Despre carti si alte lucruri interesante

Am doua prietene care de curand s-au gandit la sanatatea mintii mele. Cred ca uneori mintea mea are nevoie de niste “sala”, de niste “aerobic” sau, cel mai bine, de niste “inot”.

Una din ele a pus la cale un concurs in care trebuie sa povestim ce facem impotriva recesiunii intelectuale si cum ne mentinem mintea in forma. Weeellll… as povesti mai degraba ce as vrea sa fac decat ce fac. Pentru ca de citit, nu mai citesc de multa vreme asa cum trebuie. Adica asa cum obisnuiam. Pana acum cativa ani, eram in stare sa termin o carte. Si sa mi-o amintesc. Si sa pot sa o critic, daca e cazul. Vara trecuta am inceput 5 carti. Nici una nu a fost terminata. So… probabil ca ce as face, ar fi sa ma reapuc de citit. Cititul de performanta, like I used to.


O alta prietena
mi-a dat o leapsa despre carti:). Despre citit, de fapt. M-a atins unde ma doare. Ma intreba ea cui datorez pofta de citit. Oh well, tu Mada, mama mea a fost profa de romana. Apoi a lucrat intr-o biblioteca, la sectia pentru copii. Eu am crescut la biblioteca. Plecam de la scoala direct la mama la munca si stateam acolo pana la 4 cand plecam impreuna acasa. Imi faceam temele in sala de lectura, ascultam discurile cu povesti, stiam toate cartile noi, stiam in ce raft trebuie sa stea, cum sunt impartite. Cand aveam vreo 14 ani, mama s-a mutat de la sectia de copii la biroul unde se primeau cartile noi. Si tot liceul am avut parte de tot ce aparea nou la biblioteca de la Deva. Nu era acelasi lucru cu bibliotecile din Bucuresti, of course. Cand am intrat prima data in biblioteca de la Litere, era sa plang. Era exact cum imi imaginasem ca trebuie sa fie o biblioteca. Pacat, insa, ca nu mi-am petrecut prea mult timp acolo. Vorba lui Vanghi: “vezi, aici te-ai stricat”.

….

It’s pretty difficult for me now to describe last week. I had such busy, emotional, physically challenging days that I can hardly put them into words. The strongest emotion is certainly my going back HOME. yes….you heard me….HOME. The apartment we used to live in was in front of the railway station. When I arrived and saw MY window, MY balcony….I couldn’t help crying. I didn’t care people were staring, I went to my aunt’s in tears, wondering why am I here and not going home.
For the rest…I was surprised to notice how much I liked the town, how deep inside my mind are imprinted its alleys, its streets, the schools, my parents’ work places… And especially how I felt that this was my home. I own a little house at the country side where I grew up, I might buy myself a little home in Bucharest, but I guess nothing will compare to that feeling of HOME I experienced on Friday.
My high school colleagues are almost the same:). I loved seeing them, I loooooved going back to school.

I loved being back home. Except that I can’t tell when I’ll be going there again.