Crying in my dreams

I read somewhere that when you dream that you are crying, you actually are crying and not only dreaming about it. Well, last morning I dreamt that I cried. The occasion? I found myself at the entrance of the white building which turned out to be the National Gallery of Art in D.C. My favourite place which, long time ago, I used to visit almost every week. I know perfectly well why I was crying in my dream, and it certainly had nothing to do with the Gallery, but I still wonder how I managed to connect a picture with the feeling of sadness and loss. Workings of our mind are truly mysterious.


Zanosi/ Notions

Zanosi su lude ptice nepovjerenja. A kada umiru, gasnu kao ljetna kap u oku.

Painting by Trisha Lambi


My sister, myself

I have a younger sister, yet I am an only child. She is much younger and has never, ever behaved like a sister to me. Of, course, I had been very jealous of her for some 20 years.Then, I simply stopped because, finally and painfully, I realised that my parents are going to favour her no matter what. I was powerless and could do nothing about it. So I had decided that I should do with the love I have inmy family. Since then, I feel better , but there are still times and occasions which throw me back to feeling stupid, betrayed and angry. Angry at myself. Few years ago I realised that my sister thought that she was my parents’ pet because of her wonderful or exceptional personality. She expected the world to behave so : everybody should, if not love her, at least like her enough to do as she desires. I was stupefied. I was surprised and couldn’t believe that a mature person can entertain such ridiculous notions. Stupid me. When she got seriously sick, I was shocked; I even made some private wows of which I am not sure I can keep up. I cried for months. I didn’t want to lose her. I still don’t. She doesn’t like me, she is jealous of me (I cannot fathom why, but jealousy is not a rational feeling, they say), she is mean to me…………..We may not see each other or speak to each other, but I still love her. I am in a bind, in a place I do not like to be. Nothing is simple and love does not “overcome it all”.


Travelog, February '10

Once, a lifetime ago, you said about my weekly train journeys: "Oh, how romantic!". I had never, until you said it, considered them romantic. But, maybe they are, if someone is waiting for you at the other end. Usually, nobody is, not any more, not for a long time. Usually, I just sit in the train, drink my coffee, listen to my walkman and, maybe, read a book. More and more I just look out of the window at the well known landscape. This is the same rout I have been taking for more than 30 years. I should know every single house, tree or road by the tracks, but, surprisingly, I do not. Not really. Traveling has always, and still is, been an emotion, escape of sorts, being nowhere in particular. Very often, an anticipation. This rout witnessed many of my feelings (tears even): betrayal, love, happiness, sadness, hopelessness.

Painting by J.M.W. Turner


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