your priceless help, she wouldn't have made it. I am sure.
I will always be grateful.

And because I want to pay them back, I need to take care of my career now.
If only my mother was well. But she isn't.

One day at a time.

Thank you.

International Day of Happiness

2019-03-20T13:11:00.001+00:00

On the 20th March of every year, the entire world is celebrating Happiness Day.
With this occasion, I would like to wish you to want to be happy.

Yes, "to want" because happiness is a choice.

Happiness doesn't come naturally. It doesn't knock on your door. It doesn't fall from the sky or from a tree. No. Happiness has to be learned. The same way we learn to walk, to drive, to ride a bike, to read, to write and so on.
Happiness comes from within.
We all have the potential and the capacity to be happy, but, more often than not, we chose not to be (happy).

Every morning we have the opportunity to choose how to feel and what to do.
As soon as we open our eyes, we shouldn't think and ask ourselves how to fell. We shouldn't ponder. We should decide on the spot to be happy.
If we have this choice and this right, why shouldn't we?

Do you know why?
Because it's difficult.
Most of us think that happy people have an easy life.
It isn't true.
We all have issues, we all have worries, we all carry heavy burdens on our shoulders.
Nothing comes easily for any of us (generally).

If you don't believe me, ask yourself why some people pull their hair out when they lose a child, a parent, and some seem calm?
These calm people are as overwhelmed by pain as those who pull their hair out, yet they don't seem to.

It's not the immensity of a tragedy that makes us kneel, is the way we react in front of it.

I wouldn't dream of saying that we should laugh when someone leaves this world, what I say is to accept the irreversible and do whatever we can to give solace to those who suffer more.

If we consume all our energies crying over spilled milk, we'll not be able to stop another bottle of milk to fell on the floor.
We should focus on solutions, not on the problem.
But it's easier said than done. I know. I know from own experience.
However, is doable.
If we want to be happy, we can.
But it requires a strong will and desire.
That's why most people are sad. It's easier.
We complain about everything - it comes effortless - but we don't look for solutions.

To be happy, or to be sad? This is the question.
You are the problem and the solution.

Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.

Buddha.

Pictures from Pixabay.

Home: Soul Project

2019-03-06T11:41:00.004+00:00

Home...

Home is where your heart is.

I am back home, but I have no building to call home anymore.

Until a month ago, I owned a small flat in a communist block. It was mine, I called it home, but I wasn't born there.
Despite that, I loved it with all my heart. It was the only thing I ever had.

During these years of living everywhere but my birth country, it gave me a sense of security and stability.
People used to tell me to sell it because my life was elsewhere.
I always declined and tried to explain why I couldn't, but nobody understood.
The thought of having a roof in time of need gave me comfort and peace of mind.
I would have never sold it for money because it had little estate value.
The money gets spent easily. The roof remains forever if it's built properly.
Yes, it was a communist block, but these blocks are tough!

I am an author, and I don't have a life beyond writing. The way a room looks it does not matter, so that flat was everything to me.
Yet, in February 2019, I sold it.
I sold it so I could build a house for my mother.
I didn't allow myself to feel sad or to be sorry.

In December I was living in the UK.
In January I took the decision to put my life on hold and come back to Romania to give solace to my mother.
The Brexit had a saying in my decision of leaving England, but I didn't plan moving back to my birth country. I was thinking of moving to a sunny country and live close to the beach.
Moreover, I didn't want a house in a village. I am allergic to pollen and I suffer from hayfever. The fields make me feel very ill every day.

I am a woman. Building a house is not an easy thing to do. Of course, I don't build it myself, yet, it's hard. I don't have a car and I know nothing about constructions.
What I do is strictly for my mother.
She turns 84 in a couple of months. Every day matters.

Last year (2018), she lost her life partner with whom she had 11 children, my father. They've been together for 65 years.
Although it wasn't unexpected, it goes without saying that the pain was unbearable. For all of us.
My mom forgot to smile since then.
And she's old and she cannot take care of herself anymore.
So, my sister, Ana, took my mom to live with her in a city 280 km away from where my parents' lived.
My sister takes very good care of my mom, but my mom had only known these places. She never traveled anywhere.
She was born here, she got married here, she gave birth and raised 11 children here and she buried her dearest ones here.
She misses the odor of the fields, the familiar faces of her neighbors, the sounding of the church's bells, the barking of the dogs, the cluck of the chickens, and the roosters' squawk.
She misses everything, and she's suffering.
When you look at her, you'd think she caries a mountain on her shoulders.

But her house made from clay 60 years ago, was falling apart.
The reason my sister took my mother to live with her is that this house had no bathroom and no running water inside.

Now, I don't know if you know how cold are Romanian winters.
They are cold. Cold and snowy. Sometimes the temperatures drop to - 30 Celsius degrees.
It doesn't snow for 6 months as it used to when I was a child, but the snow is deep when it falls.
The elderly cannot live alone during the winter. They cannot carry the logs inside to make the fire in the terracotta stoves.

So, I took a break from writing, sold my flat, tore my parents' house down, and started to build a new one with running water and bathroom inside.
Unfortunately, as I said, my flat had little estate value and that money is less than a quarter of what is needed for this house.

If you have never seen an old Romanian house, you might think that I should have built on top of it.
I can't blame you. Any rational person would have done that if there was anything to build on top of.
Those walls were made from clay (mud) and the foundation was not stable.
It's a long story, but long story short, it would have cost me more if I didn't tear it down.
Difficult to believe, but it's true.

Anyway, I am doing everything I can to build it as soon as possible to bring my mom home.
It's extremely difficult to put together such a large sum of money, but I have to do it.
And I have to do it now. My mom is running out of time.
As for me, I live with my brother. My sister in law is extremely nice and patient with me, but I don't like being a burden. A couple needs privacy.

I don't have any house to call home and I need to settle down.
I am tired of running from a place to another. I moved houses 22 times in 20 years - 7 times in the last 5 months.
I need to calmd down. I need to write, I am an author.

My heart is with my mom's house although I really didn't want a house in a village in Romania.

My mom and I in 2014

If you want to help me put a smile on her beautiful face wrinkled by time and exceptional needs, please buy my books and share my posts with your friends.
If you feel particularly generous and you want to donate something, anything, please use this link: https://www.paypal.me/HelpMeToHelpOthers.

The universe will pay you back the kindness.

Can you imagine a year without a shower?

The elderly from my village can because they never knew otherwise. My parents and we lived like this. Strip wash.
But it's difficult. Extremely.

These were my parents in 2016

What you read until now is only one of my soul's projects.
I have another one. Bigger. Huge. Completely separated from the above.
I am planning on founding a non-governmental organization (ONG) at the services of the elderly, disabled and marginalized people from my village.
As soon as my mom is home, I will plunge body and soul into this other project.

More about it in another post.
If you want to read now, please click on this link: https://fundatiaiubitibatranii.blogspot.com/2019/01/love-dignity-for-elderly.html.

Support, if you can.
Spread the world, it costs nothing.

"Give and it shall be given to you."

Romanians are Leaving: Goodbye, Great Britain!

2019-01-21T22:04:00.002+00:00

I am writing this with tears in my eyes.
I wouldn't want to leave the country that gave me the opportunity to pursue my childhood dream...
I wouldn't but it's the best thing to do right now.

Following Brexit, the atmosphere's got very tense in the UK.
Some people are extremely upset, some are confused, some go with the flow, "whatever".
After careful consideration and much thought, I decided to go back home.
The irony is that due to the fact that I don't watch TV, listen to the radio or read the news, I knew nothing about the Referendum until two days before it happened.
I found out about it by pure chance. A friend of mine said she was worried about the effect of it if people voted "Leave".
I asked what was she talking about.
"The Referendum. English people want to leave Europe. They want us out."
"What?!?" I exclaimed laughing. "You're silly to worry. They will never do that. It's too much hassle. Besides, they need immigrants like us."
I laughed and encouraged my friend, a lovely French woman who's been living in England for 38 years or more.

On the day on which the destiny of Great Britain changed, I got up at 3:30 in the morning to write.
I switched on the computer and Google asked me if I wanted to see the results of the Referendum.
I smiled and thought: "I know the results! They voted 'Stay'". However, I clicked on the link prompted by Google and the blood froze in my veins.
I could not believe my eyes. "It can't be true. It must be a nightmare. I am going to wake up in a minute and laugh about this."
But it wasn't a nightmare. It was real. Very real.
I didn't get upset and I didn't worry, I was... in disbelief.
I wrote as every day and went to work. I was the first one to arrive at the office, as usual.
I watched my colleagues coming in, one by one. Grim-faced.
Some of them were crying, some were really worried and some couldn't even think of what had happened.
We had a meeting, the managers were also in tears.
They promised us support and understanding.

How long ago was that?
Can't really remember.
It feels like ages ago.

Until the middle of 2018, I didn't think about it. Then I signed up for a letter from "Home Office". When I started receiving news from this office, I got worried. The idea of leaving sprouted in my mind but I choose to ignore it until I couldn't anymore.
One day, on the 9th of January 2019, I woke up and felt that it was time to say goodbye.
In 4 years of living in England, I accumulated quite a lot of things.
I gave them to charities. It would cost me too much to take them home.
All I can carry are two suitcases. The ones I came with. Nothing more.
You can buy things anywhere, but, as I said in this article on LinkedIn, I am going to miss my friends - wonderful, really wonderful people from around the world.

What a paradox.
I was perhaps one of the few who never really worried or gave any thought to the Refenderum and now I am, maybe, among the first ones to leave.
I am heartbroken but I wasn't born here. I know my place.

Images from Pixabay

I don't have hard feelings towards anyone though, on the contrary.
When I moved here, in June of 2014, I didn't have any expectations. Yet, this is the country where my childhood dream came true.
I am an author and for that, I will always be grateful.

Goodbye, Great Britain!
I don't think I will ever come back, but you are more than welcome to visit me.

Expat Interview

2019-01-11T23:34:00.003+00:00

Those who follow me and are aware of my work, now that I am an immigrant.
My memoirs are filled with stories from my "pilgrimages" in Italy and the UK.

What, you didn't know that I am a Romania writer?
Are you living under a rock???
Shame, shame on you!

Kidding! Like I do in this picture.

I can't read 2 books at once.
Well, I can, I just don't do it.
It's just to show off my shoes.
Aren't they gorgeous?

Getting back to business.
Below is one of the questions I replied to.

9. What is a myth about your adopted country?
That is rains every day. That’s utterly false!

What happens is that you can have four seasons – or even five – in less than one hour in random days.
When you must go out, you look out the window and it’s sunny, so you dress accordingly. As soon as you step outside, it starts raining. The wind makes you feel like flying and all of a sudden, it’s sunny again.

Or vice versa. It’s dark (although it’s only 10 am) and it’s raining, so you put on your yellow rainy coat, your fancy wellingtons, and arm yourself with a grim face. As soon as you are outside, it’s sunnier than in Hawaii but you are late to your appointment (job, courses, etc.), so you move on with the same grim face imprinted on your soul.
No. It doesn’t always rain in the UK. Sometimes it snows too. In July.

If anyone is interested in reading the interview in all its splendor, please feel free to do so by clicking on this link.

Happy New Year!

2018-12-31T13:37:00.001+00:00

Yes, I know, everyone says the same things at the end of every year, but that's the way it should be.
Today, I shouldn't be writing on my blogs. I should celebrate.
Yet, I am not.
I never really celebrated the end of any year as I don't celebrate my birthday.
Some people say that we should celebrate a new beginning, not the end of a year.
I agree with them.

2018 hasn't been a great year for many.
I won't make a list of what happened or not happened to me.
I won't make a list with my resolutions either because you couldn't care less.
I've noticed something scary in 2018, but it's not a new thing.
People are becoming more and more selfish and egocentric.
If the selfishness and egocentrism wouldn't hurt others...
But, they do hurt others because we stopped caring for anyone else but us.
We are capable of killing without blinking family and friends to get what we want.
We stopped feeling.
It's sad, very, very sad.
What is that defines humanity?
We've lost our humanity.

The other day, I read something that Dostoievsky said about his time.
"We are becoming lazier and lazier. We want to have without working."
These are not his exact words (can't remember them), just the general meaning.

The truth is that I am worried about the human's race future.
Once we all stopped feeling nothing, will care nothing for anyone and anything.
Look around...
What do you see?

Now, look inside you.
Is there any difference between what you see around you and what you see inside you?
I hope there is.

I am not saying that we should work and give to others the fruits.
What I am saying is that we should care a little bit more.
Don't kill innocents people, don't step on other's dignity, don't despise and deride others so you could live happily in stolen riches.

We are all the same and we should feel what humans feel.

These being said, I wish you all a new year filled with happiness and human feelings.

I would like to thank those who supported me in the past year.
I would like to express my gratitude towards my friend who didn't allow me to sleep under a bridge.
Thank you to my readers! I didn't get a price in 2018, but it will happen in 2019.

I wish you all the best!

Photo from Pixabay

Friends are the family I choose for myself: Testimony of magnanimity

2018-12-16T16:32:00.004+00:00

I love my family, I love it very much.
However, I left my country and separated from those I grew up with a long time ago.
I haven't seen my siblings all together in more than 20 years.
If there wasn't for social networks and photos, I wouldn't remember their faces - that's also because I have aphantasia (the incapacity of picturing images in my head).

I moved so many times in the last 18 years that at some point I asked myself if I am a nomad.
I am not, not at all. I don't like moving, I really, deeply don't.
It's terribly stressing, tiring and expensive. But I had to move. I am an immigrant and I love learning.

In any place I lived, I made friends. Usually not on purpose because I am quite a solitary person and I cherish my freedom. Yet, I am sociable and some people like me, so we become friends.
I have many great friends all over the world.
Unfortunately, I also made enemies. Again, not on purpose. It just happened and I often had no idea why.

Anyway, that's life. I don't waste my time and energy thinking of my enemies, I have too many things to fix in my life. What they think it's their business.
However, because I am a writer, if they want to hurt, they usually don't waste any opportunity. In fact, they search for these opportunities.
I cannot stop them. It's their soul they are selling out.
The universe is my witness that I hold no grudge to anyone and I don't wish them any wrong.
I respect the Golden Rule and all the variants:

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

So I leave them alone and focus on my life.

Anyway, is not about enemies and hateful creatures I'd like to speak in this post.
Friends and loving humans are my subjects of discussion.
They give me so much joy and I am immensely grateful.

This month, December 2018, something unexpected happened to me and, in one instant, I've found myself without a roof above my head.
I really didn't know what to do.
This, England, is not my country, I can't just go to my parents' house. They don't even live there any longer.

My homelessness situation happened so fast that I didn't even know what hit me.
So I sat on the ground for a few minutes incapable of thinking.
I couldn't go to a hotel as the reasons I was in this mess in the first place were the money.
'Oh, God. What am I going to do?'

Then I remembered that I have many friends.
So I called Gene, the friend that offered me shelter and unconditional love when I moved to England.
She didn't hesitate for a millisecond. Even more, she offered to come and pick me up from wherever I was.
Her infinite kindness and understanding me left me speechless.
I really cannot find enough or the right words to thank Gene.
I owe her everything I am today. Without her, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to follow my childhood dream.
One day I will pay her back somehow and I believe that my success would be a great way to do it.

Gene and I have different personalities and tastes, but we think alike in many aspects of life and we have various traits in common. One is humanity. We both do unto others as we would have them do unto us.
Not all humans can say that and not all your family members either.

But Gene isn't the only one who offered me shelter and support in this difficult moment of my life. Eva, another great friend of mine, did the same.
And again, Gene and Eva weren't alone in this testament of magnanimity, at least other four friends invited me to stay with them for as long as I need it. No questions asked.

You don't need to have wings to be an angel, you just need to have a heart and use it.

I will be grateful in this life and all the others until the end of time.

Content people say that every human has at least three things to be grateful for every day.
I have more than three.
When I go to bed and get out of it, I thank the universe for my amazing friends and for the fact that I can walk, speak, hear, work so I can fix what I've done wrong to get here.

Words can never be enough but I won't rest until I would have paid them back. Or forward. Or both.

I wish you many friends like mine.
Be a friend like that too. It's not that difficult.
You just have to care and share.

The Heaviness of Breathing: The worst book ever written

2018-11-23T11:25:00.001+00:00

November is a blue month for me, and not because it's cold, windy and rainy, but because it reminds me of my communist childhood.

When I decided to invest everything in a writing career, I thought that my books would be as funny as my blog posts used to be.
I don't know what happened, but my stories are everything but humorous.
I can't write a full book on a funny note.
It appears that I am a drama author, tragedy is my main subject. So much melodrama.
I am disappointed in me.

Anyway, last night I have published the worst story ever written.
An endless journey of self-destructive feelings that condition my existence. My mind is my worst enemy, the cruelest.

I don't expect people to read The Heaviness of Breathing.
I wrote it as a therapy hoping it would break the chain of unfortunate events in my life.

If by any chance, people read this dreadful story, they might conclude that I am a very self-focused individual.
The irony is that I am just the opposite.

I postponed the publication of it for a very long time.
I kept correcting expressions, words, grammar and I, most likely, messed up even worse.
What I mean is that the book is not professionally edited and English will always be a work in progress for me.
I am ashamed, and I feel guilty that I dared to publish a non-edited book. I had no other choice.
I hope you won't despise me for that. I do it for you if it makes you feel better.

I risked and sacrificed everything to pursue a career in writing.
In these three years, I have learned and accomplished many things, but I don't feel elated, quite the opposite.
I wish I earned a living from writing, but I am very bad at it.

For those who never tried to do what I am doing, this might mean that my stories are not good enough that's why I don't succeed.
I don't blame them, I used to think exactly the same.

If among those who read this are writers who gave up publishing, they know that talent matters until a certain point.
There are millions of incredible stories out there but no one knows about them.

In the writing sector, to make a career, you need someone to promote your work by any means necessary.
Connections and money are the only way.
I don't have any of these and I am not 20 anymore. I started too late.

Of course, it's not only in this sector that people struggle to make a career, but if you think how long it takes to write and read a book, you'll see why it's harder here.

I am frustrated and I am dishearted, but I knew it wasn't going to be easy.

The pages of this book are filled with my darkest thoughts.
It is, without exaggeration, maybe not exactly the absolute worst story ever written, but among the worst.
What a nice publicity, isn't it?

The Heaviness of Breathing is a testament of forlorn hope - the complete opposite of all my self-help books, especially of It's Never Game Over.

The Heaviness of Breathing is the other side of the coin.
November's blues.

I would like to express my gratitude to Pixabay from where I take most of the pictures I use for my covers.
This one was published by Engin_Akyurt who I thank from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you to those who publish their work and allow it to be used free of charge.

P.S. If you are a member of my family, please do not read The Heaviness of Breathing, and do not tell my uncle I have dared to expose my soul in this manner.

The sense of not belonging

2018-11-09T11:17:00.001+00:00

Do you ever feel like not belonging anywhere?

I do. Often. Way too often.

Sometimes I even feel like I don't belong to my body.

I don't feel trapped in it, no. I am a woman, and I don't wish to be a man.

I am glad about the way I look. I am grateful for it. But I do care for it a lot. I used to, at least.

Anyway, it's not the not belonging to the body that worries me. That's secondary to everything, the last thing really.

It's the not belonging to the world that terrifies me.

Why is it that I feel this way?

Is it because I am over 40, single and without children?

Or is it because I am alone in a country that isn't mine?

I am an immigrant, yes.

I left my country when I was 24.

I was born and raised a farmer during a communist regime.

When I got to Italy, everything seemed huge to me, especially the pizza.

You should have seen me looking at that massive pizza and thinking that no human being would ever be able to finish eating something so big.

"Is this pizza for all four of us?" I asked.

"No. That's yours. We ordered a vegan meal."

I didn't blink. I was too scared to even look at someone.

I was a little country girl in a big, big world with a massive pizza in front of her.

I couldn't eat. I tried, but it didn't work out, my teeth refused to chew.

They lectured me because I was wasting food when so many starve.

I couldn't even cry.

Italy was amazing. The food was delicious but not from the start, no. The first pasta al pomodoro meal made me think that I was going to starve to death. I couldn't stand the look of it.

A few months later, I was addictive to it, it’s the best meal in the whole world.

So you see, it's all a matter of practice.
You should give up only when you reached your goal. Never before.

Ten years I spent in Italy – one of the most beautiful countries on the planet – maybe the most beautiful.

The sense of not belonging never left me during these years.

I wrote a memoir about this period: "Ten Years in Italy, Three Weeks a Human."

The title is very revealing, the truth is that I was, and I am so, so grateful for the opportunity to have learned to speak the most melodious language of them all.

I went back to my ex-communist country to heal my wounds.

Wow. It did not feel like home at all. I couldn't fit back in. I never fitted in.

Perhaps I was born in the wrong era.

In 2014, I moved to the UK, but my expectations were not great.

Learning the language, improving my pronunciation was my only aim.

A year later, I figured it was time to follow my childhood... my impossible dream really.

I wanted to be a writer since I was 8. I wrote many stories... but I didn't know I could publish them.

To be honest, I never thought I had the right to write or to dream for that matter, so I burned them down. All of them.

I could not imagine seeing my name on the cover of a book. It was outrageous!

I was born a farmer in a communist country, children didn't know how or what to dream back then. My destiny was sealed, but I didn't feel like I belonged to the farmers' world. I was an imposter.

In all honesty, I love working the land, and I am grateful for the opportunity to have learned how to do it properly.

I am an author now.

In three years (2015 - 2018) I wrote and published more than 38 books, in both English and my mother tongue.

I couldn't be happier, however, do I really belong to this world?

Maybe it's not my place to publish books.

I don't know if I'll ever feel like belonging somewhere, anywhere, but I am grateful that my impossible dream came true and I can tell the world what I feel.

I know I am not alone, and that makes me sad.

Photo from Pixabay

The sun will shine on your road too

2018-11-08T10:33:00.000+00:00

"The sun will shine on your (our, my) road too," is a Romanian proverb that my family uses a lot, especial one of my sisters, Alexandrina.
In English, this would be "After a storm comes calm."

This proverb comes to mind when little goes well on someone's life.
Is a token of faith and hope and it's supposed to make one feel better.

Life is difficult for loads of people, and nobody can deny that.
But, after the storm, calmness settles in. There is no other way.
However, when the storm goes on for too long, we get tired, dishearted and often bitter and cynical.
It happens more often than you think and I know loads of people who got to this point and can't overcome it.
It's sad really because that's what life is all about since the begging of time. But we lose faith.

Things go bad, things go well, and it rotates. It can't be bad forever, but it could be good forever if we choose to remain positive in moments of distress.

Martin Seligman asked if happiness can be taught and many said yes.
I agree, and I am convinced that happiness can be taught as it can be learned
Unfortunately, it's a very difficult lesson to learn when hearts are bleeding, and eyes are blurred with tears.

One can only take so much pain, we think. Yet, many take more pain than others and still go on.
Have a look in hospitals.
Don't you agree?

Getting tired is normal...
I am tired, exhausted really.

Three years ago I promised myself that I am going to focus on becoming an author.
I gave up everything else.
All I do since that day in November of 2015, is learning and improving my English, writing, publishing, promoting, and so on.
I knew it was going to be difficult, but I had no idea how difficult.

Difficult is an understatement when you are utterly alone on a certain path.

All successful authors (or people) have someone that pushes them to the top.
Nobody can make it alone.

After three years of working alone, I realized that I failed.
I failed to find someone to believe in me.
I am sad because I know I deserve it, but how can I expect to find someone to support me in three years?
People start somewhere. They always have a base.
I didn't. I started from scratch like a baby.
In three years I learned to stay on my feet and walk but after long periods of crawling.
I fell many times, and I stayed down because I was hurt and afraid to fell again.
But I got up and... fell... as I did all my life.

Can you relate to that?
I am sure you can.

In three years, I was hoping to stop wobbling and crash down every other day.
I mean, after three years of so much hard work, I need and deserve my author career to have strong fundamentals.

During this time, I wrote and self-published 38 books on different genres in both English and my mother tongue.
Yet, I don't take pride in that because it got me nowhere.
I am still a baby who needs someone to guide her.

I wish I had a positive and optimistic end to this ramble, but I don't.

I need the sun to shine on my road soon because my hands are frozen and one can only take so much.

Credit https://pixabay.com/en/bridge-golden-light-mystical-19513/

Why do we cry when others cry?

2018-11-06T22:49:00.002+00:00

Have you ever asked yourself why do we cry when others cry?
I have... many, many times.
And my answer was that we relate to the reasons a person cries.
I mean, we all go through many terrible things in life:

a death of a loved one
a breakup
a loss of a friend
an illness
a professional failure, etc., etc.,

However, tonight while watching the movie "To the Bone" I could not stop crying when seeing those people in such pain.
Their sufferings were not something I could relate to. I love eating and I have no problem with food.

Then why did I fall apart?
Because I am an empath.
I know it's a movie and that's fiction but I also know that there are so many people out there struggling with anorexia.
I feel for them so much.

We are always so judgemental... with everyone and everything even though we don't understand what the others go through.
We think that we are better.
We think that we would do better in certain situations. The truth is that we are only humans.
We can only do so much....

We are judgemental even towards those with whom we have something in common... like a weakness, an addiction or a fixation.
We think that the other doesn't understand.
And it's true, nobody can understand. Only you do.

We think that we are suffering more... that our reasons for being addictive are the only ones that count.
Yet, from my experience, everyone's reasons are good enough to feel depressed or not loved because we are all different... unique.

Life is so complicated and we could find reasons for crying every single second of our lives... but life is also beautiful.
We just have to force ourselves to see it.

I wish nobody suffered, but in the end... we are all in trouble in one way or another.
The world is in trouble, the earth is in trouble... Yet, the sun rises every morning.

Every day is a new beginning. Fight and never give up. The sun will shine on your road too!

Picture from Pixabay

That's all I had to say.