Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu
Category

Stories from the crypt of life

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Just a writer in a square…

J

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

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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

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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...

14 years later…

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First day of high school. A lot of new faces, a lot of smiles and handshakes. I sit in front of my classroom door thinking I do not want to step into this new world full of new acquaintances, new dramas, new friendships that will most likely end badly. I take a deep breath, put a fake smile on my face and open the door. Everyone is loud. All the teenagers inside look like displaced ants trying to...

Friday thoughts

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Sitting in Piazza Santo Spirito watching people. A small market nearby invites people to look at the merchandise while making small talk. I feel like an ant standing still in a constantly moving colony. A beggar approaches and asks for a cigarette. I have none; he walks away. An old couple holding hands smile at me while passing by. Birds are circling my table, the leaves of the trees are singing...

People change.

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People change. It’s not something most of us want to admit or support, but change is unavoidable. No more than five years ago, I was the person who claimed change is not possible in a human being. I would say: “Yes you can adapt or slightly act different according to your age or the situation you are faced with, but you can never change!” If I could go back in time and be...

Why do I write?

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Sometimes I feel dead inside. A feeling of nothingness lurks me from around the corner, grabs my senses and throws me into a void. I write the feeling away. The keyboard becomes my best friend and every word pulls me back into this crowded world. Many people ask me when do I write? Why do I write? Do I have a schedule? Do I have a plan? I never know how to answer that question. I...

Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu