Pictures. She has thousands…hundreds…I even lose count. All over the place: in her phone, laptop, wallet, in the house. I love them. I love to take photos. I’ve always said these will be the best memories ever. I threw many pictures and I am sorry for that. What an immature child I’ve been. I sometimes spend hours looking at my old memories. There are places I’ve been and forgot about them, people I’ve met for a few hours or even minutes. By looking at pictures I remember them sometimes… Even if we talked for a little while some of them changed my life or maybe they’ve just changed my way of looking at things. We remember some things for ever, as if they happened yesterday. Other things we forget instantaneously. Today I’ve found the pictures I took in Madrid, a very beautiful period of my life. That is the place I’ve learned, I’ve been guided, and I’ve met wonderful people. I had the chance to spend a lot of time with older people, who had a very big life experience. They didn’t have a simple and easy life.
I once went to eat with 6 ladies. They were different ages, mentalities and life principles. I was the kid there, staring and looking at them just as one watches a tennis match. From one to another. I loved the way they drank white wine at nook, smoked flavored cigars and talked. Just for a few hours, they had left their problems elsewhere; their phones were in the car; they’d left their children and went to have a chit chat. At first I didn’t make a sound. Maybe I just introduced myself and that’s it. For me it seemed like a perfect painting, at least for the ladies they were. They were laughing their hearts out; they were saying cheers when one of them was talking about a nice story or a drama while the joy they received from the others was sending away the sadness. Even if this happened just for a short while. I don’t know…
The most interesting thing was that every story was different but in the end the problem was the same: men. At 30,40,50 or even 60 years old they shared the same thoughts, about them, men. Altogether, 90% of women’s talks are about men and children (as far as I can see). Women generally share a lot of details or maybe they share only what they want to but they leave the impression they said all the things they wanted to say. Especially when a woman is in pain, she could make the whole world cry because of her drama. And according to that saying, when you are in pain you feel no one could understand because no one could have ever lived such a pain. The truth is that all men and women feel the same. We just show it differently. Age is also an important factor. If when you’re 20 you cry, you bang your head against the walls and you tell everybody, I’m sure that when you’re 40 you cry on the inside and you suffer but you want to show others how strong you are. And so on … the damn suffering is so hard…
And because I am a woman…. Here is another poem close to my heart…
We used to forgive you; we used to cover for you
We can not postpone it anymore
We would finally have to recognize
Women have yet no right.
We daily work like slaves
We were so beautiful on our first path
But we are always doomed to become ugly
Because of you, the ones who love us
We stand since dawn
Don’t be surprised we’re not that thin anymore
What about you, the ones who see themselves like boys
Why don’t you look like grooms?
Where we have the right to work,
We work as hard as we can
And from time to time, you put children in our wombs
And leave for others, laughing
When you are hurt you want us beside you
Or you get drunk, because you worked so hard
We cry for you when you go to war,
Or even when you get scared during a medical exam.
We loved you heroically and illegitimate
Legitimate heroic love,
You beat and cheat us and we know it
Or sometimes we just do the same
And the ones present, on a short term
Steel your memories
They would pay lust with robbery
Deadly, by stealing the same lust.
And, sometimes, we sin purely
By believing, among tears pouring from atheist eyes,
That God itself is just a man
And He can’t understand women.
But, there once was something too beautiful
Just like love stories
And now, we kill each other daily
And find no sense in destruction.
Life without a purpose wins
You also win, in a cowardly way,
We live like widows
And our hands get rough
And now, when you hear this reproach
Look back, without looking
And you thing it is not about you.
But still it is about all of you
You have the same hunger and malice
Female pain for husbands
It is like a credit without guarantees and interests.
You don’t feel good in our presence
And you would kill us, dear men
So this is what we ask of you:
You may offend and talk to us in a bad manner
But do it without yelling
And wait until the children go to sleep.
Female pain by Adrian Paunescu.