“Vaga, her name will be Vaga.” Those were my mother’s words three hours and seventeen minutes after I was born on a cloudy October day, when the weather was starting t get cold, but you would still like to stare into the distance through an opened window. She thought the name sounds nice, interesting, different, and I still believe she wanted those attributes to be the main ones people would use to describe her newborn baby when she grows up. I’m also quite sure she was unaware of the meaning of the name, at least at that time, and I couldn’t not believe the coincidence when I found out what the word stands for in some foreign language: “scale” and more importantly “libra”. You see, I am a libra, by the date of birth and by personality. I’m generally not into astrology, maybe to the level of reading my horoscope every morning, and smiling about how vague it is, and how it doesn’t change much over the time. But most of the people when they hear of libras, think about people who weight pros and cons of everything. And although I’m trying to deny it, that is who I am.
“Vaga, not Vega!” If you just give me a coin for every time I said those words. “It’s not Vega, or Vanna, it’s not short for Vanessa or Vallerie, and no you can’t call me Wendy!” I think of those words whenever I think of times that came before Ms. Battes became a substitute for my first name. From kindergarten to college, I would be spelling my name to people, and that is quite silly when you take into consideration the fact that it is a four letter word. People maybe just don’t want to bother with something that is not common. Wendy was therefore an easy substitute to use. Fortunately, most of the people decided to go with Vaga, not Wendy. And from just “Vaga”, for some I became “my friend Vaga”. Many people went in an out of my life, providing me with so many happy and sad moments. Some stayed, like Tara who after shouting at me for four years of college to keep my music down or keep our room clean decided to never leave my side. Some left me, like Marco to whom I was “my Vaga”. Although I technically left him, he abandoned my feelings ad needs long time before that. I was just his. Some, I had to leave, Like Eric to whom I was a “my everything Vaga”. Although I do believe we could form a great friendship, I think that now, it would be too much for his sensitive soul. Maybe, though, he does re-enter my life again. Most of the people, though just faded away from my life, and I faded away from theirs. Phone calls become less and less frequent until you realize you haven’t talked for few years. Your ways split and you don’t feel like you know them anymore. You then remember all the great times you had together, feeling regret for loosing contact. That regret bothered me a lot for such a long time. But I realize that people do come and go, and that you enjoy your time with the Friends of the Present, and that Friends of the Past still exist: they left their mark on the Vaga they spent time with.

“Vaga, my name is Vaga” I say eagerly to the person sitting on the opposite side of the desk, as if it was my first job interview I had during my high school years. I needed to get money for what was supposed to be, and was, the most amazing summer break ever. It was only a small job in the newspaper I was overqualified and underpaid for. But it was my first job, first step to independence. Later, it became a necessity since I needed money to support myself, and then, somehow, it turned into something my life started revolving around. I lived to work, not worked to live. How do I get a better position? How do I get that assignment? Am I paid enough? But no matter how high I climbed or how good of a job I had, it was always the same: dull, boring and irritating. So here I am, trying to take a first step of independence again: but not of my parents, but of bosses and chairmen, of striving for money and status. I’m interviewing to work with Claire, not for her. And if she says yes, we are going to start a new business. It is not going to be easy and it for sure is risky, but if it works, I’ll have a job I love. If I doesn’t, I already took the first step and that was the hardest part, I’ll just have to try and go in some other direction from there.

Vaga, I am Vaga. Nice, interesting and different. A libra. Not Vega, not Ms. Battes. Now a co-owner of Cinnamon Story, a bookcafe and a pancake shop. But it is not my name that defines me, I am defining my name. And what it stands for is not constant, it changes as I go through life, it changes depending on the eyes that look at me. The freedom I have, to change myself and to choose the eyes of those close to me, is the freedom of life, it is a freedom I’ve been striving for. I was able to do so much in past few weeks since the death of Vaga I was successfully presenting to people for so long. I am not sure if I killed her myself, or she died of, just fading away from my life as many other people have before. But as with those people, she does still exists within me, as I existed before, within her. And it is her that enabled such a rebirth of myself through suppressing me for such long time. Now I am truly here, fulfilling my Decision from months ago. I am Vaga.

“Happiness consists more in the small conveniences of pleasures that occur every day, than in great pieces of good fortune that happen but seldom to a man in the course of his life.”
Benjamin Franklin

I was walking down the street when the sweet sweet smell of chocolate splashed into my face. Chocolate…I haven’t eaten it in… how long? I can remember so clearly its tender taste on my lips, warmth spreading through my body and pleasure through my mind. Why did I stop eating it? Calories and weight, skin? Those things won’t matter tomorrow. I enter the shop and buy a dark chocolate bar wrapped in red paper. I’m breaking it up into small pieces and putting one in my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue. “Mmmm…” The moment of happiness.


“Freedom means the opportunity to be what we never thought we would be.”
Daniel J. Boorstin

I wake up this uneasy feeling that is stronger than usual, with extreme resentfulness to the idea of going to work. Maybe it is the chocolate I ate yesterday, or maybe it’s just the time itself the thing that makes me feel and see things a bit differently, uncovering the rebellious side of myself, that was sleeping deep inside. I decide, in the end, to pack my bag and I do proceed to work. Pathetic, you would say, I know. I do this on a regular basis. ‘Rebelling’ and than just doing nothing. But, the job is important. Like every working day of the week, I walk through the door; go up to the second floor and start walking to my office. That uneasy feeling from this morning gets even stronger as grumpy faces of other employees look at me while I pass by. I can hear my boss shouting through the closed door. Then, the door opens and the same angry voice calls me inside. I stand there, for I don’t know which time, just letting her words bounce off of my mind. Few minutes pass, they seemed like hours, and I just can’t stand it anymore. I turn and head towards the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” she shouts after me. “I quit.” The moment of freedom.


“Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.”
Saint Augustine

Getting rid of my job feels so good. It was just this burden I carried and now it’s gone. But there are so many burdens left. New arguments, old grudges. And yes, my parents. I left my house when I was 18, without looking back, never thanking them for everything they did for me, and just because they didn’t like, although they approved, my fiancé at the time. The same guy I divorced year and a half later. I stand by the phone, trying to remember the long phone number of a distant country, one I wanted to dial many times but didn’t. My fingers slowly move. I hear the phone ringing on the other side… and then a voice. For a short time I think about hanging up… No. “Mom, I’m sorry… And mom, thank you. For everything.” The moment of humility.


“See how nature - trees, flowers, grass - grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence...we need silence to be able to touch souls.”
Mother Teresa of Calcutta

The whole world started spinning so fast. Now when I have more time, I thought I would be able to relax. But I can’t… Life just keeps slamming new things into my face and the pressure I feel is even greater then before. I wouldn’t say quitting my job was a bad idea; I just have to adjust, find some peace. Peace…I decide to go out, out into nature and wilderness to free myself. Another thing I haven’t done in such a long time, another thing that used to make me happy. So, I stand here, on the top of the mountain, everything’s still. And I just stare into the distance. I hear the wind, nothing more. The moment of silence.


“Anger is a symptom, a way of cloaking and expressing feelings too awful to experience directly - hurt, bitterness, grief, and, most of all, fear.”
Joan Rivers

As I started to resolve problems from my past, I knew that I would have to do this eventually. I’m sitting in that yellow-chaired café bar I usually go to to meet with Tara or just to get out of my flat and read a book. But, Tara is not the one sitting on the other side of the table today. I’m looking at Marco and he’s looking back at me. He moved with me to this town during our unfortunate one-and-a-half-year marriage and stayed here, making it impossible to do this conversation over the phone. So, we start talking, first about everyday things, as it usually goes, but very soon we get to the reason why I wanted to meet with him – the past. Ironically, I left him the same way I left my parents, without a word. Now when I think about it, it seems that I haven’t always been this compliant calm person. If I were, maybe myself and Marco would still be together. But what has happened has happened. And one way or another, I wouldn’t be able to stand our arguments and his way of life in general. I wanted him to know that, to know why I didn’t like him and why did I, finally, left him. He then does something I could’ve expected him to do: he twists the whole situation, blaming me and only me for all of our problems. So many nights we spend shouting, he spent shouting and I spent listening to him, pass through my thoughts. And I’m hurt. I’m truly hurt. Anger over floods my mind, suffocating everything else I felt: sadness, disappointment, frustration. I sit up and doing that turn over the small café table. A glass hits the floor. “Crash!” The moment of anger.


“I found more joy in sorrow than you could find in joy”
Sara Teasdale

Dealing with past made me thing about it more than usual. I find one of those old dusty boxes you packed before you left home and than put it on the bottom shelf behind suitcases you never use. It is the time to go through old memories and times that were, on one hand, truly happy. I prepare for spending a nice afternoon on a blue carpet by the big dayroom window, sun warming my back, just looking at old photos and reading the letters and postcards from friends I stopped talking to a long time ago. And precisely those friends and conversations I’ve never had with them, although I wanted to, all the moments that have passed by and I’ve missed them turn my warm blue afternoon into very sad one. I know you shouldn’t be sad about something I didn’t do, but I am and I cannot help myself. I’m sad and I cry. And I cry about everything I always wanted to cry about, but never did. The final cleansing of the soul. Lonely sobs echo through the apartment. The moment of sorrow.


“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”
Rabindranath Tagore

I don’t want to grieve over missing opportunities ever again. I will live in the moment and for the moment. I will be selfish. I will help myself before helping the world. I cannot change anything without changing myself. I, I, I… My life truly is about me, my own feelings. It is true that we all strive to achieve happiness. And the questions is never ‘Can it be achieved?’, it’s always ‘How?’ Possibility of being happy is what keeps us alive. And being truly alive keeps us happy. And I feel alive. I start running. Up, up, always up ,towards the sky and the stars. The world and the people are spread around me and beneath me. I shout on top of my lungs. The moment of death.

He starts opening the door. “Close your eyes”, he whispers. It must be something special. It’s been six months since we’ve met. It is something special. He gently takes hold of my hand as warm summer wind enters the room, tangling my hair. “Come.” I feel grass under my feet as he leads me forward. “You can look now.” He has such a sweet voice. A little piece of nature on the roof of the building. Few trees, white flowers and a picnic basket. Ideal dinner… What should I say, you just have to love a guy like Eric. And the view, the most amazing view. Maybe it’s just the moment that makes it so amazing, though, makes you see the clear blue sky and those hills far away, somehow not noticing old grey buildings that surround you and traffic noise. It’s just me, him, sky above us and grass beneath us.

He starts pouring wine into our glasses. “Let us celebrate”, he says,” with the set of the Sun the rise of our love.” I just wonder where they find stuff like that. I laugh. Smile better to say. He smiles back probably thinking that I’m happy, and not laughing at him. It’s better that way, not saying some things. You have to compromise in a relationship between two living beings. Saves you lots of trouble. I take my glass: “Yes, let’s celebrate.” Although, I’m not quite sure what are we celebrating. Time? The fact we succeeded in staying together for a certain amount of time? Six months I spent with him not doing anything but now and then enjoying this shallow happiness. Why am I thinking like that? Aren’t I’m supposed to love him back. He kisses my lips and leans his forehead on my staring into my eyes. Emotions overtake me and I kiss him back. With passion. With love.

He starts talking. “…” His words are just staying on the surface of my mind, not able to get in, to reach me. Everything seems so undefined, not even existing. The breeze is gone and I can’t feel air on my skin. Light is gone. I’m gone. Am I blocking him, keeping him away? His voice that I could listen for hours now seems so monotonous with no meaning in its words. And then, I don’t even hear that mumbling. Just silence. The emptiness is tearing me from inside. “I just don’t know why I’m feeling like this?” my thoughts are echoing through the hole that just seconds ago contained my emotions. Something is wrong. I shut down like this just when I’m afraid of… making a mistake. I had more than few relationships that ended like this. But not Eric. I love him. Do I?

He starts asking me all these questions. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so unresponsive?” “I…” I utter trying to form some words that would be able to explain him the déjŕ vu I just experienced. Cold wing starts blowing. I sit up realizing how soar my back got during this few hours lying on the grass. I start crying. Not because of the pain, of course, but because of everything. “Are you OK?” Poor sweet Eric. Why did it take me six months to realize that time we spent together wasn’t deep enough to leave an internal memory. Why do I ask for so much? Am I trying to find a true love not wanting to spend my time on anything else? I can’t believe I’m so selfish. Does love that I’m looking for exist or just a product of my mind? There are no perfect fits in this world, and I’m looking for someone that will fill in the gaps of my soul. He is not doing it. I look at him, at his eyes. They are actually rock brown. “Eric, I think this won’t work out.”

He starts getting angry. “You women are all crazy!” I’m just standing there, have been for past few minutes, nodding my head as he was drawing some strange conclusions that weren’t right, but it was easier to leave him think that way than trying to explain. I understand him, his anger. I’m angry at myself, too. What I just did was wrong. But it was something I had to do. I couldn’t keep ‘playing’ around knowing I don’t want it to last forever. That would be even crueler. But it was so out of the blue. He couldn’t have seen it coming. Maybe not all the women are crazy, but he must think I am. And I am one to be blamed and he has every right to do it. Problem is in me and I just take in his anger, his shouting, as a punishment, swallowing tears.

He starts fading away from my mind. “I do love you.” Those were his final words before I just walked away. Without even saying goodbye. I couldn’t talk; I couldn’t look at his face. I should hate myself. But I don’t. I had to do it. And it was a right thing, because now I feel… relaxed. You sometimes just don’t realize how stressful something is until it goes away. That’s it! This moment. Right now, I did it. Something I promised myself half a year ago. What I did made me feel better, hence it’s right. It’s not wrong just because it hurt somebody. I’ve taken myself into account, for the first time. And although there was a negative consequence something amazing happened – a change. Next time, I should just be more… tactical.

“Temperature won’t go below minus five degrees Celsius, snow is expected throughout the whole day. Drivers should be careful...”
It’s 7:03. I’m waking up with the sound of morning news. Quick look through the window tells me that they are telling the truth and it is snowing outside. I love winter. Everything is so peaceful, white... White? Suddenly, a flood of thoughts seizes me. And the decision. It’s very strange, this feeling. I woke up not being aware of my own life, just the things around me, and then it all came back in just one second, all the feelings and the mental struggle. And it seems that something should be different today, but everything is the same. It reminds me of my 18th birthday. I woke up just to find out that nothing changed (why did I even expect that?), not even me. But now, I am different then I was yesterday, aren’t I?

“... arriving on Saturday. Will Garret will be staying at Blue Rose hotel and will perform on Tuesday and Wednesday.”
It’s 7:16 and I’m still lying in my warm bed, thinking. My whole town is agitated by this Will Garrett’s concert. I don’t understand why: his music is one of the worst things I ever heard. But to other people he is important, because he’s famous. My choices seem irrelevant, as I am nearly no one. No! I shouldn’t be doing this because I want others to acknowledge my effort. This is so hard. I’m talking to myself again. And I can’t stop... Never mind. This shouldn’t be hard already. I haven’t done anything yet. Still talking to myself. But sometimes just thinking is harder than doing. Thinking, deciding, realizing what you actually are. And it’s so easy to get into great questions of existence. One should sort his answers to those though. Because you are your opinions and choices. And if you are not sure about those, can you then be someone, do something as an individual?

“I want to know if you’ll be there, because if you won’t, I’ll come to you. Without you, there’s no me...”
It’s 7:49. I’m driving the car and listening to music. Will Garrett. Did I already mention how much I hate his music? I would change the station but that’s not a luxury you get with a very old radio with volume button being the only one that actually works. Turning the radio off, though, would result with me having difficulties staying awake. So, I’m just trying to cope with “Without you, there’s no me”. I can’t believe people are still interested in stuff like that; taking into account the fact that very big percentage of ‘popular’ songs has the same, boring topic. But then again, that’s why they are popular. Another proof that majority isn’t always right. There’s no right and wrong with things like music. There is good and bad taste thought. No, that’s relative, too. I still won’t listen to Will Garrett.

“...wonderful. You should you out more. Do you want to some with me to Crystal today?”
It’s 16:33 and I’m sitting in yellow comfortable chair of a cafe bar just opposite to my building, talking to Tara. I’ve known Tara for quite a few years now. I could say that she’s a nice person but people usually use that phrase when they have nothing more to say about a person and want to be polite. And there’s a lot to say about Tara. Her eyes are summer blue, she likes oranges, she’s been to Japan. Always happy she soaks my shirt with her tears now and then, crying her sorrow out, she enjoys looking for shapes in clouds, spends her afternoons looking at photo albums, with black and white photographs, always black and white. But she loves color, and the future. She loves – life. I don’t like going out. “We can go to Crystal.” I like spending time with Tara.

“So, do you come here often?”
It’s 22:27. The music is loud, Tara is dancing and I’m having a glass of Purple haze in my hand. Remembering the fact that I want to live, to act, for others and myself, I make another decision, to do something I’ve never done before, something different. You have to start with the change once, don’t you? And I accept the game.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Why unfortunately?”
“Because if I came here before, maybe I would’ve seen you earlier in my life. Do you
believe in love at first sight?”
I start laughing, laughing so hard. Thank God the music is so loud
“Too much Will Garrett and too much alcohol” I mumble a stupid explanation and continue laughing. Too much alcohol and Garret? What was I thinking? How could I say something that stupid? Why do I keep making a fool out of my self and then feeling terrible about it?
“I do.” he says, smiling.
“What?”
“I do!” he says much louder.
“You do what?”
“I do believe in love at first sight.”

“See you on Saturday then?”
It’s 01:56 ands the sound of hot shower is being mixed with his voice, still echoing in my mind. His name is Eric. I couldn’t get a good look at his eyes, but they were dark, fire brown maybe. He was drinking Strawberry sky so I guess he likes strawberries. He said he went to Egypt. I guess I’ll just have to believe it. That and everything else he said. That’s the problem with people you just met. You don’t know anything about them. They can be telling you everything. And you shouldn’t trust first impressions. People can be amazing deceivers. That’s one of the things that kept me away from others, I just can’t trust them. But I am learning how to trust voices. Voices of the world. His voice. My voice.

I’m laying down, finally in peace with the world and myself. The sky is so blue, grass so green, I’m surrounded with hundreds of white flowers and the gentle touch of the morning air in the spring. Now, I realize how beautiful life really is, how much you can gain just by taking in everything the world offers. But it wasn’t always like this. I’ve walked a long way from what I was back then to what I am now. I’ll try to tell you about my journey as accurately as I can, although sometimes it will be impossible, because I myself don’t understand everything that took place over the last few months. So, here it is, my story, not how it was but how I see it.


DECISION

When something bad happens to you, you tend to think it's just bad luck. If the same thing happens to you again that day, you’ll have a feeling that the whole world is against you. Now imagine that the same thing happens once more.

So here I am, standing on the road watching the bus as it’s driving away. The third one I missed this morning. And, of course, I’m late for a meeting (which I don’t even want to attend). Ironically, that worries me. I’m a person that obeys other people’s rues, rather than my own, for the sake of behaving appropriately, to please others. So, I tend to force myself into accepting the opinion of majority as the right one. If they tell me to come to a meeting where I’m not needed and it’ll just make me more frustrated and miserable, I will come.

I start running towards my firm’s building wearing high heals. Again, another stupid ‘rule’. You should wear something you hate just to appear to be...what? More serious and grown up? Does it really make that big difference? It reminds me of the Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint Exupéry, and that astronomer from Turkey. He wasn’t wearing a suit but a Turkish costume and he was disregarded as someone of less knowledge and value. We can show our opinions and views with our looks, but what happens when we look the way we do just because we are following what somebody else said? Do we lose parts of our personality? How much disappears if we are obeying the rules?

I knock on the door, slowly enter the meeting room and start to apologize. I don’t even know why. It wasn’t my fault that there was a traffic jam and it wasn’t my fault that some streets were closed. But I try to make myself stupid and irresponsible in the eyes of my superiors, just because it matches the opinion they already have about me, and they’ll be pleased. Angry, but pleased. I have humiliated myself in front of them and again, they proven themselves to be the ones who have power.

It seems to me that everything in the world is about power. The leader of the pack, the alpha animal, the king, the president. For sure, there has to be somebody who will be on top of everything and it’s best to leave all decisions to that person. Or, again, is it just something people made me believe so I wouldn’t try to stand against that power? Revolutions happen every day, on a smaller or a bigger scale. There are numerous real life examples of numbers fighting the positions. Does power means strength or strength means power?

It’s late afternoon now. The meeting was, of course, one of those all talking-no conclusion meetings. Who cares if the firm goes bankrupt, anyway? It happens every day: people loose their jobs, families are ruined. And who cares? Close family and friends, maybe, but not me. It’s not that I’m selfish or anything, it just makes my life a bit easier. It’s hard enough for me alone to survive in this world. Thinking how hard it is for others would probably lead me to a constant depression and frustration. So I don’t think about it.

“Is that the world you want to live in? Is that the way in which you want to live your life?” my friend asks me, “The world of misery in which everybody pretend to be oblivious to what’s happening around them?”
“No, but I cannot do anything about it” I reply.
“That’s the way of thinking that led to the present situation.”
“So what should I do?”
“Whatever you want. Just act. Anything can make a difference.”

It’s midnight. I’m trying to catch glimpses of stars through thick winter clouds. It’ll snow tomorrow. I’m thinking about today: so many things happened. And I’m afraid. I have to make a decision, the biggest one so far in my life. The first true decision, only mine – nobody can help me with it. Will I change, will I stop being so passive, will I stand up for my believes, will I act? Yes, tomorrow. And not that ‘tomorrow’ from some ‘Indian tantra’ that’s going around on the Internet, tomorrow that never comes, something you keep postponing and then forget about it. Tomorrow it will snow. The world will be white. And I’ll make a fresh start.

Zezam se.. imam puno više od lake noći da vam zaželim

danas je bio jeda zaista super trenutak, evo, maloprije...

01 02 03 04 05 06....

ili u prijevodu, 1 sat, 2 minute 3 sekunde, 4. dana 5. mjeseca 2006. godine.. super, zar ne?

a trenutno se pušta shimmer of fuela, stav koja me užasno podsjeća na patrishu: http://play.blog.hr

sada, neće se otvoriti odmah, dosta šteka (barem meni) no još se učim pa će te mi valjda oprostiti

Ne, ne pitam vas što slušate (zapravo me za to i briga, svatko sluša nešto drugo i to mi zaoista nije od neke važnosti u životu. Slušate Twiztid: afraid of me (ako nemate Firefox.. ne znam čuje li se u Operi... koristite IE pa ćete je čuti) ... Na pjesmu sam naišla ovdje
Odkada sam pogledala tu stranicu, pjesma mi je ful tužna i deprimirajuća...

Nadam se da vam se sviđa novi dizajn jer ga uskoro mijenjam... ne puno, naravno, možda bude nešto malo sofisticiranije.. našla sam mrak slike na deviantartu, vjerojatno će ostati sve kombinacija smeđe i narančaste, baš mi je lijepo deprimirajuća...

I, da vas obavijestim šta ima novo... otvorila se stipednija za uwc (onome koga zanima nešto više: www.uwc.hr ili www.uwc.org) i možda idem sljedeće godine u Norvešku, Hong kong ili Italiju... full bi htjela da prođem dalje... Do sljedećeg puta, pozdrav (btw, uskoro dolazi još dubokoumnih postrova zajedno sa nastavko priče kako zaštiti prstace te nova priča: teorem o sendviču)

eto, preuređujem malo blog... već mi je zlo od raznih blogova koji imaju boxove pretrpane raznim slikama, pogotovo onim iz my layouts ili kako već tako da ću ja maknuti skoro sve... znam da sve sada izgleda dosta nespretno, ali budem ja brzo i to sredila...