it was late when I left the office yesterday. outside, on the sidewalk I paused, looking purposelessly at the empty streets. i felt suddenly empty myself, as if the emptiness of the streets would have been moved within me. and it was not the kind of emptiness you feel after a big achievement or after a very intense moment -although the small achievement of yesterday was actually quite big- but empty of energy, of cause, of desire as if the motor that was driving me has stopped, the Dagny type of emptiness. (Ayn Rands’s main character from Atlas Shrugged). “…as if nothing within me was destroyed but everything stood still”. The street lights were glittering encouraging in the dark. I pressed my palms on my eyes until my senses lost they sharp. I swore to myself that I would make things simple again.

So I have grey’s anatomy marathon for this afetrnoon, my cake, and I will read untill I fall asleep with the book on my chest. in the morning there would be no tension, no pressure, but simplicity and I would fredonate again the words I told to my mam before going for 1 year to Mx: “mam, things are simple. I put a bag on my shoulder, fly a little bit, some people will wait for me there, we learn from each other how to be wonderful, then I come back. This makes me happy”.

The basic story goes like this: a therapeutic encounter where each of the characters becomes both patient and doctor. Brewer tries to help Nietzsche to deal with the fierce migraine attacks and also to cure his despair (which the patient cannot admit) that comes from his unfulfilled love for Lou Salome (love, which again he cannot admit). Brewer intentionally creates a path to lead Nietzsche into reveling his own obsession with Lou Salome. So Brewer chose to be the patient of a fictional therapy where he needs help to get over his love for a woman he treated of hysteria. It turns out; however, the doctor of hysteria is suffering from despair as well. As the therapy deepens, they are confronted with the issue of moral choice and the recognition of the poor choices, perhaps never chosen at all.

This is actually the learning that impacted me the most at this particular moment: our own need to accept the responsibility and also the consequences of our own (lack of) choices. Also, it has left a question mark in my mind regarding the “betrayal” that comes out of love. Is it still betrayal or is the equivalent of protection against something bad that happened or might happen to someone we care about?

LE: and I did it, earlier than expected:)

Joanna, the polish girl in the group, is a friendship I treasure. She’s the hard working-striving for excellence type. She took us around the country, in spontaneous trips, every second-weekend. She took all the problems of 4 internationals, none of them easy to manage, on her shoulders. Nevertheless we fought the most against her and she fought the most against us, trying to “treat” us of the “preconceptions” syndrome. Finally we learned that her intention was not only to defend what is beautiful about Poles and their fundamental values but rather to help us to see behind the appearances, to help us to create the right expectations, to accept and enjoy differences. I appreciate her resilience and power to wait for each of us to overcome the cultural shocks and learn at our own rhythm about the beauty of what is surrounding us in this year. Since there is no nice place where to have a coffee in this city we finish most of our days in Jo’s small flat, having dinner, dancing, playing cards, or simply talking for 4,5 hours. Then we go at home energized by the warm fuzzy feeling that comes form having an active group of friends who are part of the same pursuit, struggle, call it whatever…

Linita is simply the definition of “best friend”, my Colombian best friend. The things changed for better when she join us in July. She’s the friend good at everything, I mean mastering the art of playing guitar and piano, interpreting art, dancing salsa, tango etc, playing chess and any kind of sports from aerobic to tennis and swimming, able to fix a bike or a car, expert in Excel and other applications etc. Pictures are running in front of my eyes as I’m typing… the two of us together from the first moment, speaking Spanish, going for a coffee, going to the market, losing our time on the streets, cooking, sharing every piece of chocolate, sharing all the ups and downs of our experience, our trips together and the crazy fun we had, the night of the bike accident, the homeless period, all the reciprocal “advices”, the small secrets, the moments at the office. She reminds me daily why I love so much LatAm with its rhythms and way of living, and why I cannot imagine my future without having a friend from LatAm close to me.

One day we will be together on a bitch in Cartagena remembering what brought us together.

I will continue to do HR, (training mainly) only as a passion from now on and not as a full time job. various reasons.

it is not the beauty of the blue, nor the rain drops and even not the twilight that uplifted my head countless times but the sunrise, simultaneously happening behind the first row of mountains and behind the ocean hidden behind them, in my LatAm.

then I realized that the solemnity of looking at the sky comes, not from what I contemplate, but from the thoughts that uplift my head.

and if I look closer there is no tree. It is me, all the versions of me; and my Cluj and the promise of a harmonious life; and my LatAm; and the rest of the world – promising a tumultous life. And there is this me, stepping back and forth at the place where these worlds interwine. there is me longing to belong somewhere. there is me at TIFF, and Cristi Lupsa talking in a bookstore, and me at “Gala Premiilor in Educatie”, and me at RoPot Evenings and conferences, me at “Leadership Talks”, at “Magic 21″, and at a few summer camps, and me building a project of entrepreneurship in education, and me in the Harmony House, and me eating sarmale (meat rolls in cabbage leaves) at 3:30 a.m after a dancing night in MyWay…, and there is this me “full of go”, loving diversity, longing to taste much more of it… I wanna be country-less..yet I wanna belong somewhere…

Few people only were walking down the leafy paths, in silence, neither too fast nor too slow. I passed by in a hurry, unable to adjust my pace to theirs but to the speed of my own monday morning thoughts. Maybe they too were engaged in internal conversations with themselves… maybe things happen at first in the heart…  all the things, be them good or bad. And then they move from inside out into words and facts.

If I was wondering all the time why I feel it is a kind of must for me to be here, despite the fact of hating this small city, now I know it is because my walks on the silent paved roads have been superimposed by the extraordinary walks on the roads of my heart.

I coudn’t leave this place in may or july, not because of the fear or quitting, I didn’t give it a damm in those turbulent moments, but because I was not being ready to move from inside out. The future only will tell the rest…