Nine Months

20.02.2020: If you were to ask them, they’d tell you that’s the day THEY decided my services would no longer be needed. And that’s ok. I was clearly the black sheep of that place, I’ll give ’em that, but what’s a good story without a villain?

Regardless of my evilish behaviour, I was lost and exhausted, hadn’t slept since October (it was February), had fallen in the worst kind of love, as innocent as a fourth grade crush, a love that comes unexpectedly after you’ve already resigned, after years and years of telling yourself that perhaps you just aren’t meant to feel anything extraordinary, not in this lifetime at least, that perhaps the adult – or the villain – you’ve become just doesn’t deserve it. I had fallen in the worst kind of love, the kind that doesn’t expect anything in return, it just keeps giving itself unconditionally. It hits deep, it hits hard. And when it’s finally time to say “good-bye”, because such love isn’t meant to last, but to inspire, forever change you and restore your lost faith in God – you listen and trust the voice that tells you “Your mission here is done, you can go now” and you go and don’t look back even if it hurts like no other pain you’ve ever felt because you know it’s the right thing to do – this is where my journey begins.

March was an inner battle. I had just lost a  fiancé , a house, a job and the man I had fallen in love with. All I had was some leftover dignity and an insatiable thirst for freedom while other people were concerned about toilet paper, ravaging supermarkets and leaving the shelves completely empty behind them. Than going back for more. Fear was turning them into savages. In the meantime, the people in charge were closing down borders, taking ridiculous “safety” measures and bombarding us with catastrophic news and statistics. I found everyone’s panic hilarious. Found a new home for this old lady arse and remembered I had wings. I never once covered my face with a mask – but started removing old ones, one by one.

April was about watching old movies by candlelight, sitting on pillows by the window, settling in, decorating and conjuring the repressed artist in me. The whole world was going mad, the restaurants were closed and the streets, soulless – meanwhile, I was asking the Universe for some guidance for finding my higher purpose. I could already feel there was much more out there for me. Something noble, something that would make this life of mine really matter. I knew I couldn’t go back to a mediocre existence. Not after everything I’d been through. For the first time in my life, I knew I deserved something wonderful. Never seen people lined up like this at an entrance of a food store since I was about 4 or 5 and lived in a Communist Romania. I came clean to my mother, confessed that I’d been smoking marijuana for the past years and there were no regrets. Asked her to trust me and the process. She said she’d try. Poor thing, I can only imagine how hard it must have been for her to even consider my “drugs are actually good for you” hypothesis. In America people were already protesting against the suspiciously restrictive rules and absurd curfews. So I wasn’t alone in this, there were others!

In May, I started missing the stuff I used to take for granted, old routines (like thrift shopping and going to Gail’s for sourdough and latte and to Five Guys for vanilla milkshakes – no bacon, no cream). I missed people, human contact, the overcrowded, oversaturated trains. I saw this one billboard on a speeding bus that read “Pigeons are just sky puppies. Only a speciesist would treat them differently”.”Finally!” I thought. It was the first positive message I had heard in a while. The world was in dire need of help, compassion, kindness and love…More childhood wounds were resurfacing, needing to be addressed. I watched House MD again, for the third time. I was hurt, in love and starting to see things from his point of view. I brought Lil’Prince the pigeon, home. I started sleeping in the afternoon, an old lady habit (thank god that phase didn’t last long). I gave up smoking weed. I became wiser, calmer. My mould was changing. I was reinventing myself, parts of me were dying every day. Pain. Pain. Pain.

June brought the #blacklivesmatter revolution on different parts of the globe. I listened to my heart through a stethoscope. I heard it beating for the first time. I cried. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. After all I’d been through, I was still here, I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t numb. On the contrary, I was feeling more alive with every day that passed. I’d been given the chance to start over. Wiser. Stronger. More authentic. More honest. I got myself some mini-lotuses and most of them sprouted. I watched them burst from their shell and grow. Such power, such beauty! I kept having these strange dreams and one of them hinted that this might be my last life here, on Earth, which came as a confirmation of the importance of my mission. This could be my last chance to make a difference. I finally understood that the coldest people are the ones who suffer the most and made a promise to myself that I would always try to ease pain everywhere I go. I found myself crying for those who couldn’t find their way, for the broken winged, those who were still stuck in materiality. I prayed I could do more. I became a pescatarian. I was asked to wear a mask on the 95. I loathed the experience. That was the only time I complied. My opinion remained unchanged, they still couldn’t convince me there was anything to fear. I thought about death as the next level after the lessons here have been completed and the mission, accomplished. It made sense. Death was nothing but rebirth under a different form, anything but the end of everything. And if it was, than I had a duty to make the most of this life.

In July London reopened and I was still holding on to the thought of him. People started travelling again, acting like things were going back to normal. But I didn’t want things to go “back to normal”, although I immediately invaded some thrift shops aaand a beauty salon or two (almost simultaneously, that’s how bad the situation was). The streets were getting crowded again, but this couldn’t have been it. We still hadn’t done the work. We still hadn’t learned anything. We still weren’t patient and kind to each other. I had a very strange feeling, the same feeling I used to have when, in school, I hadn’t done my homework. I felt like I deserved a small grade. Paradoxically, people were more drawn to me for advice or some kind of reassurance than ever but all I kept saying was “do the work, I’ll do the work, let’s all do some work, it’s long overdue” like a broken record. But it all came with a revelation: telling people about my spiritual experiences ignited a fire in me. I couldn’t help the passion and this new found desire to bring out and save the good in everyone, just like I’d been saved. To serve. I never felt such dedication to anything. It was unreal and raw, it almost felt like a calling. Almost as if I had found my purpose. I could now read through their insecurities and fragilities and pain and there was such beauty underneath it all! They were so easy to harm, so easily controllable and I wanted them to know they were powerful beyond measure, I wanted them to fight for their souls and most of all, I didn’t want them to listen to me, but to start thinking for themselves and draw their own conclusions. I wanted them to know that if I, a small, unimportant romanian girl had found a different way of doing it, so could they. I applied and got accepted into a business programme, started working on an old, wacky shoe idea of mine. I realized that my insanity was all I had at that point. There was no turning back.

August came and I wanted to shout out loud, so the whole world could hear that it can be done. That the state of Nirvana can be attained and innocence can be regained. I thought about the many who waste their lives waiting for someone to madly fall for them and save them from pain and solitude (but what gives us the impression that we can just ask to be desperately loved by another when we refuse to change so that we can actually become deserving of an amazing love? how can we ask someone else to enjoy our company, when we get so easily bored in our own presence? why do we insist on giving others control over our happiness instead of taking it into our own hands? why do we refuse to become whole men and women, instead of just settling for half of someone else?) For the first time, I became aware of the overwhelming responsibility of my new found freedom. What was I going to do with it? A coal tit died in my hands, reminding me that we can’t save them all. But I was still going to do my best. I knew there was nothing left to hold on to, yet I couldn’t let him go completely. I guess you could say I was a part-time stalker.

Along came September and with it, all the pain I’d been through started to make absolute sense. This was the final test of strength. I was almost there. I almost had enough of it. The moment I truly decided to work on detachment from the single thread I’d been holding on to, was one of my proudest. I had made it so far – on my own. I thought ”One day I will regret not having read all of mother’s emails, jokes, recipes and forwarded prayers.” So I called her. I randomly asked myself: “If sociopathy is a mental disease for people who feel too little, is empathy a mental disease for those who feel too much?” I got myself a trip to Venice for my birthday. I concluded that  awakening is all about respect. Respect for nature, animals and fellow human beings, acts of kindness and understanding, humour, making every encounter meaningful, being present, leaving traces of yourself in everything you do and finding out what makes you relevant. And at the end, leaving  your own graceful mark on this earth. I held Lil’Prince in my hands knowing I’d soon have to let him go too, he was fragile like an open heart. “Why can’t people suffer with more dignity, like animals do?”

October came and the temperatures suddenly dropped. I could feel myself cutting that last cord. Damn, it was hard! But I was doing it. I realized that summer had passed and I never got to spend a whole night walking around town to catch a sunrise in Tower Hill or Rotherhythe, like I promised myself I would. My revelations became so intense, I’d call them ”spiritual orgasms” – only they were better and longer lasting. I thought a lot about friendship. The meaning of it, the beauty of finding loyalty in a stranger, the magic of trusting someone with your deepest emotions, the nearness of someone who truly understands you. Someone with whom you can cry and laugh unapologetically, perhaps even simultaneously. I thought about the friend in me with an incredible urge to improve her, make her more subtle, more empathic, more responsible, more present. Ultimately, some may say I chose freedom over love, but, as I’ve come to realize, love IS freedom, therefore my leaving has caused no major disturbance in the universal order. Things happened exactly as they were supposed to. I wasn’t meant to stay. Perhaps I’m not meant to stay anywhere, or just haven’t met someone to prove me otherwise, who knows? We’ll all find out together. I heard about self-mastery for the first time and became interested in the concept. I dared myself to get a thousand steps closer to that level of awareness by the end of next year. What I didn’t want to do was to ever carry any more conversations with no substance. Empty word exchanges that don’t move or challenge or test you. He saved me. He saved me the way Jack saved Rose and V saved Evey. And I want to believe I opened a new door for him too, the way Trinity did for Neo. I really hope so, cause, damn, he saved me.

November

Another month, new revelations. Never having let any man I’ve been with cum inside me doesn’t make me a freak after all (well…). Yes, life happened, getting older happened, sex happened, good times and bad times, going with the flow and getting into relationships happened, but this body has always tried to protect itself against any man who would have wanted to “mark” it as theirs. They were all amazing men, but nothing more than lessons. Neither of them was meant to stay. I’m constantly analyzing myself and – flaws and all – what I’ve created so far is the most fascinating woman I know – there is much room for improvement, now that I know how to do it, but if some Irish lad  came to me and asked “How are you in yourself?” I’d reply “I’m really happy in myself, thank you.” And if my hypothetical daughter would turn up to be like me, I’d be the proudest – hypothetical – mother in the world. I still don’t know my destination, but I’m the first in my family to have come this far, which means I’ll still be walking alone for a while. I’ve cut the last cord and given up on my Twin Flame journey. I let him go, although I could never unlove him. It was time. I’ve become a continuously self-shaping mould. My life is an experiment. Oh yes, and I absolutely ruined a lesbian party. I was simply oblivious to the signs (I’m really sorry, ladies, sometimes I’m naive like that). Yes, and one more thing: whatever happens, in my eyes I’m already a winner. Somehow, the worst is behind me.

20.11.2020. My business plan got approved. From now on, you can call me “Miss Entrepreneur”. The nine months cycle is now complete. On to the next one!

Green Eyed Kisses,