a coursebook in personal history

16 June 2012

I wrote the following in my diary:

“no matter what will happen

tomorrow, after a year

or after a minute

a while ago I was flying

on two wings

the first – the wing of a spontaneously made decision

the second – of a butterfly

the first was supporting me better

because the butterfly asked me

if north winds died during the summer

and I said they probably just subsided

so it’s flitting slowly

waiting and meazuring the wind

waiting for wightlessness, for silence

in which it will move a wing

and cause a hurricane

a new, a brand new warm wind

salty, sunny, made of hay”

I’ve got two requests I demand to be granted after my death (in case they don’t get granted, I’ll turn into a ghost and I’ll haunt those who didn’t keep their promise): one of them is that I am cremated and that my friends carry me in little boxes to different places in the world I didn’t manage to visit. The other is that, should I never write a book in my life, my diaries are published. Why? Because you don’t have to be famous for your diaries to be valuable. I believe I have things to say to the world but unfortunately I don’t know how. Diaries are my sketches which at least give an idea about what I would say if I wasn’t too lazy to develop my expression devices. Anyway, I only wrote that in case I die sonner than expected.

Today I just wanted to say (it won’t be “just”, though) how important personal history is and how it can be a real refreshing slap in the face. Or an old friend who, just when you’ve begun to melt down in self-pity in front of her eyes, rises and hits your face with a pillow, saying, “Shut up, bitch!” and while beating you up makes you remember all those little moments of your life which you erroneously fail to take as lessons.

Being alive, I’ll allow myself to reveal to you “what the author had in mind” above. It was 16 June 2012 and I was sitting on the armchair in the living room and studying for my state exam but, as often happens, I interrupted my duties (I’m doing the same right now) because of two things: 1) the control over my body in that moment was taken over by my heart anyway and 2) a phone call with Slavi who talked me into applying to the National Academy of Arts. All these butterflies, summers and, unavoidably for me, winds actually mean:

“I don’t know if I’ll pass my state exam

I don’t know what will happen to my life at all

but it’s a fact that my soul is singing

because I spontaneously decided to move on to studying something I really love

(photography, that is)

besides, I’m in love

but the first thing is more certain

because I don’t know if I won’t be disappointed again

that’s why I’ll wait

and see if this time I’ll hit the right person”

(Do you see the extent to which the looking for meaning degrades the work of art?)

Well, it turned out winds could be even more ruthless in the summer. But, it also turned out that the direction of the wind is ALWAYS right with everyone having two choices – either to let themselves be controlled by it or to just let the wind fill the sail. In both cases the engine is outside them but in the second one the wind isn’t pushing… it’s filling in!

What I mean is (today’s a day for self-interpretation):

No, he wasn’t the right person. But it turned out there weren’t wrong decisions. On the contrary, having chosen something I loved eventually brought me happiness.

It eventually brought me…

the right person!

And do you know whay this is a slap in the face?

Because we all read things like “Follow your heart and all doors will open for you”, “If you do what you love, you’ll meet the right person” (a favourite phrase for reassuring single people) etc, just insert your favourite positive message. However, most of us don’t believe in these things deep in themselves. No, it’s much easier to pity yourself; really, it takes just a little effort but the effect is fast and you can feel it with your whole body. I’m saying this as a person who, absolutely every day (I’m not exaggerating!) asks herself questions like “Why am I doing this?”, “Am I happy?”, “What’s my purpose?”, “Can I really just follow my heart?”…

And the answer is there – in my old diary on the page dated as 16 June 2012. The beginning – literally the moment – of a personal story of mine that tells about me choosing to study what I love, getting easily accepted and meeting the person I have always waited for… Just like that. After a random phone call with Slavi.

I hadn’t just forgotten about that moment. I had never looked on it as a lesson. As an absolute conformation of everything that business-minded people say in books to make easy money from women and men with existential crises: if you do what you love the world will bring you everything you need!

I know it’s true. I’ve done it. It works.

I also did bungee jumping, though, a few years ago but if I rose on that bridge again, I’d feel the same fear. It must be the same with following your heart. It takes many, daily jumps.

But you know what? Even sporadic jumps should work. What’s more, the first twenty are probably the best because there was still fear in them.

Fear! Fear! Fear!

I let this word not push me but fill me in!

And in the end, I’ll allow myself – a girl just turned 26 (last night I had another revelation – “but I’m not a girl anymore! I’m 26” but I’ll tell you more about this some other time) – to give you two pieces of advice:

First: keep diaries or remember

Second: follow your heart



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