Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu
Category

Stories from the crypt of life

S

Stop. Walk. Shout. Feel. Heal. Talk.

S

We never hope for the best. That’s just a saying that screws up our entire emotional, co-dependent system. Hope for the best even when you desperately want to die. Hope for the best even when the world implodes. Hope for the best even when your whole being is just a piece of paper, all used up, written on and ready to be thrown into the trash. Why hope? Why not do? Do the best, be the best or at...

And thus you were born…

A

Fifty-six years ago today my father was born. Twenty-two years later I took my first breath as his daughter. Since that day I craved to understand and create a connection, more often than not unsuccessful, but that hasn’t stopped me from creating my image about the man who is my father. My father always appeared to be a  wise man. He seems to be a giant that can pierce anyone with his gaze...

Time to let go…and make the best jam in the world.

T

Today I found out that my grandmother died in June. In June, and I only found out about it today… I would have probably never known if I didn’t need to make a phone call and ask an entirely different thing. My grandmother and I never had that cozy, warm, grandma-granddaughter relationship. I remember her very little since I was a kid and we got reunited when I was 14 years old. We...

Let’s dance it out in Austria!

L

For the past six months I felt lost. My thoughts and feelings took an unexpected turn and it seemed like I put my life on pause. My body was there, experiencing everything, but I wasn’t. Pretending to be fine is one of my strong traits, yet there are a few people who can read me even if I don’t want them to. Last week I went on a trip to visit Mark in Graz, Austria. For those of you...

Just a writer in a square…

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I woke up this morning with a buzzing in my ears. It was constant, like a baby’s cry that won’t quiet down until you are ready to commit to his needs and understand his plead. So here I am, a few hours later, sitting in a square on a sidewalk, writing. The buzzing stopped. The square is pleased. My fingers start dancing on the keyboard. What to write about I wonder? About the people...

I refuse to belong and yet…

I

I refuse to belong. I refuse to belong in a world that doesn’t want to belong. I refuse to accept and advocate for any group no matter how good their intentions are. I refuse to separate human beings based on color, religion, culture, or sexual preferences. I refuse to be a part of any of this, and yet I keep waking up and breathing the same air as everyone every single day. The world didn’t...

Where are you from?

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Where are you from? This is a question that tortures my stomach every time it’s addressed to me. Where am I from? I used to know the answer to that question. At first it was a city, and then it was the last city I lived in, until it became a country and now… now I don’t even know the answer to that anymore. I don’t know where I’m from. Places have lost meaning somehow and people replaced the...

Once upon a time I gave up on people

O

Ever since I was a child, I loved observing humans. I loved the way they talked, the way they walked, acted, thought, innovated, struggled, prevailed. Whenever there was a problem that needed solving, I was there to help. Of course, most of the time I made a bigger mess than needed. Thus, over the years, close family and friends discouraged my actions telling me that sooner or later I will be...

Thoughts of solitude

T

We are our best friend and our worst enemy. We take our first breath alone and we breath in for the last time… alone. Solitude saves us; solitude condemns us; solitude kills us. When I was five years old I found my best friend looking back at me from behind the mirror, smiling, goofing around while I brushed my teeth, making faces and laughing at my jokes. Soon enough that cute, curly...

Dear diary….

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Dear diary I am tired. I spend my mornings sending out hundreds of emails and my evenings racing my fingers on the keyboard while listening to stories in my headphones. Every morning I wake up hoping that today’s sunshine will last longer, that I will find at least one reply to yesterday’s emails, that my stories aren’t boring, that this day will be better, that I will stop...

Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu