I saw the news just a few minutes ago, and I cannot express how empty it made me feel. The Cranberries music was with me during the happiest years of my life, and one of my favourite songs ever – When You’re Gone – played at my prom – and I danced to it, and I cried to it, and I felt melancholic, nostalgic and infinitely grateful for my school years, and so purely, naively happy to this song… I could not even think that just after a couple of years I would listen to it to remember Dolores. I will never ever hear her live. I envy people who have. But I am also happy that her voice and her music has been – and always will be – part of my life.
This is not the most poetic and eloquent text to write to honour one of your favourite performers, but I just had to get it out before I started crying. Now that I have sung out the whole previous paragraph in a low, faulty voice, I really feel better. And maybe I am ready to write a piece of poetry – just to write something beautiful for Dolores. For myself. To know that I tried to thank her for the beautiful music she has filled my life with.
Do not judge me too severely. The poem is improvised, not prepared in advance. I want it to be as natural and sincere as possible.
Don’t ever close your lips,
Don’t turn the volume down,
The world has gone to sleep,
The sun has just gone down,
Don’t ever stop your song,
No matter we wake up,
Our love for you is strong,
We’ll turn the volume up,
We will not sleep a night,
As long as you sound near,
As long as the Earth turns right,
As long as we can hear.
But when you fall asleep,
The world will be your dream,
The sun’ll kiss your closed lips
With one last wandering beam,
And we’ll go on awake,
With your voice in our lives,
Our hearts, souls – for your sake,
To keep you here. Alive.
Mind that whatever I write here, is not planned in advance. It is just one of those evenings when I am ready to write as I think, so, if something seems incoherent and unpolished, please feel okay with it.
I might sound harsh just because it is so bitterly dark outside, and there is not much snow. The sky is absolutely starless. Feels nearly as if everything and everybody is asleep, waiting for a miracle, which is not to come sooner than a week will have passed.
What do we all expect? Same as always – love and happiness. We wish for it every year, as if it is never given to us. It is wrong. We just have to value our loved ones. Even if we do, it is never enough. We are so greedy, so thirsty for happiness. In such a way, we will never ever be happy.
What is it that makes us unhappy? Is it important enough to make us as nasty as we are – just dreaming, and doing nothing to save what we already have? Do we really want to give the unpleasant things that much importance? They do not deserve it!
I’ve said that the darkness outside make me feel edgy. But nights should be dark. It is like this. And nights are beautiful. And somebody else somewhere is enjoying this darkness and counting the yellow spots of lighted windows; wondering what their neighbours are doing at this late hour; or just chatting with their sweetheart; or watching a nice romantic comedy? Shouldn’t I do the same, instead of yielding to melancholy.
I definitely should. So I stop writing and continue with a book I am enjoying tremendously (btw, it is beyond the TBR list I posted earlier this month, so I am going to keep it secret for a while, but sure be ready for a book review real soon!).
The heated discussion about the new documentary Diana: In Her Own Words made my phone go mad with notifications, as I had subscribed to all Diana-related news. I had heard some of Princess Diana’s tapes previously on YouTube as they had been broadcast by the American television long before, and could not understand at first, why make all this fuss about them being shown in the UK. Now I am even doubting whether I was right to hear any of those recordings, even if they were posted for public. The thing is – I am thinking hard whether a person of historical importance should be deprived of privacy even after her death?
Diana was haunted by the media throughout her life. It is reasonable to suppose that the huge public interest in her gave the newspapers enormous profits. Does public interest equal people’s love? Every single detail of her personal life was hungrily read both by fans and haters. It was an obsession. Now that she is dead, I am convinced that haters and obsessed followers should step back and quietly respect her for what she was. Keep her memory alive, the best memories of her, and not make a sensation out of what she would not like it to be made of.
This is not just for her children’s sake. It is also for Diana’s sake. For her name’s sake. And you will never convince me that her life belongs to history and everybody has rights to know it. Do the tiniest details of her personal life matter to the history? Have they changed its course? No. We all know that she experienced difficulties in her marriage which ended in a divorce. Why do you want to hear more of it? I just do not see why it is so important.
If we truly love Diana, her will must guide us in everything we do about her memory. Would she appreciate excessive publications of her private affairs? Hardly. She always wanted to be remembered for the work she did. So why we do not make more films about her charity patronages, landmine campaigns, the famous auction where she sold most of her marvelous dresses?
She was a woman with a complicated personal life, yes. But she was more than that. Let us put an emphasis on that MORE. If we do, it will turn out that she has enough of her personal space. As any other historical figure should have. Let us respect it!
First of all, let us see what you invest in one blog post versus fb profile pic (probably the most “liked” item on your timeline). Your article equals brainstorming + editing + formatting + wish to appeal to the audiences + courage to share your passions and opinions. A profile pic requires maximum some hysteria about a dozen unsuccessful selfies and a mini heart attack because of low battery on your phone. As you see, writing on WordPress is much more challenging and the appreciation of your efforts then costs infinitely more.
Now let us answer the question who are your “likers”. On Facebook, those are (mostly) people you know in person, somebody who will hit a “like” just because they know you, and not because your latest photo is really as ravishing as Angelina Jolie’s. A Facebook “like” is (most often) either the fulfillment of an unwritten rule of friendship (you are my friend = you like my profile pic), or a way to attract your attention and flatter you a bit. On WordPress, you hardly know anyone – we are here from all around the world, many of us even do not reveal our faces or tell everything about our personal problems. We are here to express ourselves. Thus, a WordPress “like” means that the way of our self-expression is valued, our ideas are appealing to someone, our brain content is worth being published because is appreciated by another creative, thinking individual.
Hence, when I press a “like” on your post, you may be sure that I really-really mean it. I am very proud of having a sidebar called “Posts I Like” – and yours appear there as soon as you trigger my thoughts or move my feelings. I am extremely happy to see the orange dot by the notifications bell and discover that some of my efforts have appealed to you, too. Tiny red squares on Facebook never affect me the same way.
On Facebook, you are who appear to be. On WordPress, you are what you think.
A few days ago I came across this hilarious pic on Pinterest
…and it inspired me to search for five more similarities between Pride and Prejudice characters and those of Disney. Let’s start!
Lizzy: She loves to read. She is headstrong and brave. She is prejudiced against her future husband. She has dark hair in both 1995 and 2005 film adaptions. She is…
Darcy: He is (seemingly) selfish. A terrible introvert. Does not want to admit his feelings. Undergoes a curing transformation and turns out to be quite tolerable. He is…
Jane: She is famous for her beauty. She is kind and naive. She believes in true love faithfully. She is definitely
Bingley: A very simple minded, naive, cute, friendly guy. Never looks deep into the problem, expresses his feelings ridiculously openly. Although he is never portrayed to be dark-haired, I am still convinced he is a total
Charlotte Lucas: I would have never mentioned her if I did not have a strong association of this nice, modest girl with
I am aware that I haven’t satisfied your curiosity about such significant characters as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Wickham, Kitty, Lydia and many-many others (oh, the irresistible Mr. Collins, too, of course!). I will definitely try to work on this in the future, but I also hope for your imagination! Let me know your thoughts here in the comments so that we can make a new Pride and Prejudice adaption featuring Disney characters!
You never know what you want – this is your main problem.
I have no opportunity to fulfill my dreams. Statement false.
What stops you from going on? How can you overcome it? Examine your personal qualities, find your faults (be cruel – they are there as long as you are not where you want to be) and imagine you are a superstar who has no rights to have them.
No money. Wealth does not equal willpower.
No time. There are two types of people – those who never have time and those who always do. You are the second, because we all have 24 h a day.
I have failed. Not an excuse. You are still closer to where you want to be than where you were before. You can create a new aim – and move there from where you are – with an experience and newly acquired resources.
Measurement of your success – your satisfaction. A satisfaction of somebody who is a champion of self-criticism (yes-yes, no tears, no pity, no forgiveness). To earn a praise from yourself is a great achievement. The moment you feel it – you are on the right track.
But remember – no matter how much you have achieved, you have no excuse to stop.
Nobody feels anything about this strange number. Eleven. It is between the top ten and fairytale twelve.
Eleven is also a fairytale. Eleven elves. And in German elf means eleven.
Eleven a.m. is too late for getting up. Eleven p.m. is too late for arranging meetings. Is eleven too early in any case? No. Always too late. Or in time. Simply because there is no other option.
What can you express in eleven words? Too strange a word-count to think about it.
Eleven steps away? Too precise to ever find a place like this.
Eleven roses? Probably an acceptable present to your sweetheart. At least something.
Eleven songs on an album? Frequently observed.
Cannot think of anything more.
Eleven deserves more of existence. In our thoughts, associations, realisations. I am glad to think that this blog post sounds like one more day in the life of number eleven. One more day in the life of an elf.
I’ve started the countdown from eleven seconds. Now I am pressing the “publish” button.
Mrs. E. appeared out of the dark to meet us. A strikingly beautiful woman, you could never say she was forty years old (that’s what Mrs. Caroline whispered to me just before the greetings). Guys would call her irresistible. At least it was clear from Ben’s look. I squeezed his sleeve rather rudely and raised my eyebrows, meaning You are my boyfriend or you lose a million.
I didn’t like Mrs. E. Not because she was more beautiful or rich than I was (but we will see what happens when I am forty years old). The problem with her was this: she was using her beauty and position to win over everyone and everything. It was easy for me to feel. I was a girl and I had at least some sense left in me. I clung rather possessively to Ben, sorry for him for the hundredth time that day and thought: You will lose that deal, bitch. You will.
I could not understand the meaning of Mrs. E.’s look at me. It was probably a look of interest, but a look of a snake was equally possible. I somehow knew a time will come and we will have to fight over something. No, not Ben. I doubt if she saw me as Ben’s girlfriend. I mean, she believed I was Ben’s girlfriend, but it wasn’t what I really meant to her. She was not going to play a game where we had equal chances. There was to be a game where she would be higher by all means, and breaking the rules would be wrong. Even for such an unreasonable girl like Emily J.
I don’t remember how Mrs. Caroline introduced us. I only know that after pronouncing my name Ben kissed my cheek and I didn’t kill him not because we had agreed on it, but just because I hardly noticed it. I was thinking of Mrs. E.’s opinion of me, and what the fight or game between us was just around the corner, and I was feeling it just like an old witch feels with her nostrils.