Fourth

I’ve been surrounding myself with all kinds of beautiful things lately, made a home out of this house I’ve moved in, turned neighbours into friends, hanged vintage sequined blouses on my room’s walls feeling like they looked better than paintings anyway, became a temporary host to a baby pigeon and then to another one which is in front of me right now, grooming itself and rearranging it’s feathers, looking back at me with beautiful, almond shaped eyes, ordered a row of yellow lightbulbs to make my room even more fairytale like, invested into some small, vintage Reuge music boxes to remind me of the one I got as a present many years ago, asked my folks to send me all of the broken jewellery I could never convince myself to throw away to turn it into new art forms and those almost seven kilos of random crapola took me back to a place I hadn’t visited in a long, long time.

I mean, I’ve rediscovered all kinds of things I’ve been keeping in boxes and bags all over my bucharestian room since I was a child. It’s almost unbelievable how a handful of beads, a silver butterfly pendant adorned with marcasites, a bunch of silver wire rings you once made, a couple of colourful interchangeable Philips SHE 2610 headphone caps and a Kinder Surprise cow that, depending on how you move it’s tail can either open or close it’s eyes can take you back to memory lane, connect you to that inner child of yours you haven’t spoken to in a while, relive his traumas and pure joys, the pain and some of the stages he’d gone through to become you, the complex, mature and almost whole woman that you are today.

 

It’s been a long journey and yet here I am, looking at this intricate necklace I remember putting together some years ago in my room in Bucharest and almost can’t believe my two small hands and brachydactyl type D fingers have made it happen. It’s as if a whole different person has come up with this beautiful thing from spare parts and things that no one seemed to care about anymore.

And if you were to ask me what it is that I’m feeling as I’m running my fingers through it, I would say humbleness.

I’m feeling humble for having come so far in this relationship with myself to understand that all the beauty and pain in my life, all these creative and artistic inclinations, my muses’ presence for brief but ecstatic moments in time and even the lack of it for the most part of my existence, they all come from a Divine Source and have a Divine purpose that I have yet to discover. I have now come to understand that all these gifts I have been given (they may not have been brought to perfection yet, be many or all that important to anyone else) are uniquely mine and I’d be a common fool not to acknowledge them and their potential at least now, in the twelfth hour, hoping it’s not too late.

  

Humble for having been blessed with optimism, wander and love for everything that’s around me and a different way of seeing things.

Humble for having been given enough wisdom to know that, wherever I am, whatever I do, whoever I’m with – or without, I am enough. Brave enough, independent enough, patient enough, strong enough, resourceful enough to make it anywhere. And if not, I can always start all over again with nothing else but the clothes on my back without giving a single shit about what anyone else might think.

Humble for having finally risen above fear.

Humble to have gotten to a place in my life where the stories I’ll be telling my grandchildren – be they happy or sad – will be more important than an overly planned, dull and safe existence.

Humble for having been given a path that no one has taken before.

But most of all, humble for having been given more than I know what to do with.

 

Green Eyed Kisses,