"Dazed and..." - a psychotomical study,

They all got me all confused. I'm not really convinced I know who I am and I have such a strong feeling that whomever I am makes the whole difference. There are gray areas, but you'd better stick to the black and white. There has to be a threshold, a line that's not all that fine between unanimously recognized selfishness and altruistic-like selfishness, for instance.

Why can't people just take your actions, label them whichever way they please (according to the impact on their own self-esteem or well-being): okay, fine, she brought cake (right, silly example, but keep in mind that it serves illustrative purposes) - that was "nice", i.e. "made me feel good [because I like cake]". No, they can't just enjoy the cake. They need to figure out:
#1. whether you are trying to gain something - i.e. their trust, their collaboration, their hearts and souls and the ones of their third generation of descendants as well; oh, or are you, by any means, trying to hide your dislike for some of them and hence overcompensate by bringing cake?
#2. whether they may start expecting you to bring cake again, which means other things, too: that they have to pretend the cake is "oh, so yummy", even if they don't think it is - maybe the next one will be or maybe they shouldn't "hurt your feelings" (oh, believe me, paranoia hurts more than plain old truth - "I'm wondering whether they really liked the cake or they were just saying that"); that there may be a pattern (you may bring cake every other week) or, if not, clearly, there's a trigger: what made you act so oddly and bring cake? if there's a pattern, is it because you are intrinsically weird or should they expect you to cease all cake-bringing operations once your goal has been achieved (see issue #1)?
#3. are you just trying to look better than anyone else? (To which I can't help but reply: maybe I am better than many of them and maybe it's because I have an odd response to emotional wounds - instead of trying to change the default - I think - "good" within us (yes, I'm saying we're born "good"; you should have seen the light that I've seen in a little girl's eyes when she was hugging a friend), I just get more and more stubborn in proving that "good" is still there, because... well, because it may just be the only thing that keeps me standing.)

I think I just want them all to go away and leave me alone.

I'm so tired.

Joy, Truth, Freedom, Friendship, Ideal

All empty words, capitalized in writing. Just like every word that relates to beauty or wonder - none of them left untainted by us - the enslaved, sarcastic little creatures of fear. That's all you're left with - here, in this God-forsaken home and native land of dissimulation, you're all dead on the inside.

Metropolis

Looks like Bucharest. Almost feels like it. People in poorly-lit "matchboxes" in concrete high-rises. Recently-familiar chain stores. Small non-stop businesses. The hotel room would remind me even more of my college years if it wasn't about thirty times more expensive. And if it wasn't for the shared kitchen, one of the features of luxury student residences back home. Oh, and the TV in the lobby. Nineteenth floor lobby, also presenting me with three faces that immediately made me think of "One Flight Over a Cuckoo's Nest" - very affable people, nonetheless: "What's the number of the room you're looking for?"

Should have been 1492.

Joan

"Where have all the flowers gone
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone
Long time ago..."

Went to see her. Gotta admit I was pretty scared. After all, I had seen her back in '97 in Bucharest and I had gone to see Roger Waters two years ago. I had listened to an "adjusted", rather depressing, 2008 version of "Forever Young" on YouTube. I hadn't come to terms with aging yet. She's 68 and she's one of the most beautiful people I've ever had the privilege to meet (that is, if getting an autograph can be called "meeting" someone).

She had been interviewed by the local newspaper a couple of days before the concert and she had said that it took some effort to maintain her voice. I had been skeptical: "what voice? Could there be anything left of her purely hypnotizing voice?" Oh, I had been so wrong...

She stood for two hours, danced, drank lots of water. She sang "Silver Dagger" and "Joe Hill" and "Christmas in Washington" and she couldn't leave the Bob impersonation out of the picture, her barely-changed picture of sounds. Call it what you want, shrug and dismiss it as "motivational, inspirational, commonplace", but here goes my speculation: she's loving it, it's who she is.

The audience consisted mainly of "baby boomers", as opposed to the overwhelming proportion of t(w)eenagers that had come to see and hear Joan in Bucharest. I was one of them myself (in case there was any doubt about that). Speculation: the unsatiable "thirst" of my parents' generation was just being passed on to us during those unreal '90's and it was thriving along with our own. We were "catching up" and we were living their stolen youth, too.

I'm not afraid anymore.

Illusion

This is the only actual freedom out there.

It is within us to build walls.

We're never going to get it right.

"Look how far we've come." Do you really, really believe we have ever started walking down the path?

And what is it that's so cool about us, after all? Mice are an even greater piece of bioengineering, thousands of times smaller, still functioning very much like the unparalleled Homo sapiens. Where does the vanity come from?

Poor little blue dot, I feel your pain.

"There is freedom within, there is freedom without..."

Feels like I have to move on. To the next level. Got no clue what that actually means. There are times when everything seems to fall into place. This is not one of those times of "congratulations, you have reached Level 564!", when you are allowed to gloat for a couple of days, only to gather some strength for the battles to come. Sometimes you realize that you're going to have to face yourself in the battle. The bad news is yet to come, though: you know who's got to win. And you must learn the lesson that's going to keep repeating itself 'til you get it. Must learn to let go.

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Got way too much to lose these days. When did this happen? How could I allow to become unfree again?

Hello, Utopia, fare thee well. How do I stay truthful to myself? Are there any Pretending 101 textbooks? Should I just start learning how to let myself go?

We can still

Coworker. Me. Bank branch. Fee payments. Administrative, non-immigrative things to take care of. Return to work strictly necessary. Snowy late Feb afternoon.
"Hurry up, [coworker], we can still miss the bus!"