Unsung Heroes - Readers. Twilight Lawns goes to Italy. Part 3 of 42.
67Abre los Ojos! Abre los Ojos! Abre los Ojos!!!
Stranger in the Night
Short story or poetry
What plot illustrates my world
A stranger in the library
Creates a novel of me.
~Author Unknown
Complete darkness.
A voice whispers: Your next reader, Dolor… Dolore...Dolores! Dolores!!!
Abre los ojos!
Abre los ojos!
Abre los ojos!!!
(Translation:
Open your eyes!
Open your eyes!
Open your eyes!!!)
3 a.m. Dolores awakens.
She has a splitting headache.
- DOLORES (thinking): Where am I?
- VOICE: The question you should be asking is “Who is here?”
- DOLORES (jumps up): Who is here?!
- VOICE: My name is Narcissus.
There is a man in a room, playing with a yellow butterfly.
- Dolores: The next thing you’ll say is “My name is Daffodil.”
- Narcissus: No, it’s your line.
- Dolores: What line?
- Narcissus: “The next thing you’ll say is “My name is Daffodil.”
- Dolores (thinking): He might be insane, armed, dangerous…
- Narcissus: I am none of those things and least of all insane.
- Dolores: How do you make this butterfly play with you?
- Narcissus: I don’t make it do anything. It’s your job. It is your Narcissus fluttering around…You sent him to this reality…
- Dolores: I? I? I?!!!
- Narcissus: Didn’t you write “Narcissus and Echo. Never together, never apart”?
- Dolores: I did, but it was only a story.
- Narcissus: A cruel story.
- Dolores: Why do you say that? It’s a beautiful story…
- Narcissus: Yes, very beautiful. First you shoot your character. Then you turn him into a butterfly and send him to a (Painful!) death by “en-LIGHT-meant” (the source of light which means to kill), and then you turn him into A WOMAN! and let him die glued to the mirror. You murdered him three times within a very short story. How very beautiful!
- Dolores: He did not die. He vanished. He cannot die. He cannot be killed. He is a myth, a legend, a character…
- Narcissus: So are you.
- Dolores: I am no such thing. I [pause]…AM [pause]…
- Narcissus: Yes?
- Dolores: I [pause]…AM [pause]…
- Narcissus: Well?
- Dolores: I [pause]…AM [pause]…
- Narcissus: YOU [pause]… HAVE [pause]…FORGOTTEN.
- Dolores: You put too much pressure on me. Tell me who I am since you seem to be better informed.
- Narcissus: Your name is Dolores Marina de la Luz. You are the heroine of someone else’s autobiography.
- Dolores: How could I possibly be the heroine of someone else’s autobiography? Autobiographies are written about those who write them – by themselves or by ghost writers. Is my righter a ghost?
(thinking to herself:
something is OFF. Righter? Riter? Brighter? Wrighter? Brider? Wrider? Writer?
Ooh, my head is killing me!)
- Narcissus: She might be any of those things. She is not very good with language she writes in… (chuckles.) She is fairly strange. She writes about shadows, reflections, echoes…
- Dolores: Words, names… Does she have a name?
- Narcissus: Her name is Dolores Marina de la Luz.
- Dolores: You have just told me it is MY NAME.
- Narcissus: Yes, your name is the name your author chose as her pen name.
- Dolores: She named her pen?
- Narcissus: Why not? Certain people name their parts…
- Dolores (panicking): Don’t tell me I have a part to name!
Rushes to the mirror and checks her reflection. There is none. No reflection. She checks herself. A sigh of relief…
- Narcissus (laughs): Why does it matter to you whether you are a man or a woman?
- Dolores (unsure): I AM still a woman! Am I?
- Narcissus: I don’t know. I have never thought about it. (Mimicking) “I am still a woman! Am I?” To me it is of no importance. I love neither women nor men, I only love myself and it does not matter who I will turn into when I wake up the next time.
- Dolores: Does anything matter to you?
- Narcissus: Yes. It matters to me whether I am a reader or a writer. It matters to me who writes my story. All writers are homicidal maniacs to a lesser or greater degree.
- Dolores: Mmm…
- Narcissus: The very first one turned me into a flower. This story is eternal. I live it again and again and again.
- Dolores: Three times?
- Narcissus: Forty three times. No! I live it every time it is read or told or thought about. But as if it was not enough, I was written more about. Now, it is a condition – narcissism and my name is thrown around like…
- Dolores: Who did write you?
- Narcissus: Too many people. You turned me into a butterfly. “Tu eres una matadora, Lola!”
- Dolores: What?
- Narcissus: “You are a killer (murderer), Lola!” It is a song. Never mind.
- Dolores: I am not a killer.
- Narcissus: Of course, you are! You kill your characters. All writers do that. Writing is a crime.
- Dolores: Maybe. I have never thought about it …
- Narcissus: You should have. Of course, it is easy to send someone to his death with a few strokes of a keyboard. “Marjorie is dead!”, but to live that reality?
- Dolores: What is reality? Existence? Non-existence?
“How can non-existence get sick of itself?
Every time you wake up, you appear again out of nowhere.
And so does everything else.
Death just means the replacement of the usual morning waking with something else, something quite impossible even to think about. We don't even have the instrument to do it, because our mind & our world are the same thing.”
- Dolores: We never know who we are. We don’t know how to define ourselves. More often than not we are defined by others, by society. To define is to limit – we play roles… I did not do it out of cruelty… I think it is about waking up every day to a fresh realization that we don’t know anything.
- Narcissus (laughs): I have to agree with you. Soon you will find out what it means to be a character of a murderous writer.
- Dolores: Why are you laughing? Do you find it funny?
- Narcissus: I find it beautiful. It’s a beautiful story.
- Dolores: It’s a night-MA-RE! I want to wake up!
Narcissus continues laughing and then sings:
Guarda che luna!
Guarda che MARE,
I want to die!
Dolores is surprised to find out that she speaks Italian…
“I want to DIE! I want to DIE! I want to DIE!”
Da questa notte senza te dovrò restare. (This night I shall stay without you.)
Folle d'amore, (Crazy with love)
Vorrei morire, (I would want to die,)
Echoing: Vorrei morire, vorrei morire, morire…
The Song:
A lesson in Italian. The trip to Italy promises to be long. If you want to learn some Italian that might come handy when you need to ask for directions, buy ten pounds potatoes in a store or ward off undesirable elements, you might remember one of those lines. Your choice. I know this song by heart.
Guarda che luna! (Look at that moon!)
Guarda che mare! (Look at that sea!)
Da questa notte senza te dovrò restare. (This night I shall stay without you.)
Folle d'amore, (Crazy with love)
Vorrei morire, (I would want to die,)
Mentre la luna di lassù mi sta a guardare. (The moon looks at me from above.)
Resta soltanto (One thing remains for me)
Tutto il rimpianto, (to regret everything)
Perché ho peccato nel desiderarti tanto. (Because I have sinned in wanting you so much.)
Ora son solo a ricordare e vorrei poterti dire:
(Now I live in my memories only and the only thing I would like to tell you:)
Guarda che luna, guarda che mare! (Look at that moon, look at that sea!)
Ma guarda che luna! (But look at that moon!)
Guarda che mare! (Look at that sea!)
E questa notte vivando dovrei morire. (And this night I should have died, but I still live..)
Ora son solo a ricordare e vorei poterti dire:
(Now I live in my memories only and the only thing I would like to tell you:)
Guarda che luna, guarda che mare! (Look at that moon, look at that sea!)
Guarda che luna, guarda che mare! (Look at that moon, look at that sea!)
Guarda che luna! (Look at that sea!)
Other developments:
The yellow butterfly seems to have somehow grown in size… It (he?) is still fluttering around…
Dolores looks around the room. She did not notice it before…The whole room seems to be yellow – it is filled with bouquets of yellow daffodils.
‘Yellow,’ she thought. ‘The colour of insanity’.
As she is thinking this thought the walls turn into yellow, the yellow becomes more and more intense until it reaches gorgeous tone of “Sun God” yellow…
Yellow She Thought
- "Yellow," he thought.
"Yellow," he thought. The word yellow wandered through his mind in search of something to connect with." (From "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams). - "Yellow," he thought. "Bulldozer!"
"Fifteen seconds later he was out of the house and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path." (From "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams).
- Dolores: This nightmare will never end. Do I write it? Do I turn it into yellow?
- Narcissus (reading from a book): “Colour influences every aspect of our lives… colour brightens the world and profoundly affects – and reflects our moods.”
- Dolores: Are you suggesting that I am in the mood for insanity?
- Narcissus: Yellow is the colour of your center.
- Dolores: What center?
- Narcissus (picks another book): “Yellow, Earth tones - Center – Earth. This area is the ‘Yin and Yang’ area. This represents how opposites can live in harmony. This area should be open for meditation and should have religious symbols and decorations.”
- Dolores: What?! What center? Yellow?
- Narcissus: Dolores, “yellow is MY colour”. “This year, yellow is more optimistic…as light as chiffon, airy and free.”
- Dolores: Free. It is MY word. Can I swim out of this night-MARE into reality? Into the real night MARE, mare as in “sea” (‘mare’ means ‘sea’ in Italian)?
- Narcissus: Not at the moment. You are in a hotel room in Rome, but you can go downstairs and take a swim in a pool, in a whirlpool of… But you don’t look so well …. Why don't you just take a bath, it will give you some relief… (continues laughing. His laugh sounds suspiciously sinister …)
Dolores walks unsteadily towards the bathroom in a zigzag motion. She feels like… she feels like she has been heavily drunk for a month… She thinks: “It is all a dream, a bad dream, a big fat YELLOW dream…”
She hears the voice recites:
“Forget, forget, forget, forget…forget the dream you once did have…”
Forget it; forget the dream you once did have,
A dream which covered pain with pure sweet lies.
Forget the truth and all the sorrow and the pain
That came as weeping phantoms as the night time dies.
~Twilight Lawns
How to
- SimplyScripts - Script Formatting
Links to movie scripts, screenplays, transcripts, and excerpts from classic movies to current flicks to future films.
Abre los ojos!
Abre los ojos!
Abre los ojos!!!
(Translation:
Open your eyes!
Open your eyes!
Open your eyes!!!)
3 p.m. Dolores awakens. ‘Oh!’ She has a splitting headache.
‘Yellow,’ she thought. ‘Daffodils, yellow, insanity, bath, bath? BATH!’
She remembers that she came to Rome to meet…
‘Oh, my head is killing me! I am still a woman, am I?’ Panics. Unable to check anything or remember what the difference is between a man and a woman she walks unsteadily towards the bathroom in a zigzag motion. She feels like… she feels like she has been heavily drunk for a month… She thinks: “It is all a dream, a bad dream, a big fat YELLOW dream…”
There is a man in a tub, fully dressed. He has a book.
- Dolores: I know you.
- Man: You’d better!
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Unsung Heroes - Readers Series
- Unsung Heroes - Readers. FROM YYZ TO AAZ.
A story about Augustine - a prominent author on HubPages and a friend. A thank-you card? a collage? a story? Not everything can be defined. Maybe he is the first one to get something of this kind.
A Trip to Italy
- Unsung Heroes - Readers. Twilight Lawns goes to Italy. Part 1 of 42.
A new chapter in the Book of Life - "Autobiography in 42 Chapters". Svetlana is flying to Rome. The story is dedicated to Twilight Lawns and it has more significance than it appears on the surface. - Unsung Heroes - Readers. Twilight Lawns goes to Italy. Part 2 of 42.
The Big Day. Friends meet in Rome. There are too many things that seem improbable. Parallel plots, parallel conversations… It is only a beginning of a journey… The first day feels overwhelming. - Unsung Heroes - Readers. Twilight Lawns goes to Italy. Part 4 of 42.
Dolores awakens again to meet yet another… It is snowing in Rome and the most surprising part is that the author of “Trip to Italy” awakens as well in the middle of winter… to sing about yet another… self-fulfilling prophecy.
Maja steals a pen while the author has a night swim
- Unsung Heroes - Meanwhile in Rome...
A spin-off from kallini2010's story. As Dolores continues her adventure, so does Maja as she sits in Rome...
Autobiography in 42 Chapters
- Autobiography in 42 Chapters. The Passion for the Forbidden Dance.
Some people are strange: degreed as an engineer, turned to Buddhism to find peace, studied psychology to dissect the mind, and studio trained in Tango to demonstrate her passion for the forbidden dance. - Autobiography in 42 Chapters. What's Wrong with Now?
Chapter 2: Don Carlos calls Dolores and asks her to send a script about Narcissus. Will she?
The Crossroads of Infinity and Eternity
- Narcissus and Echo. Never Together, Never Apart
A phantasmagorical detour in the story of Narcissus and Echo. A never ending story of love, life and the search for the meaning. Of...? You decide.
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THE FULLY DRESSED MAN IN THE TUB, WHO IS HE?! Till the next chapter then.
There is a story that titled "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Don't want to give the plot away, but madness is one of the themes. A good story. Dolores seems to sleep and wake into new adventures, time and places. Can't wait to see where/who she wakes up next to or at. Maybe...
Thank you, Sunnie, for your comment. "Yellow" should be your colour - at least it is my association - "yellow" & "sun".
My first project when I was able to choose colours was - "Yellow" ('Yellow' she thought). The colour was called "Moonlight" something and ever since I thought of moonlight as yellow. But people assume that 'silver light' is also the colour of moonlight, which is true. I don't think colour has too much significance on its own - we ascribe meanings to it as well.
"White" can be the colour of weddings (innocence) and in the same manner, "white" is the colour of funerals (mourning).
I did not invent "Yellow" being the colour of insanity - in Russia - "a yellow house" means a "nuthouse", a psychiatric clinic. I don't know the reason. I keep choosing "yellows". Both my room and Daniel's were painted in "Moonlight Yellow". Though my reasoning was based on lighting - my room is the darkest and "yellow" creates an illusion that it is more light in here than it actually is.
But it might have to do something with names again - my name meaning light and I keep choosing everything that contains "light". Just like "42" - my eye automatically picks it out of the crowd of numbers.
Now, I am playing with "Lola".
- What is your name?
- You can call me Dolores.
- ???
- Call me Lola.
It feels weird - but it gives me a chance to feel something new.
This painting project allowed me to get in touch with description of colours and I was amazed - not by colours, but how they are written about. These people are poets, poets who write prose.
The section about "Yellow" had a picture "A field of yellow daffodils and a yellow butterfly on top". It matched my story about Narcissus perfectly well.
Now I have to deal with the second awakening and finally tie parts together. As we know once "a can with paint is open (the writing flow), it is hard to prevent it from spilling over... to stop where stop (stop over) is needed." (Speaking of insanity! I am quoting myself.)
Svetlana,
never heard of that name until..in my mind I flew to eastern lands...
Deep thoughts in this hub....you have a gift also, coming from up above.
abrelos bien, abrelos ya!
molto bene..from amarillo to rojo!
Nice words that come from sorrow to hope!
LORD
Thank you, Augustine.
Strangely as it sounds, it is both - madness and complete sanity. Dolores will wake up to a whole bunch of...
The question is who and what my other characters will be waking up to...
We think that we are awake, but it is an illusion, we are fast asleep. The busier we are, the sounder our sleep is.
One hint: "we are all caught in a giant (bath)..."
Yellow is the color of the midday sun. Midday is the time of fewest shadows, no place for the lurking darkness to hide. It is the time of scorching truths. This episode of your story is full of scorching truths. There is truth in, “You are the heroine of someone else’s autobiography.” This is such a strong reality; it applies to all of us, both heroes and heroines.
Narcissus reads your mind. Those unspoken words touch you deeply. That the yellow melded to ‘Sun Gold’, carries with it a beautiful message. Emerging from questionable Yellow to pleasing Mediterranean Sun Gold makes the butterfly take flight.
You wait for the time when you can take a night swim in the blue Adriatic sea.
And a final thought before rereading, ‘Writing is a crime.” I think that you putting down your pen would be a universal crime.
I think you are the one with the sinister laugh! You're getting us all hooked into the plot. When that happens, we'll go wherever your pen/fingers take us.
Where will you take us? Can we trust you? And, Narcissus has a point. It makes me worry. You killed him three times in one story?! So, you're going to snag all of us in and then do what exactly to us...?
You're not going to tell me, are you...?!
Aaaaaahhhh!
Thoroughly enjoyed as always.
By the way, that picture of the lady in the tub just gave me an idea. I love bathing. I'm going to find myself a wooden plank, then I'll take my journal and a good book with me... I just got the hot water in my house restored so I'm excited. ;) It feels good not to have to walk around town with a towel in my hand...
Hey... mckbirdbks! Nightswimming in the Adriatic...? I did that this year! Next time I'll take you all with me. ;)
Thank you, Lord, for your comment.
The name? I have written a number of articles on names - I will continue (I don't want to make a promise!) ... I might continue writing about them. One article (no, three articles are about my name), so there is more than enough explanations if any explanations are ever needed.
For now, you can call me Lola.
"Ave Maria, Lola!"
(if you listen to this song,
one of the first words is "matar" meaning "to kill")
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5l-H0_TdphA
Lola, Lolita, Dolores, Dolorosa, Donna Rosa...
Pick one.
Beautiful and fun read, and thanks for the song...
Mike, you are truly a poet.
The time of fewest shadows,
The time of scorching truths,
No place for lurking darkness...
In heart of yellow-ness.
By the way, "yellow" has another meaning in Russian - the colour of betrayal. That is why nobody will be buying yellow flowers as a gift. I like yellow roses and I think it is all ... I just like yellow. Maybe because "yellow" is the colour of light (one of them).
And the colour of "Sun God".
The butterfly is gaining weight and soon will be unable to fly.
As for the crime, Mike you are so generous! It won't be a crime, nobody will miss my writing. It would not matter one bit even if the greatest works were not produced. If not these ones, then some other GIANTS would have emerged.
- These could be giants!
- What giants, sir?
I wish I could reread so much.
Thank you, Mike, again for your inspiring comment.
Thank you, Maja!
What can I do to you? Throw a brick through a window? Coming up...
Ha-ha... (idiotic laughter!!!)
No, I had no plans of killing, but you are giving me ideas... The next part is written, it needs only a nice finish (a blood bath?)
But it is only a beginning, I cannot get back to that cafe in Rome and continue conversation...
I am keeping my characters. Just like Narcissus they cannot die, they are doomed to live forever.
I am glad you like the idea of writing in a bath. I don't like taking anything to the washroom/bathroom with me - no reading, no writing.
Sometimes, my best ideas come to me in a shower - maybe it has to do something with the running water. Once I had so much fun - I was ready to roll on the ... but my tub was not big enough for that.
A night swim? I don't know if anybody is game, but I once swam at night naked - the weirdest and the most memorable experience. Was there moon shining, too?
Guarda che luna,
Guarda che mare,
This night I will remain without you
Crazy with love
I'd like to die...
Night mare, night mare...
The reason for my middle name Mar-ina.
Dolores Marina de la Luz = Painful combination of Seawater and Light
Thank you, yusefblack. You are welcome to read any part of this saga. There are plenty of songs and pictures...
"Guarda che luna, Guarda che mare!" I was singing along and loving it. Possibly the most surreal and disturbing hub I have read for a long time, and yet, so, so satisfying.
I loved it. Give me time to ruminate, and I will tell you why, but I loved it.
Dear Ian, I am so glad you liked it. Because you have to forgive me for the role I gave you in the next chapter... it is going in the more violent direction.
But if you accept it, you will see in the end, that it all makes sense, yes, it is only in the imagination and the mind of the reader...
So, skipping, skippety - skip - skip - skip - after the next one - we must have our Conference of Murderous Writers - you, Mike and I. That is the idea.
Yes, guarda... watch out.
But if you have a chance, you can see the movie "Abre los ojos". There is an American adaptation "Vanilla Sky", but I don't even like the idea that Americans like children need any adaptations. Even if you compare trailers only, if you can the force and the drama in the Spanish one and "soap that fills your mouth and eyes" in the American one. Even the name "vanilla" - urgh...yuck.
I will probably include trailers in one of the coming chapters. Surreal. Disturbing. Thought-provoking. Cruel? Beautiful. Narcissistic. Real, oh, so real.
Hi Kallini, as is often the case for me, I find the sweep of this breathtaking, the imagery enticing, the storyline.. a mystery. Doesn't matter though, I've read it twice, just to enjoy the rhythm and grace and sensuality of your words. The Italian of course has a beauty just from the way it sits on the page.. handy for those of us who don't speak the language.
Having spent quite some time reading, looking and admiring and struggling to get into the groove, I was initially reassured by TL's comment, that he too needed a break before being able to enunciate his reaction. But on second look I realised he didn't say, "Give me time to urinate..."
Totally off-topic (or is it....?)you challenged us a while back to describe or define 'sexy'. I didn't reply because I can't put it into words. To me, it's like 'define your favourite art'. I can't describe it, but I know it when I see it.
I'm sure you can connect the dots when I say I love your new profile pic.
Thank you, WOL, for reading and making a comment.
1) I don't find this piece very difficult to understand - maybe everybody tends to read too much into it.
The only thing required for reading is your mind. Whatever you see in this text is precisely what it is, nothing more and nothing less. I see one thing and you see another and it is the only way there is.
Hint: the fluttering butterfly exists as long as you remember it keeps fluttering around. If that butterfly "escapes" your mind, it plunges back into non-existence.
All my characters are like that. Without the mind of a reader - they are nowhere.
2) I realize that I am too often too heavy on quotes and foreign languages, but I love them, I love songs and I find it is helpful sometimes to understand what the song is about.
I don't speak Italian/Spanish/French/German ...
I would not torment readers with lyrics, but the beauty of this clip that it goes with lyrics - it is very easy to read with the singer. To me, pronouncing Italian is easy - it is as close as it gets to Russian articulation.
3) "Abre los Ojos" is a Spanish film and it was an inspiration, even though it is not closely related to what I wrote. But ever since I saw that movie - I remembered this phrase in Spanish "Abre los Ojos!" (Open your eyes!) It was very disturbing.
4) The crime of writing. It is such a long road back from that cafe in Rome - or rather from the original piece that I was writing. But it keeps rolling the way it keeps rolling and I play along. The next chapter will be pure insanity. And only then we go back to murderous writers...
However, one of the crimes writers do - is writing boring things. Unforgivable.
5)"Sexy". Thank you for the compliment, but you should know how uncomfortable I am with the "You are so beautiful!" I am so uncomfortable that I even wrote an article that became a super-duper-mega hit. Why?
Because a lot of people find it - "disturbing?"
Once I got over "beautiful" (what an overstatement! I never got over it), I turned straight into "sexy". I think the storm it brewing.
Maybe it is my own fault - I should have bought ... However, I bought what I bought, those dresses that are slightly too short and it is just unending "....!"
Do you think there is a correlation between testosterone level rising and the ability to express oneself?
That evening ... well, never mind.
I am not happy with my new profile picture for a few reasons. However, what I like (I should like something, shouldn't I?) is the pensive expression on my face. It is the face of a writer. The way I see myself. And the photo is recent - unlike my previous (absolutely favourite one) circa 1993. It just seemed that I desperately was hanging on 'being young'. Forever XXII.
Now Forever XLI (Rather, XLII to be consistent, yet, I have not reached it yet - subtract one "I" for now).
Thank you again and I shall make another chapter as soon as I find the way to deal with all my mess in the real reality.
Svetlana,
Oh fine... We'll create our own fun in Rome without you! :P
I prefer baths to showers, especially when it gets colder. I can spend up to 3 hours in the bath when nobody is around to limit my bath time. It is my thinking time and most of my ideas come then too.
I went dawn walking and night swimming a few times this year. I'll post the pictures in a hub sometime. I took 2km hikes to watch the sun rise over the Adriatic! It was simply majestic! No photo can actually do that experience justice.
Instead of swimming with the crowds after lunch time, I waited for the beaches to clear at sunset. As I swam, I'd watch the beautiful hues of the sun descending. I try to night swim every year. I wouldn't do it naked though... Not where I went, at least. It is too close to the main road and I don't want to cause accidents! haha! And if I'm alone, what if someone tries to play a vicious joke on me by stealing my clothes whilst I'm in the water?!
The moon was lovely. I had the song "Moondance" in my head as I swam.
Yes, Maja, that is the point, you no longer need me to have fun in Rome or anywhere... the plot is set in motion and characters live in the minds of those who remember them.
In my mind, there is already a novel, so much has happened to all of us - it's a pity none of it is recorded.
I cannot imagine myself spending three hours in a tub - but maybe it is something to try - my parents would call 911 if I ever attempt it.
Swimming naked was not "a premeditated thing". I was the summer of 1988 (I think), my parents had some "team" working on our cottage house (speaking of bricks, it was brick-laying) and it was hot. They were working till late at night and we went to the lake that was nearby. I don't even know whose idea it was, but there were men and at least two of us - my mom and me - we just went to the different parts of the beach, it was separated by some sort of vegetation - and it was dark enough...
Nobody caused any accidents, nobody stole any clothes... the feeling was liberating. Maybe it is the reason it was memorable. I think I swam at night before - in a sea as well.
I got your e-mail, I am planning to read your article. I actually saw it on FB and I clicked, but I had no time to read it, so probably today. I will let you know. In the meanwhile I will be thinking how to round this thing up.
Have a nice day.
Spontaneous occasions like that are the best. So, you swam naked in the year of my birth, huh!
Anyway, I sent you the email because what you said set in motion what I put in that hub. Please don't feel any sense of obligation or urgency to read it. I know you will read it when the time is right. ;)
All the best.
Yes, Maja, thanks a lot, thanks for reminding me that I am old enough to be your mother. No, I am joking. Of course, the age is not an issue. With every passing year it becomes less of an issue.
I think the issue is that I forgot to grow up. Now I am paying for the consequences. I will read your peace/piece.
And in the meanwhile I am planning to take a longer bath. I think 'swimming naked' is not as weird as it sounds - we love the sensation of water or running water against our skin. It is not the swimming that is questionable, it is the audience.
But like in writing, ultimately you are doing it for yourself.
Dear Svetlana,
I am sorry but my social psychologist has advised me not to converse with you any longer. It is a rule for all of us under 30-year olds to not talk to anybody over 30. Apparently, old age is like a disease and it spreads... I need to protect myself!
I just like finding correlations to my birth year. The year of the dragon. The year Svetlana went swimming naked... Hahaha!
Most of my friends are at least 20 years older than me or 3-5 years younger than me. The other day, 2 ladies in the town asked me how old I am. I had to pause before answering. The one lady said to the other: "Awww... That's sweet. She has to stop to think about it... She does still look like a high-schooler." I was chuffed. Age is just how we carry ourselves. The day we decide we are old, we become it. I've seen it.
My 23-year old buddies have decided that they're all grown up now. But, somewhere along the line, maturity got mixed up with "being old". My dad is 74 and he has more life in him than most of the 20-somethings I know. Most of his friends are about 20 years younger than him. Everybody tells him that he has a child's eyes. He's also super-healthy because of it. No cholesterol, high blood... nothing! I just hope he doesn't one day wake up and decide to be old.
All this waiting around in Rome for Dolores is getting to me. I may just create a spin-off from your story and start fighting those ninjas...
Peace to you, my age-less friend. ;)
Ah... Svetlana, you are too late!
I took your advice and... The ninjas came...
My dear sweet (daughter) Maja!
I would have loved having a daughter, your age or younger, it is a very sweet feeling. In Russian, like in many languages, people who old enough will call youngsters "little daughter or little son (sonny)" as a sign of warmth and tenderness. When you are called "daughter" your brain produces certain reaction. That is how language works. Maybe it is the same feeling we have when we see little puppies and kittens, they are so cute and so little. Of course, you are not a puppy. You are a little Dragon cub. I am the Puppy - because that was my year - the year of the Dog.
I will not tell you the strangest thing that happened to me today. I will not even tell you the strange thing that happened to me last Saturday. Because I plan to use it in my story no matter how long it will take me to let it unfold.
I don't understand the word "old"
the same way I don't understand the word "sexy".
But 23 is not equal to 41, that I understand. It would be more difficult for you if it was your mother who was so much older than you. There is a gender difference as well.
I often was wondering how nice it would be to live without my parents (I meant separately. That is me proofreading). But circumstances have it that I live with them for the most part of my life. I still feel like the one who forgot to grow up. It is circumstantial again. I understand that you are joking about not talking to those who are older or younger...
However, it is to the mutual benefit of everybody to be around all ages. From the youngest possible to the oldest possible. I look at it - as a gift. It is what it is. It is good for my son to have grandparents near (I did not, they lived far away) and it is good for my parents to have a young bluebell (we call him bluebell because his voice is very melodic and he keeps chirping like a little bird).
To me your age is irrelevant. My age is very relevant - but it is my responsibility to deal with it. I never lie about it. I got reprimanded all the time - "You don't look forty! So, don't say it." You look - it goes from as low as 25 to 35. Once it was 43.
But it is not my insecurity - it is everybody's preoccupation with age - and the necessity to look younger. One lady told me: "You keep saying "I am forty, I am forty" as if it was something to be proud about." And I said: "Yes. I am proud that I can accept it. That I made it to this number. I had an opportunity to take an earlier exit, but I did not."
And last Saturday, well, there was another one - to leave without saying "Good-bye".
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I love this quote:
“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.”
Mark Twain
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And about your chapter. I don't mind at all. I was very curious to see the reflection of my work. The only thing that I will ask you in the future is to tell me - so we will not write incompatible parts.
The one that I am writing is about getting into the bath (you inspire me as well) and out of it.
The next one - is still the cafe in Rome (the same one) and the conversation about murderous writers. You don't have to be there. But your shadow was meant...
However, there is a particular discussion when I need you. I will let you know as well when I will be close to it - so far I was planning on doing it after "The Conference of Murderous Writers", but I hate making promises because I keep breaking them.
So, dear Ninja ...
I read your response last night as I was lying on the couch. I fell asleep a short while afterwards. All I remembered was "you inspire me as well". That put a smile on my face and made my sleep on the couch a little more bearable until I finally got up and went to bed.
We have that in Croatian too - older people calling younger people son or daughter. Now that I think about it, it's the same in Tswana on my mom's side too. I wonder why it's not so in English. I like your theory on language. It's quite true. You react a certain way when you hear or read certain words... I didn't think about it much before.
But anyway... If you're going to call me "daughter", can I call you my "Hub Mama"? Hahaha! It sounds kind of cool - like a rapper of some sort. Rapper? Wrapper? You wrap words around in your hubs... Hmmm...
It's not quite the same on the other side - mom, mother, mommy. I usually talk about my "mom" to other people. My sister and I call her "mommy" amongst ourselves. We grew up calling my mom by name, now we call her "mama". I used to call my dad "uncle" because that is what I learnt from everybody else - he was everyone's uncle. Then someone made me realise it when I was about 10 years old and I switched to calling him "dad" (tata). Names never really mattered in our house.
Anyway... I'm rambling.. Perhaps my brain will spit out something before I fall asleep this evening. It's a discourse. Nothing to do with me or Rome or Bogie Woman though - I leave that all in your hands for now...
Ok, Maja, I finally made it to the end of my comments.
I am falling asleep - yesterday I had the folly of drinking and writing "poetry". So I did not sleep the night, published something that produced a wave that swept me quite unexpectedly.
Another example of "We are not given to foretell how our words will echo..."
You can call me whatever you like. Of course, I prefer, Svetlana or Dolores/Lola/Lolita/Donna Rosa/kallini...
In Spanish, in Cuba in particular, men call women "mami".
"Mami" is for "sweetie", "darling". It sounds so close to "mama" - I like it.
"What shall I call you?" my ex B-friend asked me.
"You can call me "mami".
"I will never call you "mami", I am not Cuban. I will never call you by the name somebody called you before."
Words, words, words - they are loaded.
I like your name "Maja". In Hindu it means - "dream, illusion". Another meaning is "star, constellation". I like all of them.
I was not planning, of course, to call you a daughter. It still feels weird.
I was taking to Mike and he likes to remind me about our age difference. But when I think about men who are the same age as my father - it is one image and feeling. But the same age category of men - is still romantically inclined. So, when I go out dancing - I don't feel like a daughter, I feel like a woman ... that is being considered for romance.
Sometimes it confuses the hell out of me - all this time travelling.
I will try to "jump out" of HP and think about writing or maybe just take a break and read.
It is a must for a writer.
Svetlana, this is an absolute bRilLiAnt play. I enjoyed it thoroughly, smiling all the time. I am in awe!
Dear Martie - thank you for a comment - I hope to continue this thing. One day...
Sunnie Day Level 8 Commenter 7 months ago
Good Morning Svetlana,
I really woke up reading this great hub this morning. Each time I read them I am getting more understanding of each character and how they are interlaced with eachother. I loved the lines "Dolores: We never know who we are. We don’t know how to define ourselves. More often than not we are defined by others, by society. To define is to limit – we play roles… I did not do it out of cruelty… I think it is about waking up every day to a fresh realization that we don’t know anything."
Never anything spoken wih so much truth.
Maybe it is all a dream, maybe it is something else completely, it is only what we think we perceive in our own minds to be true..Is is really reality at all?..Pretty deep thinking here..I liked this very much..I never thought of yellow as the color of insanity but remembering what we talked about last night, it is in the eye of the beholder..some hate yellow..others find it a wonderful color..and then what shade of yellow are we talking about..dark ugly yellow or a pale light yellow..anyway..great job my friend,
Sunnie