Since I left I heard "I miss you" more often than ever ....
And I wondered why people are like that .... but I did not find the answer and I do not think that I'll ever truly want to.
Someone once told me that my smile lights up the room I enter ... and although I would have loved that to be true, I didn't find it so. That I later formed a mechanized repulsion more than a natural one on compliments is another story. But today I believe it.
Whenever "the boys" get together and the drinks start pouring I get phone calls scrambled by Gheorghe Dinica and Ioan Bocsa's "Ana, zorile se varsa!" which accompany distinguishable long, deplorable and sincere: "Anuca, I miss you!" and my brother's failed attempts to detach himself from the drunken atmosphere by trying to give the impression that his "I miss you!" is not something to be thrown around and played with while having a drink, that his "I miss you!" far surpasses the value of the others and is predestined for moments of candid, above-human spirituality, moments of intimate familiarity that "only the noble blood that runs through our veins" can create.
But I am his sister and I know far better that he would say "I miss you!' just like everyone else and that it wouldn't mean less, it wouldn't be less wonderful or less sincere than it would be in that brotherly intimacy he wishes for.
My brother is an exceptional man! And it's enough to see him once to realize he's an exceptional man! He has the look of a man that was born to create and become and the eye circles of a drunken tramp. He's not trying to look , nor is he bohemian. With no attempt at trying to show it, he's brilliant. He can "put you in your grave" with only one look and he almost never realises how badly he frightens the few people with whom he rarely exchanges a few words.But truly exceptional about my brother is his "immortal laughter". Who read Hesse and I'm sure not many did, knows what I'm on about. In the same time, who read Hesse just for the "noble" sake of a cultured man's pride, and I'm sure there are many, will probably say that I don't know what I'm saying and that my claims are poetic exaggerations of a sister who's run out of means to kiss her brother's ass. To he who actually read (and I will return to this point) Hesse and can honestly admit he did not understand what the hell the "immortal laughter" is, I can honestly say I couldn't have understood it if it weren't for my brother. I was never endowed with extraordinary intellectual capacity, but I've had plenty of what people call "luck". Not "a shit load " nor do I think I need excesses of kindness and mercy from the Supreme Entities, but I had luck. I read Hesse and I understood him only because I had the "luck" of having my brother next to me,in close proximity may I add. Such a man can not throw around an "I miss you" even when he is torn apart by his own being and when inside him takes place the supreme struggle between king and jester, between "living" and "dying" that, without false modesty 'cause that is not one of my features, his sister anticipated without -at least not until now-understanding.
A certain 'I miss you' followed by 'you've changed' drove my attention more than the rest.Why? Because I did not expect the master, "Him" not "him, to be like everyone else. I did not expect the supreme man, the man who ""taught me how to be free to ever lower himself on the same level with all the other "mortals" and look back searching for me.... To him I would personally say that you do not tell the dead you miss them. And I would say this because he could not span more than what was obvious: that I've changed, but not that "I died." He would understand that my heart hasn't stopped beating, I still have blood circulation and breath, but the girl,the child,the adolescent and all the other "characters" he has known as Ana disappeared four months ago in a plane crash. So far I have never lived life so full of feeling and meaning as I did in those 3 hours...But I will come back to that some other time. I thought he understood that, but I was wrong and that's why I will not give him more than a smile over the phone to a drunken old man mumbling nonsense about March 3,sense and my footsteps.
How I feel when I hear them ?!... Fuck knows! I don't feel in any way, yet I feel somehow. It's hard to express the strange sense of detachment that I am feeling now towards people that I loved honesty and that I really cared for. I think it's fairest to categorize me and put me in a large pot with all those whom we say can not grow roots. Still that's not completely true!When I was near a "ground" I rooted there ... but only until I could root in a better soil. Now it would be foolish to say that the earth is moving while I'm being still.It would also be foolish to say that I'm moving and the earth is immovable. Truth is that for this metaphor to reach the level of somewhat truthfulness,it needs both the plant and the soil to move. And I'm not always the one that leaves the ground, regardless of how much some would love to believe that I am indeed a bitch. My land also left me, kicked me out and while being hurt and with torn roots I had to find a new soil, 'cause if there's something I can say for sure, that's that I'm a plant that needs its soil.
Some plants don't, for others it's just a matter of convenience and for others a fad. But I need the ground. Still, from the need for land to the need for a specific land there's a long way to go and much water is to flow on the river until you get there. And that is exactly what distinguishes me from the other soil needing plants.
Or leaving the plants and soil metafor aside, when I hear " I miss you!" I unseenly smile while, not out of politeness, I say "I miss you too!".
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