.ro

Astazi este ziua de nastere a mamei mele. Nu am apucat sa ii cumpar nici un cadou, distanta fiind principalul impediment (ea in Constanta, eu in Timisoara), dar am decis sa-i dedic aceasta postare. Deja o cunoasteti fugar…am tot pomenit-o in textele de pana acum si cu siguranta o voi face si pe viitor. Fiecare dintre noi avem o relatie speciala cu parintii, iar daca nu aveti inca, va invit sa claditi una inainte de a fi prea tarziu. Crede-ti-ma pe cuvant, ei sunt singurii de pe fata pamantului care ne iubesc neconditionat, care ne inteleg si de a caror experienta de viata merita sa tinem cont, pentru ca vrem nu vrem, avem acelasi sange… 🙂

Eu nu am fost mereu prietena cu mama mea. Imi amintesc foarte bine, vivid chiar, o anumita perioada a vietii mele numita adolescenta.. 🙂 Ce timpuri de restriste, razboaie, revolte si rebeliune! (am invatat multe cuvinte cu „R” pe vremea cand eram raraita.. 🙂 ). Ca orice adolescent, ma plictiseau toti cei ce imi doreau binele… evident, in frunte cu mama. Ma irita imaginea ei de profa’ a dracu’ (a fost profesoara de fizica extrem de severa), pe care o exercita cu brio si acasa. Pe de alta parte, admiram intens relatia minunata pe care avea/are cu tata si nu intelegeam eu cu ce-i gresisem. 🙂 Adica…amandoi veneam tarziu acasa seara, amandoi fumam, amandoi mergeam prin discoteci :P, amandoi la fel de boemi, amandoi dezordonati, poeti, mistocari, reticenti la noutati, rock-eri, imi zicea mereu ca seman cu el, dar pe el il iubea si pe mine (adolescenta) ma chinuia… Nu intelegeam de ce ma tot innebunea cu tinuta, postura, mersul, hainele (fara blugi rupti, si chestii „lalai” care sa-mi distruga feminitatea – va imaginati cam ce parere are mama de curentul „Over Size” pe care eu il ador la ora actuala), cum reusea sa arate impecabil si cand ducea gunoiul, cum o sunau toate prietenele pentru sfaturi despre orice, cum reusea sa aranjeze toata casa si sa gateasca in timpi record si cum in fiecare zi a existentei mele imi amintea de cat de importanta este cartea, buna cuviinta si respectul pentru aproape (netagaduind ca in viata, e bine sa joci si putin teatru pentru a mentine o stare generala de bine, atat pentru tine cat si pentru cei de care te inconjori). Am ajuns la onorabila varsta de 37 de ani si marele meu regret este ca nu am pastrat un jurnal in care sa-mi notez toate sfaturile mamei, caci, desi nu le-am vazut rostul inainte de a implini 20 de ani, ar fi fost marfa de contrabanda in ziua de azi… 🙂

Sunt deja mai bine de 15 ani de cand mama e cea mai buna prietena a mea. Am avut un parcurs circular. M-am rupt de cordonul ombilical, m-am razvratit, am vociferat, am plecat, am facut, am dez-facut, m-am calmat, m-am gandit si usor, usor am revenit catre aripa ocrotitoare a mamei mele. Nu spun ca acest lucru s-ar fi intamplat daca viata nu ne-ar fi aruncat atat de departe una de alta si daca perindarile mele prin tara si lume, nu m-ar fi determinat sa caut acea unica si sfanta legatura cu pamantul pe care am crescut. Mama a fost si este „radacina” mea infipta pe tarmul dobrogean, legatura mea cu marea, cu nisipul pe care, copil fiind, ii scriam numele in inimioare , cu scoicile din care imi faceam margele, cu valurile in care ma scaldam, briza care ma racorea si rasaritul in bratele „caruia” ma trezeam de atatea ori pe balconul din apartamentul printilor mei. Te iubesc mama!

Nu sunt singura de felul meu pe aici, nu? 🙂 Haideti in comment-uri cu povestile voastre faine despre mame, mamici, mamicute, „mamon-uri”, „mutti-uri”, etc-uri…. 🙂

.com

Today is my mother’s birthday. I didn’t get to buy her a gift, mainly because I don’t see a point when we are so far away from each other (she in Constanta, me in Timisoara), but I decided to dedicate this post to her! You already know her a little bit, she was present in a few of my writings here, and she shall remain so. We all have a special connection with our parents, and if not so, I advise you to do so…before it is too late. They are the only one loving you unconditionally, understanding you and your needs, and their life experience is the best advice your „blood” is sending you over the decades.

I wasn’t always friends with my mom. I remember very well, vividly, my adolescent years….  What times of bereavement, wars, riots and rebellion! (I learned a lot of „R” words when I wasn’t able to pronounce it…) Like any teenager, my parents bored me… especially my mom. I was irritated by her „severe teacher” looks ( she was a physics teacher her entire life)  that she brought home with her. On the other hand, I was admiring the crazy-beautiful relationship she had with my father, and wondered: what had I done wrong?? I mean…both of us were coming late home at night, we were both smokers, we were both going to discos, both bohemians, poets, messy, reluctant to new things, rock lovers, she always said I was identical to him, but him she loved and me (the teenager) …she tormented. I didn’t understand her obsession about my posture, my walk, my clothes (no ripped jeans and oversized things, that were messing with my feminity), the fact that she looked perfect all the time, how her friends were all calling for advices, how she had all the housework and cooking done in no time and how each day of my life she told me about the importance of learning, being educated, humble and loving with everyone I surround myself with ( not hiding that sometimes we have to be actors in order to save relationships and moments…). I reached 37 years of age and I regret not keeping a jurnal with all of her learnings, that could have been forbidden merchandise at this time… 🙂

There are more than 15 years since my mom become my best friend. We had a circular path. I broke the ombilical cord, I rebelled, I clamored, I left, I did, I un-did, I calmed down, I thought, and slowly, slowly I returned to my mother’s sheltering wing. I’m not saying this would have happened without life throwing us so far from each other, or without my need to remain connected to the ground I grew up on. My mother is the „root” I stuck on the Dobrogea’s shore, my connection to the sea, to the sand were, as a child, I was writing in hearts her name on, to the shells I was making collars from, to the waves in which I bathed, to the breeze that cooled me and the sunrise light that woke me up so many times in my parent’s balcony. Love you mom! 🙂

I am not the only one of my kind in here, right? 🙂 Come in comments with your wonderful mother-daughter stories.. 🙂