Eponine: The struggle of a too much woman

“I am a too much woman for boys, I am too childish for men”

My dear Eponine called me at 3am one night. They say only drunk, heart broken and in love people are up at this time during the night. I was sleeping like a bear.

After another break-up, Eponine swore to me at 3am that night that she is done with dating men until she reaches the fatidic age of 25.

3 months after that night she got engaged.

My 100th date

Today I went on the 100th date since my last serious relationship.
From 100, two men made me laugh. One of them too much and he is now my best friend, and the other one just enough to intrigue me.

I discussed today with my date about underwear and cheap pubs. My date told me about his secret recipe to happiness: never doing laundry.
We talked about his family and how he misses his mum. She does his laundry when he goes home. She now lives in London so he buys cheap underwear so he can toss it away everyday.

This was the first time when I felt the true meaning of the British slang “fair enough”.
So I told him fair enough while wishing I wouldn’t have tossed away so many hours of my life.

To the man I’ll marry one day

I made a hole in the wall; I tried to fix it; It went alright till I destroyed the wall.

It’s midnight. This afternoon I started fixing my cracked wall – last week I had a painting falling into it.
My painting is fine, by the way – Ars longa, vita…?

It’s midnight and I’m still trying to do it. You know, I like to think that I am able to do whatever my brain wants me to do.

But this fucking hole, I cannot fix it!

To the man I’ll marry one day… I will make you dinner every night, you – just fix my cracked walls?

Introduction (1)

There’s this little French boulangerie, ‘Victor Hugo’, where I get my weekly dose of pain au chocolate and Edith Piaf. Going there makes this exile feel more poetic – I can imagine the 19th century cafes in Paris, where great artists and great thinkers met to talk great ideas.

However, in this petite boulangerie, the Frenchiest place in this mouldy port town, there were no great thinkers or artists last Tuesday. We were just me and my friend, sitting at the street. She – a 21st century Eponine with a ‘je m’en fische’ look and life philosophy.

She lights up another cigarette: ‘So what now?’.

I shrug my shoulders. I wish she’d stopped talking for a while.

I go order another cappuccino in my poor French. ‘So what now?’ I’m saying to myself while waiting for my drink.

I get back to our table to find a Rolls parked in front of Eponine and my seat taken by another idiot.

‘That’s your cappuccino, thank you’ I say to Eponine, leaving her with the guy and my coffee.

The sun remembered this rotten town. It has been a while since we met last time.

Nefirescul meu e firescul lor aici

Eu personal nu m-am nascut in mine cu vreun sentiment de patriotism extraordinar.
S-au aprins pe rand niste beculete pe cand invatam istoria romanilor la scoala, dar oricum eu atunci nu aveam spiritul de a intelege tare multe.

Cred sincer ca e nevoie sa pleci departe si sa ajungi printre straini ca sa realizezi cine esti si de unde vii. Sa realizezi ca Romania nu e cacatul suprem, asa cum zic multi in timp ce pleaca capul in jos, in gest de neputinta.

Nu o fi bine, dar nici in alte locuri nu e o realitate mai placuta. E vorba ca oriunde ai merge, te confrunti realitati diferite, iar daca e sa fim nihilisti, peste tot e de cacat si pute!

Aici mi s-a intamplat de tare multe ori, atunci cand zic ca sunt din Romania, sa citesc diferite microexpresii pe unele chipuri si schimbari de atitudine. Imediat, sunt intrebata si ce fac aici, in caz ca nu ma aflu in momentul respectiv in campusul studentesc. Intrebarea e de cele mai multe ori pusa cu subinteles.

Ce vreau eu sa zic este ca…
Aici nefirescul meu e firescul lor.

Iar cu gandul asta, as incheia totusi cu faptul ca alegerea mea de a vedea lumea intreaga ma face fericita si ma invata multe. Eu stiu ca ma voi intoarce acasa intr-o buna zi, cu altii, impreuna, sa facem bine unde-i rau.