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Because I am very afraid of change. I don’t know what I would do if I needed all my belongings, a large part of which are attachments, moving from place to place. But I know for a fact that all gypsies would tip me. Or maybe even marching side by side to the front like a State Trumpet Orchestra, accompanied by dancers rhythmically circling with colorful bumps in their hands.
The red soles of my ale labutino shoes, which were the only high heels I bought on the occasion of graduating from Cornelia school. (It would be symbolic if they also endured graduation from Saulea next year.) Then both daughters’ first figure skating skates, which had been sold by smart and sentimental mothers for a long time and bought much more useful household items, would slide on them. Cornelian’s wedding dress, which was kept in my closet indefinitely for an indefinite period, is forgotten: overtime in my mother’s closet does not have to be paid for.
When this time, when we leave Pervalka, we reserve accommodation for next year, we do not change the tradition to this day.
In a word, moving is like death. Because, as you’ve probably realized by now, I am an adult with such things both physically and emotionally. The worst of all is that I fully recognize my identity and my things. I even enjoy it. Sometimes I try to fantasize about what would happen if blue cells entered my blood, betraying my honorable origin. Perhaps even then, my personal belongings, to which I am so attached, would become extremely valuable museum assets. They need to be displayed properly, dusted off every now and then, and most importantly, create a set of engaging stories for naive tourists. That is what I can do.
Attachment to Pervalka
Just as Oleg Gazmanov once sang about Odessa, I could create poems for Pervalka, this pearl of the Curonian Spit that seems to have been called a gloomy town 30 years ago. Because he didn’t give one of my seven party dresses that chance!
And it all started in the time of the students, when a man, a typical citizen, was tricked and misled by a man, with three huge suitcases dedicated to the legendary J.Basanavičius avenue in Palanga, they took him to Pervalka. To say that I have to see with my own eyes the unique nature and transcendent peace that is here … It goes without saying something, but a sophomore didn’t really need peace. She was not fascinated by the attacks of the local highway robbers, shameless boars. Once upon a time, I drove down the road to Nida to meet me and … stop: the road is blocked by wild pigs with piglets searching for food, eating the remains of their sandwich with the urine from their hands … Just a free Neringa safari, not otherwise!
Times have changed, but my vacation in Pervalka has not. As always, everyone rides a bike and no one pays attention to your outfit. Like then, the town of Pervalka is dominated by hands-on families with young children and home trainings in beach shoes.
That town seemed to enchant me. When this time, when we leave Pervalka, we reserve accommodation for next year, we do not change the tradition to this day.
Attachment to the hairdresser
Previously only abroad, now in Lithuania it is heard more and more that people have their own butchers, cheesemakers, vegetable or honey suppliers. The rich, as you know, also have their own lawyers, small businessmen – accountants, bums – all sorts of barbarians and exhausts there, who transport them straight to bed in front of the TV.
Well, I have my own hairdresser for a long time. Because hair has always been a sacred cow for me, which is why I dedicated a considerable part of my students funds. At first, she dyed my hair in a cozy jar, always fearing that the pigment from the bright dye would penetrate too deeply into the skin in her new bathroom. So after washing a red porridge off my scalp (when I was young I wanted to shine like the sun!), She immediately rushed to scrub her white bath. Then came delicious home-made coffee and nice feminine talk, which only a hairdresser can start. Finally, the price was much higher than usual in government hair salons at the time.
You will not believe it, everything remains to this day. My hairdressing business has grown from a split gelda (sorry, constantly painted bathroom) to a luxury salon in a prestigious Kaunas location. There was coffee left, just in an already elegant porcelain cup from a modern coffee machine, for which I can organize all my wishes. The same pleasant communication was maintained with the women’s delicious raisin secrets.
Only one thing has changed: the price! It has become something of a blast, which is why it bites into my wallet only on special occasions. But oh dangau! – Instead of changing hairdresser, I change my budget philosophy and in the case of ordinary gray, I paint myself and have a celebration once a year.
I know, I know what psychologists would do. Attachments are bad, drugs that keep you on the needle. Avoid more movement.
A good month ago I went to see his hairdresser (how I love God, those tails!). Not because my hairdresser is any better than the others, but because from a very young age she has grown up in my life with invisible hairs that are trying to pull out – oh, what a pain!
Attachment to things
Although I am a practicing Christian, sometimes (right, laughing) I get angry with God. Well why, let’s say, if we had the free will to choose before coming to this world … Well, why couldn’t he pre-install anything from the 21st century? Relevant gadgets, such as “Unlinking things.” Because now I’m a real emotional slave to things!
Here I look at the old orange leather sofa, which has been swelling since Saulėja’s birth, on the website asking for repairs, and I understand with all my might that it is time to say goodbye. And with a sofa. And with striped wallpaper reminiscent of a gay flag. But I can not. Consciousness does not allow it. Too many memories: dances, festivals, passionate kisses and sleepless nights. Therefore, I just change the seat of the sofa, paint the wallpaper that has not been rubbed anywhere, and again shoot fireworks with emotions, trying to prove to the man that the new furniture, even for 30 years, is just a expression of modern mischief and consumerism.
I know what you are also thinking of all kinds of trinkets that dust me from various trips to the farthest corners of the world. They are full everywhere. The twisted shells of Zanzibar, the black sand of Tenerife, the carved stones of the island of Rhodes, the crystals of Dead Sea salt melted by time and the heat of the room, the Masai bracelets with tumbled beads, everything is precious. for me … Every time I go: today or never. And then I understand it more clearly, never. Because if I threw away my memories, I would lose a particle of myself.
I know, I know what psychologists would do. Attachments are bad, drugs that keep you on the needle. Avoid more movement. It is stagnant energy. Get rid of some of them and you can enjoy new items. Or make some small capsules out of your valuables and throw everything else out. Do not trade.
And I’m going to make capsules. (I don’t know why, but I don’t like that word). I wonder if this name could be used to name a 50 x 50 cm box in which I barely squeeze just a small part of my most beautiful moments in life. And I immediately get them out of there. Because they hide under the lid, they suffocate. I suffocate at the same time that I, like a fish, stopped breathing the energy that they radiate. Because they are graves, they are capsules – I say. – I’ll do it without them.
Attachment to daughters
The suns are already eighteen years old, the umbilical cord has been cut for a long time, but there is a kind of psychological cord that keeps me firmly attached to it. Some superdirector knot of cross scouts.
“Who are you ?! – angry man. – Let her go!” I know you are right. But I still want to inertialy fold all the questions related to Saul: who, what, whom, what, what, where to whom? Exclaimer: “Sun !!!” When will you come home? Do you think I get an answer? The echo of the question is painfully crushed by the sound of the front door banging. I already know the rest of the scene tonight. Watching the sunset through the open windows of the site (this is another – romantic – my attachment), I will also be able to see the short and waning messages of the Sun, limited to particles of “yes” and “no”, which until midnight they will become a hysterical and almost traditional cry of my soul – subscriber is not available.
“Daaaryk someone !!!” – I’ll complain with Jack London’s White Fang voice, because that was the case with my first-born Cornelia. The girl went out at night to give a classmate Lithuanian notes. (There were no mobiles back then: you see, gauze generation!) And it disappeared for a few hours like in water. That night, the standing police services sighed on the phone, claiming they could only start looking for their daughter after a day, if necessary.
“A lot of my nerves won’t last!” – I said this time and in an instant I heard the cry of a joyful knock on the door – Cornelia answered. How could you ?! Torn by an uncontrollable maternal stomach, he was determined to tear it apart. It was then that I first realized that I needed to learn to run. Even in the worst case.
Attachment to friends
Just as it would be difficult for a camel to go through a needle hole, it would not be easy for me to think about what valuable material the anchors keep me tied to the ground.
Soon, Saulija will go to study in the capital and it will be easier, – I reassure myself, because I know from previous experience: when you don’t see, your heart doesn’t hurt. (I even wondered how quickly the first daughter’s departure abroad broke the umbilical cord, healed the wounds of attachment.) But the pain is still you Friends.
Surprisingly, having been involved in the most important events of my life almost since school, one day they became a complete stranger. Crowns rabies, for which there is still no vaccine, I think, has already brought many friends. I have ruined everyone’s brain, maybe not everyone’s, just mine ?!
In a word, there are no more friends and the attachment remains. As for many years, the traditions of general leisure, photos of children and adults, phone numbers in the address book have been appreciated. I try to make sure that nothing is more important than fidelity to inner truth. Every day I quote myself as the “Little Prince”, I remove the thistles and baobabs from my heart. I try not to get angry so that all this doesn’t come back to me.
Sometimes it helps. And sometimes, it seems, you are spitting in all that ideological compost of contradictions so that you can, as in the old days, sit in the Old Town cafe, talk about nothing for hours, discuss the news in the tabloids, rejoice with the sales. Devil crown! Or maybe not her? Maybe it’s time to go through different oriental ways and customs to wish each other happiness?
Attachment to property
Thank God that at least I don’t have that attachment. For just as it would be difficult for a camel to go through a needle hole, it would not be easy for me to think about what valuable material anchors me to the ground.
Cars, plots, houses? … I have heard from the immediate ones how this excess of matter destroys the healthy family relationships between brothers and sisters, parents and children. Once upon a time, while still watching television, I saw clips of TV Help filmed that looked like low-budget short films starring underpaid statisticians.
Well, no … At least you won’t bind that attachment to me. I did not sign, and the point. And you can treat me as others if you think you need… – I tell my psychotherapist, who tells me to go home and carry my travel backpack.
To what end? Won’t I bother you in a week? – Dew like a rabid cat, because I have not yet been able to hold on to this glasses.
“And put as much,” he continues pairing, ignoring my ironic humming, “as long as you can get on with your hump.” About one-tenth of its own weight.
I even miss …
How wise are my glasses. Maybe you’ll have to stick with it ?! And how could he know that after 30 kilometers from his own feet, a person only wants one thing: a bed?
“Darling, you can’t do it …” – I can still tell an overly helpful employee of one of the parsonies, who explains something forcefully about clean bedding, a hot shower and Ms. Aušvicienė’s homemade eggs that are left in the kitchen. But long ago I sailed into another dimension of dreams. A crowd of people dressed in white Greek chitons, led by the Greek philosopher Aristotle, is coming to bury my earthly body, which is appearing on a high stretcher with arms outstretched in the palms of the hands… What does that mean?
There are not the stones of Rodas, nor the black sand of Tenerife, nor the collection of my beautiful paintings on my palms, and the red-legged labutines … Oh, the angels and cherubs, who do not carry harps, but hums and pandur ancient that still fly over me and sing with voices so thin and tragicomic. I bet the attachments left on Earth. And I’m going to shake to tears until I wake up … Under a blanket my mother stuffed me with duck down 50 years ago. When you expected me to call this world.
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