Mi-am facut bagajul

Mi-am facut bagajul sa plec in lume, in cea dinapoi, sa m-arunc in timp acum doua decenii si sa-i povestesc incruntatei cu nasucul carn din prima banca dinspre usa ca modul in care tine stiloul ii va influenta viata pentru totdeauna; sa o-ncurajez sa scrie, sa scrie mult, sa scrie mormane de maculatura pe care apoi sa le mototoleasca si sa le arunce, pentru ca prea putin atarna cuvintele cu care a-nsemnat hartia atunci cand ele au traversat deja mintea.

Mi-am facut bagajul sa plec, sa iau avionul spre pustoaica de acum zece ani care credea ca Alex de la mare va fi mare ei dragoste si ca baietii care danseaza house vor conduce lumea; sa ii sterg lacrimile din spatele ochilor, cele care se rostogolesc inapoi pentru ca s-a construit un baraj de rusine care cenzureaza si imparte lucrurile in perfecte si…care trebuie uitate; sa-i desenez aripi cu carioca pe spate si sa suflu inspre ele ca sa se deschida.

Mi-am facut bagajul, un bagaj greu, pentru o calatorie lunga, pe mare. Am plecat in cautarea celei ce am fost ieri, cea cu ochii mai limpezi cu o zi, cu mintea mai goala cu o scrisoare si itinerariul mai usor cu o calatorie; sa o asigur sa are o intuitie fantastica si sa ii multumesc ca m-a creeat pe mine, cea de azi.

Si cine stie, apoi, care-mi va fi urmatoarea destinatie…

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For English version, please scroll down. Obisnuiam sa spun ca daca ar fi sa aleg intre a trai in adevar sau a trai in fericire, as alege adevarul. Nimic nu s-a schimbat. L-am cautat cu atata indarjire, incat acum, la aproape 28 de ani, mi-e teama ca sunt foarte aproape de a-l vedea in toata fragezimea lui, plesnindu-ma peste ochi cu vigoarea si sanatatea lui, indepartand cojile miturilor care mi-au tinut de cald atat vreme. Stau in fata unui boboc care inca nu s-a deschis, dar care, tachinandu-ma, face loc irisului meu curios in incaperile lui interioare, lasandu-ma la savurez cate o clipa a ceea ce mi se va infatisa in curand. Nu stiu cand a inceput calatoria mea. A fost cand am rupt legaturile dintr-o relatie abuziva in care mi-am consumat mai multe resurse emotionale decat credeam ca am? A fost cand am imbratisat cu devotament ideea tatalui meu cum ca nu exista nimic dupa moarte si m-am trezit intr-un paradox care tipa dupa explicatii? A fost cand mi-am dat seama ca mi-e frica de mo...

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