Towards my monastery

Humble and guilty, this is how I feel when I remember my blog. It’s been so long since I haven’t written a word, and yet I communicate so much every day. It’s been a year since my birthday, and although I had 3-4 small entries since then, I still consider my 9th of July blog entry the last “serious” entry I had.

Last week I turned 25. Monica asked me yesterday what happens at 25, because she can’t remember anymore. I joked that 25 is pretty similar to 24, and I feel there was no big shift in my life, although I feel I evolved constantly. I now reread my “Found my perfect birthday” and I agree, yes, no big shift took place. I am still searching for my intuitive and feeling soul; I am still feeling the energy. I still try to balance between reason and emotions, still try to find the spontaneity, and I think I’m doing better every day. I focus on the now, I focus on enjoying the lovely people that I meet, I focus on asking questions whose answer reveal something from the other. I still feel there is God, and I still laugh at the stupid yet innocent paradox which philosophers put themselves in when trying to think and explain Him. I still feel that I am an adult now, that playing is fun and useful for one’s mental health, but only a part of life – the rest of it is building and sticking to plans about career, house, family, vacations, children, growing old, and dying at peace.

Last year, I was writing from Berlin, happy to be there studying about death with Andrei, both still young and fresh and loving each other. Since then, I earned the scholarship (I simply cannot forget the genuine feeling of surprise that I was one of the selected ones), and I left home for London. I left for a year of study, of isolation, of missing Andrei and of building for the future. Monica told me that this isolation would serve both of us well – missing each other is a symptom that strong feelings are still in place, and facing the distance would only render the bond stronger. And she was right. Nothing faded away, although I was pretty worried at one point (they say love disappears after 3 years… and she also said we shouldn’t stay apart for too long, ‘cause we might get used to that), and everything grew stronger roots and brighter greener leaves.

Feeling lonely and fearing the unknown, I went away and turned my new home and my body into a monastery. I started practicing Qi Gong on my own, started drinking plenty of herbal and Chinese tea, I stopped eating meat and, overall, just took care of myself. I was delighted to eat seafood as a cheap regular meal, and to try new types of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean dishes (which became my regular meals). And all these not only made me feel so much better, but gave me new feelings and thoughts – feelings of wellbeing, happiness, and gratitude that I have the chance to feel like that.

I couldn’t get used to a certain rigidity and coldness of British people that I interacted with for the past year. They are so afraid to be inappropriate, subjective or unfair, that they become plaster masks with a frozen smile. I caught the virus in the sense that, in communicating, I am overly polite and nice (everyone is “Dear..”). The difference is that I feel everyone is dear (up to point where the counterevidence is brought forth).  Yet I admit there is something fake in all this kind of talking, or not talking. I remember being shocked one beautiful Sunday morning by a lady neighbour who started out of nowhere yelling so hysterically at her kids, that I frightfully thought she was going to kill them. It was not really “out of nowhere” – she was born and raised within a society where you don’t express your emotions of anger, dissatisfaction, or frustration. We have such a wonderful country and we offer you so many things, which you cannot get anywhere else, that you better play “civilized”. Yet the hysterical mother managed to build up a mountain of anger and frustration which began to collapse and destroy everything on its way down.

It was very difficult for me to stay apart from Andrei. I went back home pretty often, and that pretty much kept me going. I could have resisted heroically and suffered, and played less dependent, but what would’ve been the point? I would just have hidden some feelings that I was having anyway. I admitted and I still admit that he was my number 1 reason for wanting to return. But apart from that, I cared for and grew up seedlings of wishes to return, and wishes to do something meaningful when I return.
[to be continued]