Old and new, different yet the same…

A new blog… the third one…

A place to ruminate about my existence. A place to showcase photos. A place of mind and reflection. A place where the essential is always invisible.

I need to write. I need to write to keep myself sane… kind of… Sooner or later I return to writing, it is an important part of me. It doesn’t matter if I write good or bad, if there is a purpose for it or not, if there is an audience for it or not, if it’s in English or in the other languages I know. I have this writing obsession, this writing compulsion, this desire to play with words. I need to create images with words. I need to paint with words.

It struck me today that we keep doing the same thing, that we are never too far away from where we started… It’s just the setting that changes, it’s just the stage, the outfits, the background that contribute to the illusion of change, to the spell, the magic. The action is the same, the script is the same, the outcome is the same.

I come from South-Eastern Romania. I lived almost half of my life on the banks of the blue Danube River, under the almost always cloudless sky, breathing the hot summer air and seeing the bright sun all year round. I grew up in a particular family environment, marked by separation, loneliness, negligence and abandonment. I never managed to develop normal friendships or have satisfying relationships. I spent most of my time alone in my grandparents’ garden, studying the plants and contemplating the sky. Or playing the old piano in the house. Or writing imaginary stories in my journal about the cats visiting the garden. But I was given the gift of intelligence and insight, as well as a lot of courage and a taste for freedom.

I am today in France. In South-Eastern France. The blue Danube waters were replaced by the blue Mediterranean Sea, I am under a similar cloudless sky and I breathe a similar hot air and see the same burning sun. The high river banks were replaced by the mountainous azure coast. I am alone. The cats’ chronicle was replaced by the blog. I still study and photograph the plants and the sky. I still enjoy baroque music. And I help others with their relationships and I get paid for that. I was courageous enough so restart my life again, anew, afresh. And I am still smart enough to see that everything is repeating again and again and again.

What has changed really?

The fact that I’m living in an upscale, luxurious place?

Am I really far away from where I started my story?

Is it something really new?

Or different?