life revisited

I was just reading an article in one of the Norwegian papers about the ability of people to wait. The ability to wait is connected to the ability of succeeding, of achieving better results than those who can’t manage the waiting process. It is also closely linked with our intelligence.It got me thinking about my own perspective on that. With the years I have come to understand the huge impact the capacity of being patient has on our lives. Nothing can be built in one day and the impulse of seeing immediate results is self-destructive. There are people who have given up on so many things in life only because they could not see beyond the present moment. But immediate gratification represents the easy path most of us would like to be given in life.What is that one thing which makes us want to go forward, to fight for things, to struggle through difficulties? It is the final image of what we will ultimately be able to have; it is that target which we think would bring us happiness and fulfilment. Nobody can succeed without compelling motivating factors. And come to think of it, it really takes a lot of willpower and courage to envision those final results and be happy to start your walk towards it. Not being able to reach immediate enjoyment whenever we want to do/achieve something makes our chances of succeeding very slim.And yet there are people who can control their impulse of instant gratification and wait. These are the people who always seem to be the winners. And as it turns out, it also means they are intelligent, more optimistic and better at long-term work. Therefore, people who manage to wait for what the future has to offer, enjoy a happier life in the end.

My first book read from the first to the last page in Norwegian. I know that the pulse of a book cannot be felt genuinely if not read in its original language, but I thought if I were to read it in translation, then might as well try the Norwegian one. After having read a review on a literary French blog, declaring the book Sabato's best, I decided I must read it.Firstly, the plot is simple, maybe too simple if it weren't for all the ideas behind it. Love and loneliness. The problems of our time. The plagues of the contemporary world. If we were to identify the meaning of love by the way we give love, very few of us would belong to the category of those who give unconditionally. The conditionality of love is more than a personal characteristic, it is a social formation. And then there's loneliness. We can read in the papers every day how the number of lonely people is increasing, how a better material situation doesn't come together with a good partner in life. Except that many of us just prefer it this way. For many of us loneliness can be a state of being by pure choice. I suppose in this case one calls it solitude.Secondly, I resonated with the painter (the protagonist) from the very first page; with his disdain for the critics, for the conventions, for the socializing process, for all the masses with their stupid sets of rules which they follow unconditionally in order to be part of the crowd they are so proud of. He has no consideration for the average and is in a perpetual state of discontent. It was enough to draw my attention.But nothing comes in relative terms when it's about this kind of characters. The extremes are the rules of life, everything is driven beyond its boundaries, making you a sad and hopeful witness in anticipation of the extremity's effects. There's something both positive and negative about loneliness. It teaches you to be independent and strong when facing the cruelties of life, but at the same time it creates a huge abyss between you and the reality. It actually creates two opposing things at the same time: makes you both stronger and vulnerable at the same time. Not being in touch with things makes you unprotected, takes all control from you. Moreover, it alienates you from the majority, which is part of the despised crowd and which follows the rules you can't stand.Being part of this world implicitly means belonging to a certain society which carries rules its members must comply with. Refusing to obey these rules makes you vulnerable. And this vulnerability brings suffering along. Love has also its general guidelines accepted by the society, they actually help you set certain boundaries to all impulses and instincts humans might have.But then again, people who refute the conventionality have some cold blood in them, their living is rather self-centered, they are trying to adjust reality to their needs and wishes. Thus, love becomes a necessity of confirming their powerfulness. And there is one irrefutable thing : unconditionality; which means total dedication to their gigantic existence.

I came across one of Hemingway's quotes a couple of days ago, which says: Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know. It got me thinking, it's not as if there's anything new about the statement, I have already been through the stage where I would go about life and pretend to bear the cross of unhappiness as a result of intelligence. This time it made me wonder whether there's a way out of misery for those whose mind never stops working.First of all, the intelligence is so closely interconnected to unhappiness because the world's a battlefield where the rules of the fight are not dictated by reason, but by instincts. And life is all about fight. Fight for a better place, for a warmer bed, for a softer chair. The principles of fight are quite distinct among people, based on who they are and how they think or how much they think. It's quite a blissful experience when one doesn't spend much time thinking about things, one which I have always longed to have. Therefore, intelligence is all about considering the complexity of things, taking out the mediocre and futile, focusing only on meaningfulness and relevance. But this is such a strain of mind! Smartness means high levels of expectations, hence low chances of satisfaction.One thing brightness should be in search of is creating happiness out of any situation of life. One must infiltrate satisfaction in everything one does and adjust things and activities to one's tastes and desires so that life becomes more bearable and even enjoyable. But then again, this is a very simplistic way of putting it and it takes a very long way to get to the simple part of everything. But one should try and excel at everything one puts one's mind to. As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said, In character, in manner, in style, in all things, the supreme excellence is simplicity.

If I were to cast a long and careful glance in the past, I would definitely be able to see an almost painful longing for a different way of being. I knew what it was back then, but I knew it only at the emotional level, not exactly aware of the whereabouts of all those feelings of craving for something else, for what I did not have, a rebellion against a wave of thoughts and actions which, though being mine, I did not accept as being truly representative of who I was or what I wanted.I have always been fond of simplicity; simplicity in food, in clothes, in the relationship with others, in all approaches of life. And when I saw simplicity, I would fall in love with it. Because being simple in your very nature means being satisfied with life, even being grateful that you are alive. I cannot think of a better existential perspective. The struggle for a more positive view on life has marked my whole existence so far. I've been looking for reasons as long as I can remember, and I've got quite good memory. Am I the contrast of simplicity? No, not exactly. Would simplicity save me? It definitely would.A conformity to the given state of things offers more satisfaction in what one does and goes through. The more pretenses we have in life, the more we want to achieve, the less happy we are with everything. There is no end to our aspirations, the moment we reach a certain goal, another takes its place and so it goes forever. I have met people who were so far behind others in terms of success and personal achievements, but who would turn out to be models of optimism, of wonderful optimism. My deep admiration goes to them. A movie I have recently seen reminded me again of how fortunate one can be if one finds simplicity and makes it a friend for life.

Motivatia e cheia oricarui succes. Unii au aceasta cheie tot timpul in buzunar si isi realizeaza planuri, obiective, visuri cu o lejeritate atit de fireasca incit te face sa te intrebi daca exista o geana responsabila de motivatie si care tie iti lipseste.Eu de fiecare data in perioadele mele de alergat in fiecare dimineata (ca asa se intimpla, pe perioade) tot timpul reusesc sa ma motivez doar intr-un singur fel: ca asta trebuie sa devina un mod de viata, ca asta e ce trebuie sa fac pina la sfarsitul vietii, ca metabolismu meu nu-mi permite sa lenevesc pe canapea si sa maninc ce-mi pofteste inima. Si de ce doar astfel devin eficiente incurajarile mele de a ma trezi cu noaptea-n cap cind toata lumea doarme, sa-mi pun adidasii si sa infrunt cu mare curaj frigul de afara? Pentru ca noi avem tendinta sa ezitam atunci cind realizam existenta unei alternative, a unei evadari, a unei intorsaturi intr-o alta directie, cu speranta ca poate ce ne asteapta acolo se va dovedi o optiune mai buna.Iar idea asta ma duce la un gind mai vechi de-al meu: ca multitudinea optiunilor in viata ne face mai nefericiti. Cit de fericiti par stramosii nostri in comparatie cu noi. Ei nu traiau in fiecare zi cu o constiinta a unor posibilitati care iti pun la indoiala in mod constant alegerile facute: si daca trebuia sa aleg altceva? Ca doar sigur exista o cale mai neteda spre ce imi doresc. Dar parca mai stim ce dorim in acest amalgam de optiuni, perspective, informatii, oferte, etc etc?Si intorcindu-ma la motivatie. Asta e tot ce ne trebuie pentru a ajunge la idealul propus, odata ce trecem partea cu motivatia, e ca si parcurgerea a mai mult de jumatate de cale. Dar nu e asa de simplu, pentru ca a fi motivat inseamna a fi inarmat in fiecare zi cu argumente: si de ce e nevoie de atita efort, si de ce trebuie sa muncesc din greu acolo unde altii primesc gratis, si de ce pina la urma am nevoie de lucrul asta? Nu e mai simplu sa renunt si basta? Motivatia e unealta invingatorilor. Este oare si a celor fericiti?

Aseara TV2 a prezentat cartea si filmul lui George Orwell cu numele de 1984. O reprezentare mai veridica a situatiei din tara nu cred ca exista. Atmosfera filmului e infricosatoare, deprimanta.Cartea (si filmul) reprezinta o viziune de viitor a modului de a trai intr-o societate totalitara. Cetatenii sint redusi la statutul de sclavi, sclavii unui sistem care are monopolul a tot ce exista, de la viata insasi pina la informatie asupra fiecarei miscari ce se produce in societate. Toti sint permanent supravegheati!Partidul preia puterea absoluta, insusi gindurile oamenilor sint controlate "pentru a asigura puritatea sistemului oligarhic". Figura principala a sistemului este omniprezentul si omnipotentul Big Brother.Versiunea ecranizata a cartii lui Orwell are o durata de 1 ora si 40 de minute. Dupa vizionarea filmului ramai cu o senzatie de amaraciune disperata in suflet. Winston, angajat de Partid ca sa reconstituie trecutul si sa-l ajusteze noilor sloganuri ale Partidului, isi propune sa demascheze frauda cinica a organizatiei de care e angajat."Cel care are control asupra trecutului are control asupra viitorului" este sloganul Partidului.Cartea (si filmul) reveleaza personaje, teme si cuvinte care au devenit parte din viata cotidiana.Puterea corupe, iar puterea absoluta corupe absolut.Este trist si degradant sa realizezi ca faci parte din societatea prezisa de Orwell. Influenta nefasta a sistemului nu trece pe linga tine, ci prin tine.

Chaque fois qu'on s'en remet aux autres pour régler un problème, on renonce à sa liberté. Je ne suis pas de la race des perdants, et je ne demande pas aux autres de régler mes problèmes. Ma liberté, je la protège. Ma liberté, je l'aime.

All humans are afraid of mediocrity. None wants to be invisible to others. It is only natural to feel that way. But how many of us escape mediocrity really?Firstly, we never get to know how people perceive us and how many of those who we encounter throughout life remember us in the end. Someone once said that if only we could get the chance to see ourselves through the eyes of the others, we would instantly vanish from the surface of the earth. Even if it sounds too radical and harsh, it is the truth. We can take as an example the embarrassment we feel sometimes as a result of something which shouldn't have been said or done and sounded or looked wrong. It is because for a moment we get to see ourselves from the others' perspective. Nothing's more unbearable than the awareness of your own mistakes.Secondly, there are so many of us in the world. And even if we all try to regard ourselves as unique and different from others, in the end one can find very little genuine distinctness out there. We fight our own battles, but deep down they are all the same battles. Love, suffering, happiness, loneliness, all follow the same pattern and all pertain to the humanness, which has been the same since ever.And then again, what is mediocrity? Because it seems to be a condition of life, the sooner we realize and conform to it, the better for our peace of mind. Have you noticed how peaceful we become when we decide there's nothing we need more, that we have reached the point of due contentment? That we are no longer obliged to keep on proceeding with great efforts a distant target which is supposed to be our destination (even though we are not exactly sure what this destination is exactly)? Yes, this eternal toil towards a not quite clear goal is no more than the getaway from mediocrity. But can we really run away from it?

Земфира - Во мне (Сон)СонСтранный сонЯ вижу отражение себя Столько летВо мнеВсе словаВо мнеТишинаСнова дождьСтучит свои признания лунеЭтот дождьНаверное не знает обо мне Во мнеКораблиВо мнеГородаВо мнеВся любовьВо мнеВсе что есть.

There’s a quite interesting article in Aftenposten today which examines the issue of children as women’s choice of life; because women that choose to bring other human beings in the world decide on a different direction of life than those who take advantage of the right not to. Both these choices are just alternatives we women now have, which was not the case in the past. But the prejudice is still present in the contemporary society: a woman is expected to give birth at one moment in life.The title of the article is “When biology becomes destiny” (Når biologi blir skjebne) and it actually makes a point: most women choose having children as a validation of their biological fulfilment. A woman must give birth as early as possible in her life, so that to be able to reach the days of being the grandmother that gives a helping hand to her daughter’s child rearing.Another point raised is the well-known quote of Simone de Beauvoir: “One is not born a woman, but becomes one.” That is to say society, with all its rules and expectations, shapes women’s minds and decisions they make in life. Which is not to say that women’s eagerness to have children is not genuine. It definitely is. But this is the result of so many years of role models women have had throughout history. It is a biological urge and it becomes destiny.On the other hand, some women’s biological clock seems to be really quiet. Sometimes there are economic reasons for that, other times women just settle on some other fascinating things they find in life.Either way, it is so great to finally have the equal right to men when it comes to the course of our own lives.

I decided to write about one of my very favourite authors: Haruki Murakami. My first reading was Kafka on the Shore and then followed all the others: Norwegian Wood, Hear the Wind Sing, the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, After Dark and my favourite Sputnik Sweetheart.Murakami is the sixth recipient of the Franz Kafka Prize for his novel Kafka on the Shore. He is considered by critics an important figure in post-modern literature, and was praised by The Guardian as one of the "world's greatest living novelists." His father was the son of a Buddhist priest. His mother was the daughter of an Osaka merchant. Both his parents taught Japanese literature. Murakami is often distinguished from other Japanese writers for his Western influences. In addition, Murakami is a keen marathon runner, although he did not start running until he was 33 years old; which increases my admiration even more.Murakami's fiction, often criticized by Japan's literary establishment, is humorous and surreal, and at the same time digresses on themes of alienation and loneliness. Through his work, he was able to capture the spiritual emptiness of his generation and explore the negative effects of Japan's work-dominated mentality. His writing criticizes the decline in human values and a loss of connection among people in Japan's society. And as Larry Weissman puts it: “Murakami draws wonderfully nuanced, unforgettable female characters who are difficult not to fall in love with.” Precisely.Though some reviews of Sputnik Sweetheart claim that this is not a representative novel of Murakami’s, it is the one that made me fall in love with his way of writing. He explores alienation, loneliness, dream aspirations, disappointment, suffering in a society where time runs wildly and where conformity comes in the way of great minds. It is also Murakami’s writing style which makes me admire the way he accurately expresses the nonconformity, youth, originality, burden of commonness in today’s society.And of course, it is a beautiful opening of exploring the Japanese spirit all throughout his works.Haruki MurakamiSputnik SweetheartExcerptIt was about two weeks after the wedding reception when Sumire called me, a Sunday night, just before dawn. Naturally, I was asleep. As dead to the world as an old anvil. The week before I'd been in charge of arranging a meeting and could only snatch a few hours' sleep as I gathered together all the necessary (read pointless) documents we needed. Come the weekend, I wanted to sleep to my heart's content. So of course that's when the phone rang."Were you asleep?" Sumire asked, probingly."Um," I groaned and instinctively glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed. The clock had huge fluorescent hands, but I couldn't read the time. The image projected on my retina and the part of my brain that processed it were out of sync, like an old lady struggling, unsuccessfully, to thread a needle. What I could understand was that it was dark all around and close to Fitzgerald's "Dark Night of the Soul.""It'll be dawn pretty soon.""Um," I murmured listlessly."Right near where I live there's a man who raises roosters. Must have had them for years and years. In a half hour or so they'll be crowing up a storm. This is my favorite time of the day. The pitch-black night sky starting to glow in the east, the roosters crowing for all they're worth like it's their revenge on somebody. Any roosters near you?"On this end of the telephone line I shook my head slightly."I'm calling from the phone booth near the park.""Um," I said. There was a phone booth about two hundred yards from her apartment. Since Sumire didn't own a phone, she always had to walk over there to call. Just your average phone booth."I know I shouldn't be calling you this late. I'm really sorry. The time of night when the roosters haven't even started crowing. When this pitiful moon is hanging there in a corner of the eastern sky like a used-up kidney. But think of me--I had to trudge out in the pitch dark all the way over here. With this telephone card I got as a present at my cousin's wedding clutched in my hand. With a photo on it of the happy couple holding hands. Can you imagine how depressing that is? My socks don't even match, for gosh sake. One has a picture of Mickey Mouse; the other's plain wool. My room's a complete disaster area; I can't find anything. I don't want to say this too loudly, but you wouldn't believe how awful my underpants are. I doubt that even one of those pantie thieves would touch them. If some pervert killed me, I'd never live it down. I'm not asking for sympathy, but it would be nice if you could give me a bit more in the way of a response. Other than those cold interjections of yours--ohs and ums. How about a conjunction? A conjunction would be nice. A yet or a but.""However," I said. I was exhausted and felt like I was still in the middle of a dream."'However,'" she repeated. "OK, I can live with that. One small step for man. One very small step, however.""So, was there something you wanted?""Right, I wanted you to tell me something. That's why I called," Sumire said. She lightly cleared her throat. "What I want to know is what's the difference between a sign and symbol?"I felt a weird sensation, like something was silently parading through my head. "Could you repeat the question?"She did. What's the difference between a sign and a symbol?I sat up in bed, switched the receiver from my left hand to my right. "Let me get this right--you're calling me because you want to find out the difference between a sign and a symbol. On Sunday morning, just before dawn. Um...""At four-fifteen, to be precise, she said. "It was bothering me. What could be the difference between a sign and a symbol? Somebody asked me that a couple of weeks ago, and I can't get it out of my mind. I was getting undressed for bed, and I suddenly remembered. I can't sleep until I find out. Can you explain it? The difference between a sign and a symbol?""Let me think," I said and gazed up at the ceiling. Even when I was fully conscious, explaining things logically to Sumire was never easy. "The emperor is a symbol of Japan. Do you follow that?""Sort of," she replied."'Sort of' won't cut it. That's what it says in the Japanese constitution," I said, as calmly as possible. "No room for discussion or doubts. You've got to accept that, or we won't get anywhere.""Gotcha. I'll accept that.""Thank you. So--the emperor is a symbol of Japan. But this doesn't mean that the emperor and Japan are equivalent. Do you follow?""I don't get it.""OK, how about this--the arrow points in one direction. The emperor is a symbol of Japan, but Japan is not the symbol of the emperor. You understand that, right?""I guess.""Say, for instance, you write 'The emperor is a sign of Japan.' That makes the two equivalent. So when we say 'Japan,' it would also mean 'the emperor,' and when we speak of the emperor, it would also mean 'Japan.' In other words, the two are interchangeable. Same as saying, 'A equals b, so b equals a.' That's what a sign is.""So you're saying you can switch the emperor and Japan? Can you do that?""That's not what I mean," I said, shaking my head vigorously on my end of the line. "I'm just trying to explain the best I can. I'm not planning to switch the emperor and Japan. It's just a way of explaining it.""Hmm," Sumire said. "I think I get it. As an image. It's the difference between a one-way street and a two-way street.""For our purposes, that's close enough.""I'm always amazed how good you are at explaining things.""That's my job,' I said. My words seemed somehow flat and stale. "You should try being an elementary-school teacher sometime. You'd never hnagine the kind of questions I get. 'Why isn't the world square?' 'Why do squids have ten legs and not eight?' I've learned to come up with an answer to just about everything."You must be a great teacher.""I wonder," I said. I really did wonder."By the way, why do squids have ten legs and not eight?""Can I go back to sleep now? I'm beat. Just holding this phone I feel like I'm holding up a crumbling stone wall.""You know...," Sumire said. And let a delicate pause intervene--like an old gatekeeper closing the railroad crossing gate with a clatter just before the train bound for St. Petersburg passes by. "It's really silly to say this, but I'm in love.""Um," I said, switching the receiver back to my left hand. I could hear her breathing through the phone. I had no idea how I should respond. And as often happens when I don't know what to say, I let slip some out-of-left-field comment. "Not with me, I assume.""Not with you," Sumire answered. I heard the sound of a cheap lighter lighting a cigarette. "Are you free today? I'd like to talk more.""You mean, about your falling in love with someone other than me?""Right," she said. "About my falling passionately in love with somebody other than you."I clamped the phone between my head and shoulder and stretched. "I'm free in the evening.""I'll be over at five," Sumire said. And then added, as if an afterthought: "Thank you.""For what?""For being nice enough to answer my question in the middle of the night."I gave a vague response, hung up, and turned out the light. It was still pitch black out. Just before I fell asleep, I thought about her final thank you and whether I'd ever heard those words from her before. Maybe I had, once, but I couldn't recall.