Mai scrisese cineva si Andressa despre asta. Citisem pe un blog blogul ei care facea trimitere la site-ul Tango sau Tabu, nu mai tin minte, la un editorial semnat de nu mai stiu cine Alice Nastase.

In orice caz, ideea era ca sunt doua tipuri de cadouri.

Intai sunt cele pe care le afisezi cu mandrie, dorind sa arati ca in acel lucru zace simbolul unei iubiri/prietenii/relatii pe care ai striga-o in gura mare in fata intregii lumi. Le pastrezi postate pe rafturile cele mai vizibile, inramate pe noptiera sau pe masuta din sufragerie. Nu eziti sa raspunzi cuiva ce inseamna daca esti intrebat. Lasa urme de praf pentru ca nu le stregi niciodata, stiind ca sunt acolo unde le-ai lasat tu, cum ai decis tu.

Si apoi sunt acele cadouri pe care le tii ascunse in debara, in vreo cutie veche. Sau pe care le-ai aruncat la nervi. Sau pe care le-ai spart in mii de bucati, convins ca asa nu o sa mai existe. Cadouri pe care le-ai distrus, ascuns, aruncat, crezand ca asta o sa le opreasca existenta. Nu vorbesti despre ele si nu vrei sa stii ca au existat. Ba chiar urasti orice iti aminteste de ele si crezi ca o curatenie si o selectie riguroasa te-ar scapa de gandurile care te bantuie.

Pentru ca obiectele se pot arunca, arde, ascunde sau distruge. Pentru ca te-au legat de cineva demult, iar asta a durut atat de tare si de intens incat a trebuit sa pui punct. Si singurul lucru asupra caruia aveai putere era acel biet obiect incarcat de semnificatie numai pentru tine. Spargandu-l cu ura sau uitandu-l intentionat intr-un colt ascuns al dulapului si-al sufletului tau iti luai ultima farama de demnitate inapoi. Iti dovedeai tie, macar pentru o clipa, puterea. Poate ca ai posibilitatea de a face ce vrei cu un biet obiect nevinovat, insa asta ramane tot ce-ti sta in putere. Si mai departe de atat nu mai depinde de tine.

Presents

Someone else Andressa wrote about this before I did. I first read it on a blog her blog quoting an article signed by idontknowwho Alice Nastase in one of the magazines the magazine Tango or Tabu, cant remember.

Anyway, the thing is there are two types of presents.

First of all there are those presents you show off with. The ones who appear to be a symbol for a love/friendship/relationship you’d endlessly talk about. You keep those ones on your most visible shelves, framed on your night stand or on the coffee table in your living room. You have no problem telling their whole story to anyone that’s crazy enough to ask. They’re so dusty because you never whipe them – you dont really pay too much attention to them cos you kow they’re there, where you left them, when you decided it’s time.

And then there’re those presents you keep hidden in your closet, in an old box. Or that you threw away when you were angry. Or you once broke in thousands of small pieces, convinced that way they’ll dissapear. You never talk about them and you don’t even wanna remember they existed. You hate anything reminding you of them and truly believe that cleaning and organizing your house would help you stop these thoughts hounting you.

Because objects can be thrown away, burn, hidden or destroyed. Because they meant something to you so long ago, but that hurt so badly that you had to say stop. And the only thing you could prove your power on was that little nothing, but so full of meaning to you. And only by furiously breaking it or leaving it behind in a hidden corner of your closed you could finally get back some of your dignity. Like this you’d prove to yourself, at least for a moment, that you are in controll. Maybe you do can controll a small inocent object, but that’s where your power ends. Because besides that it’s not up to you anymore.