Book Review: Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood

What does pre-Nazism Berlin look like through the eyes of a British writer?
Goodbye to Berlin didn't impress me with a strong storyline or too many memorable characters.  Its real value lies in its simplicity. It carries the charm of its time and borrows some from Cabaret, and it's fantastic because it illustrates the human interactions and understanding from that time. The political references are brought down to plain minimum, which highlights the personal story and how detached it can be from the events happening around. It comes to show that it's the people we meet, know, and love that make up our story - not the times in which we live.
At one point the book seems almost silly - there are all the tensions from the fraction between Communism and Nazism, there are the economic difficulties following the Wall Street crash, there are the foundations of the killing anti-semitism that will later lead to the Holocaust, and there is the narrator, who's impressed by a cabaret singer and a wanna-be actress. It's almost ridiculous. But then you continue reading, and you reach the last chapter, and you start to understand a truth about people, which is hard to explain. It's never told out right, but it's there - underlining every word and outlined in a frame of laughter. And then you remember the whole story that History tells and how only History will finish this book, which ends all too quickly.

Short Story: A Game

I walked into a room only to discover there was nothing in it for me. I walked out just as I had walked in, pointlessly and without a specific direction. A sudden urge inside me, one I cannot recall experiencing before pulled me toward a kitchen. There they were, all the knives stored together in an impeccably ordered way. And I felt that surge, the new one, to grab one and look for Sarah. I didn't know what I was going to do with her, or the knife, but I knew that I had to take one out, it didn't matter which one, and find her. It was like there was a string starting in my chest and pulling me forward: first toward the knives and then toward her. The weird things was that I didn't even know where Sarah was. She was just that girl who came by to meet Becca yesterday. We said hi, and then they hid in Becca's room and did whatever teenage girls usually do when they are together. I wasn't allowed in. I didn't do what they did, and I didn't know Sarah. I only said hi to her.

And yet I was walking. My feet worked fast, doing exactly what feet were designed to do, moving me, transporting me, without a navigation system on. Or maybe with one of their own that I wasn't allowed to understand. I had the knife, and I walked. I went out, and people started looking at me oddly. Those were people I knew, people I may even want to hurt, but the blade didn't pull me towards them; it pulled me towards Sarah. And I walked. I thought someone might call the police or come take me on himself, as I'm not that big and without the knife I wouldn't be scary-looking, but nobody did either thing. They just watched. And I walked on.

I found Sarah's house, and knew it was hers even though I had never been there. I didn't know Sarah. I only said hi to her. I knocked on the door and for a moment wondered if she lived alone or if her Hulk of a father would open instead of her and beat the crap out of me. She opened. Then we just stood there, neither of us moving. I thought she should look afraid, but she only looked at me dully. Or maybe that was her scared face, I don't know. I know know Sarah. But we just stood there until it got dark. There was not pull from the knife anymore and I didn't know what that meant. When I had first picked it up, I thought I was going to kill her. I don't know why I would have killed her - I didn't know Sarah - but I thought I was going to. But then the pull stopped and I wondered if it wasn't a divine sign that she was the one... what? The one for me? The love of my life? I needed to pee. It happened so suddenly - I was standing there, and then out of nowhere my bladder was going to burst. I said hi to her - again - and waited for her response. She said hi and I walked into her house automatically navigating to the bathroom.

Then I left and I went to sleep because I was tired. But I hadn't done anything all day with the exception of trying to kill Sarah. I don't know if anyone is at home. I woke up ten minutes ago and it was fourteen past three, so I couldn't be bothered checking. Mom and Dad are probably sleeping anyway. Becca is probably doing her homework or whatever else teenage girls do when they are alone.

These things keep happening. Like that freak accident last week and the fire. Things just happen, out of nowhere. You walk, and a baby falls into your hands. And there it is - all yours and all dependent on you. You go out, you need to pee, and you get locked inside the restroom, so by the time you get out all your friends are gone because they got sleepy. But nobody would look for you. People don't notice you. Or anybody, really - they just walk about doing random stuff without any point to it. And they don't know why they do it. The freakiest thing was the pool ladder. What the hell was that?? Becca was swimming and then the ladder disappeared. She kept swimming and swimming, not noticing at all, until she was dead tired. And then it just popper back in again only so that she could get out and pass out on the pavement beside it. She doesn't remember it though. She went swimming again today.

Some really weird things happen round here. I might move town soon. But first, let me order a pizza.

Book Review: Petty God by Kaur Kender

Petty God is by far one of the most abstract books that I have read. With strong extended metaphors derived from the Bible this books offers a much more modern read of this ancient text. Separately the characters and situations described, even though extraordinarily written, are not outstanding; combined, however, all the stories tie up to an excellent piece of philosophical literature. In my opinion, even though the book itself is not strictly philosophical, a more careful read of it might be an eye-opener, as it encompasses so many different aspects of one’s life. Being written by Estonian writer Kaur Kender the book offers a fresh perspective on life and all the little bits and pieces that influence us daily, exploring both the psychological and the external factors that can change our lives. 

Short Story: Free Flight

                The alarm clock buzzed with a sense of hysteria in its scratchy voice. It was five in the morning, and the sun wasn’t out. It was dark and cold and lonely, and not a single soul was awake at that time. Except for me.

                There was an edge to which I clung that morning, and to which I had been hanging for so long. It was like the edge of a cliff with an eternal abyss beneath it. And the sunsets were beautiful to watch from there, with your legs hanging free into the cool afternoon air. And she and I held hands there sometimes, and sat, and talked, and had picnics even. And it was perfect.

                The void was there, though, deep and endless and gaping at us with its lack of teeth. The wide opening you irrationally wish to jump into when standing too close. I didn’t. My head went dizzy, and the world swirled in ways I couldn’t even begin to imagine, and she swirled along with it like a graceful ballerina or a falling autumn leaf. I didn’t jump, but I started falling. I slipped, I stumbled or I was pushed. Does it matter really? I had thought about the fall for a while then, not when she was around but all the other time, the solitary time, the lonely time when I felt little and tiny in the face of the earth and the world and the universe, and absolutely insignificant to the vast void.

                I had imagined it to be something more, the falling bit. I thought when it happened, because we all knew it was going to happen, that it would be faster. I imagined the fear and my heartbeat escalating in unison, and then the flight. The flight was supposed to be epic. The hole was so deep that I was to have my few seconds of utter despair and total understanding  and sweet acceptance, and maybe even happiness of dying in the mouth of the mightiest of monsters.

                That was what was supposed to happen. But there was an animal inside me, an ape clinging to life harder than any human will to die. And the animal grasped the edge of the cliff in the split long second of shock and begged disgustingly for alms. I wanted to let go, but it didn’t, and she was gone from there, too scared, or amused, and there was nobody to catch my hand, and only the fingers of the thing held on.

                I was stuck on the edge, and it was stuck inside me. It was sharp and rough and pointless, but everything else was simply death.

                I woke up at five when the world was still sleeping. I woke up at five every morning and my soul was asleep. And I grasped to the edge because it was all I had. My hold on it tight, and tighter when I rode the metro to the gas station and when I took my spot behind the counter. My knuckles went white every time some idiot yelled or shouted or threatened. Although I liked it when they threatened – they believed so hard that there was something else they could take away from me, as if there was anything else that could hurt me. It was amusing, and sometimes, just sometimes, it would perhaps make me let go a little and give my sticky fingers a run for their money. But generally, I held tighter. And tighter I held when I walked back to the metro at half past ten at night without having seen the warmth of sun or sweetness of night all week, or all month, or even all year.

 I let go and let the animal take over when, on my way, I pass the store, the one that holds the abyss in a bottle. I always let the ape take control then because the human in me wants to fly.

Movie Review: Into the Wild (2007)

Don’t watch this movie. Spare yourself the time, the philosophy and the heartache. Perhaps your life would be way easier without it.

Gave up yet?

How can I convince you to do so?

This is not your typical Hollywood drama. There’s no extreme love or extreme sex or extreme violence – it would never qualify for a top story on TV or a front page in the local newspaper. This is a real story. And real stories don’t follow the rules of Hollywood. The character doesn’t magically fall in love with the pretty girl with the guitar, and she doesn’t solve all life’s problems. Mom and Dad haven’t cooked the barbeque for his glorious return, so there’s a disappointment right there. There is no groundbreaking ever saving philosophy to get you through the day, and it doesn’t end your way.

Don’t watch this movie. Seriously. It’s too dangerous. You might just end up changing some of your views on life and time and their significance. Why risk it, right?

Short Story: The Day

                        The coffee machine roared with a sudden madness. That morning it did its magic in an intolerably noisy way. Outside it was still dark and only a single window of the building was awake.  It was four, and the city was sleeping. It was four and there was an invisible storm going on at its heart. It was four, and it was too late.

                Ella stole the coffee from the machine and drained it into the sink. She had changed her mind. No one sane was to have coffee at such an awkward hour, she decided, and boiled some tea instead. She took out a coke from the fridge, poured it into a long glass and put a straw in it. It looked real fancy that way. The tea sang from the kettle that it was ready. She put it next to the coke and considered mixing them together. She still couldn’t decide if sane, how sane exactly she was that morning… night… whatever.

                She poured them too to waste and started washing the cups and glasses. And some dishes along the way. Just to make sure everything was clean. Clean was nice. So she decided to take down her curtains and wash them as well. He liked smoking in her room, and the smoke left such a disgustingly distinctive smell on everything. She had got to rid herself from the smell.

                It was four, and she was awake, and she didn’t know what to do. It was such an annoyingly awkward hour. She was sick of both sleeping and being awake, and there was nothing to do except for cleaning that empty place. She considered crying for a bit or taking a shower. Perhaps both would do. But then she decided she was fed up with that as well, and went back to being so thoroughly and utterly bored at the nothingness going on around her.

                There was nothing happening at four o’clock.

                She took out the little pills that resided in her purse always and thought of the daily dose. She wondered if she was to lock herself in that tiny apartment, if they would last a week having to take four of them daily. And what would happen if at one point she just didn’t.

                She had actually considered that idea before. Stopping them. The pills. Those, the ones nobody knew about. The ones, which you don’t get with a prescription. The ‘happy pills’, as she imagined he would call them. She wondered why they didn’t work against that horrible boredom.

                Ella counted them carefully three times and calculated the time she had left with them. If she was to lock herself right now and always took her daily dose precisely, they would last exactly nine and a half days. She didn’t know how much food she had or bottled water, but she had counted every pill and that made her happy.

                Then she considered dropping them down the drain too, or in the toiler perhaps, one by one, counting them again. She imagined what life would be like now without them. Maybe she would fall into one of those so adorable on TV and terrible in real life little depressions that people worry about at first and then totally forget until one ended in a bathtub with slit wrists or a turned on hair dryer. And then everyone discusses how they could have never seen it coming. Or that they did but didn’t know what to do.

Maybe if she did that, if she got herself one of those nice little depressions, he would come to investigate too. Maybe he would sit on her sofa and light up a cigarette, and talk random nonsense until he felt out of place and at last left her alone. She didn’t like seeing him that way. Maybe he would ask her what is wrong, and then she was to tell him the truth or at least lie straight to his face. Maybe he would even hug her then, the way he used to back then.

                Or maybe he was to knock on her door with his girlfriend hung at his hand. Good thing her door was to be locked then.

                “It’s horrifying,” she thought and a cold shiver went down her spine. “One day I’ll die, and he’ll never know I loved him. There will be no one to tell him. It would be like it never happened.

“One day I’ll die… and he won’t even know…”

                No, she decided. A depression would not do. It could go either way.

                She looked at the pills again. She emptied the box on the table and got them in a straight line like soldiers. Ready… Set…

Fire!

***

It was five in the morning, and a phone roared with a sudden madness.

                “I’m sorry,” the message read, “it just felt like the right kind of day.”

Essay: The Importance of Disadvantaged Youth in the Future Development of Our Global Community

* Awarded by the Gulen Institute Youth Platform (http://www.gulenyouthplatform.org/) as one of the top 30 essays for 2014

  The definition of disadvantaged youth includes all children at or below eighteen years of age who are high-school dropouts, orphaned, homeless or living in poverty. It refers to all the children that are not considered to have the same educational and career opportunities as their peers due to geographical remoteness, disparities in wealth in demographic ethnic minorities, linguistic issues as well as but not limited to special educational needs. This very definition portrays them as a disabled and incompetent burden to society that has to be dealt with.  

                According to the social approach of psychology people build up their character and behavior based on their interactions with other people. Growing up to be healthy, ambitious and prosperous members of society sometimes proves to be difficult even for children who have been raised in loving and caring families; it is hard to imagine how much more difficult this process could be for somebody who is used to everyone looking down on him and categorizing him as “disadvantaged”. Perhaps one of the first steps towards creating more positive attitudes within the young people from any background is not labeling them and putting them into groups – an act which, in itself, diminishes their personal confidence. We live in a world which preaches equality; however, to paraphrase George Orwell, some seem to be more equal than others. Organizations that take up the responsibility of educating young people should make sure to treat everyone equally. This means that "disadvantaged" children should not be looked down on for coming from a more troubled background as compared to their peers, but they should also not be given excuses for not doing the work required. All children need to be educated to understand that the responsibility for their future is entirely theirs. Fortunately the world has changed dramatically in the past century and in most developing countries it is less and less important what family one comes from – success comes at one’s own merit, and therefore people of all backgrounds have the opportunity to lead a successful life. It seems though that not everybody knows this. Education should by all means be an advocate of this tendency and should make it known to everybody. 

                Discouragement is extremely dangerous among students of all ages and backgrounds. In his speech for Zeitgeist Americas 2013 Malcolm Gladwell summarizes the effects of competition within the classroom and the effects of not being at the top of the class. Using statistics Gladwell shows that students who go to elite educational institutions (like Harvard for example) but are not at the top of their class are doing worse than almost anyone else who doesn’t go to such elite institutions but is at the top of their class. This would illustrate that competition has a huge impact on a student’s motivation to study hard and do his work well. Going back to the point about equality, educators need to make sure that a child is not put at a disadvantage (is not considered to be at the bottom or anywhere under the top of his class) just for coming from a troubled background. The effects of this would be limiting this child’s potential and increasing the feeling of inferiority in comparison to his peers; this may result in lack of motivation to study, an earlier drop-out from education, a worse job or even taking the path of crime. 

                However, a counter point can be made as to whether “disadvantaged” children should really be treated absolutely equally. A nurturing environment is almost certainly required for the upbringing of a healthy child which would grow up to be a well-rounded member of the society. The children considered as “disadvantaged” are often deprived of the happy home and/or the caring parents required in the formula. Therefore a fully equal educational environment would still not be completely fair and supporting for these children. One of the many roles of the nurturing family is to teach the child to believe and respect himself, to find their strengths and interests and pursue them. The state is responsible for all the citizens living within its borders and should therefore make sure that all children receive “education” in self-respect. In the cases of disadvantaged youth concerning orphaned children and children coming from troubled families the state needs to fill in the “educational” gap and make sure that every child discovers his talents and interests and has the opportunities to make the most of them. On this issue the state and non-profit organizations can unite efforts towards creating programs for teacher training and school counseling. 

Currently functioning non-profit organizations in the United States and abroad like Orphaned Starfish Foundation (OSF), Orphans International Worldwide (OIWW), J. Luce Foundation, Afghan Child Education and Care Organization, and CharityHelp International (CHI) all agree that “education is the way out [of poverty]” (Andrew Stein, American Democratic politician). However, disadvantaged children are often deprived of capital assets, such as computers, textbooks and books, which may be another factor to stop them from fulfilling their potential. Investments in public computer labs and libraries should be a priority so as to give every child equal opportunities to learn and grow. In many countries orphaned children have little, if any, opportunity to obtain an education or training that would enable them to become independent, contributing members of their society, so providing even basic schools and work-oriented courses is a very important step towards integrating these children and giving them the opportunities every citizen of the world should have.

                 Disadvantaged youth also refers to students who have dropped out of high school and/or those who have not continued their education in a college or university. This is a huge problem in society, as the number of people who haven’t finished their secondary studies is increasing. This may turn out to be an economic disaster, as it will lead to lowering the quality of services and significantly slowing down technological and scientific growth. The share of jobs in the U.S. economy needing a college degree will increase to 63 percent in the next decade. This will require 22 million new employees with college degrees. At the current pace, the nation will fall at least 3 million college degrees short (A. Carnevale, N. Smith, and J. Strohl, Help Wanted: Projections of Jobs and Economic Requirements Through 2018 (Washington, DC: Georgetown Center on Education and the Workforce, 2010). Globally, organizations like UNESCO are working to provide quality basic education. In their program Education for All they aim to achieve six set goals, one of which is Ensuring that the learning needs of all young people and adults are met through equitable access to appropriate learning and life-skills programmes. On a personal level, a lack of education means lowered job opportunities, and even if the student manages to find a job, it will usually be less well paid in comparison to the job a university graduate is almost certain to have. For example, in the United States of America nearly 44 percent of dropouts under age 24 are jobless, and the unemployment rate of high school dropouts older than 25 is more than three times that of college graduates (United States Department of Labor, 2012). Furthermore, this creates more than just economic issues. The health of a typical high school dropout, by age 18, is similar to that of a more educated person in his 40s (College Board Advocacy & Policy Center, 2010). Moreover, disadvantaged youth in this case creates the risk of triggering a chain reaction, as if a drop-out doesn’t manage to find a good job and/or turns to crime, his children would most probably live in poverty and/or become orphaned or homeless, thus becoming disadvantaged as well and entering a vicious circle. Realizing the importance of increasing the continuity and quality of education Senator Debbie Stabenow (D-MI), Senators Al Franken (D-MN), Sherrod Brown (D-OH) and Representative Dale Kildee have passed the Reengaging Americans In Serious Education by Uniting Programs (RAISE UP)Act which would provide pathways for disadvantaged youth to graduate from secondary school, attain a postsecondary credential, and secure family-supporting career by integrating essential, and often disparate, education, workforce, social services and supports. 

                However, in order to deal with the problem, one must understand its origins. The number of educational drop-outs is increasing possibly because there is no guarantee that once one finishes high-school or college one will get the job one has been studying for. This results in a lack of motivation. When the question is posed so that one has to choose between instant (low) income and possible (high but not guaranteed) income later, many choose the former option not realizing the long-term consequences of this short-term decision. 

                There are several approaches towards solving this problem. One way is for non-profit organizations working with big employers to create programs which could guarantee college graduates a well-paid job after graduation. For high-school drop-outs career-oriented training could be offered, so that everybody gets an equal opportunity of finding a wage-sustaining job. With combined efforts, the state and non-profit organizations through advertising campaigns can work towards making early drop-outs from education a taboo among youngsters. The state can also contribute to the solution, as it can increase the minimum age for quitting education or impose a percentage supplement to the wage of every student with a high-school diploma up until a certain age. Most important, however, are investments in teacher-training, as very often the teacher is the one creating attitudes towards education; a good teacher will be able to trigger the student’s interest and curiosity thus making a sudent continue his studies for his love of knowledge. 

                So what should be the role of the state and the non-government organizations in the process of teaching self-respect and love for knowledge? In many cases concerning disadvantaged youth the state is responsible for taking care of the children considered in this category, which means securing that they would receive from the government the things other children receive from their families. This means that the state must support their personal growth and development in all ways possible, as the “disadvantaged youth” should not be viewed as a burden to society but as future independent members of society and the key to future prosperity. Increasing the funding of state schools in order to improve the quality of education, the material base of the schools, the training of the teachers and the availability of counseling services for each student is one way the state can help disadvantaged children find out their interests and realize their potentials so as not to feel underestimated in any way by society. Advertising campaigns towards raising awareness and educating more people in understanding the potential of every child, disadvantaged or not, should help teachers in their efforts to achieve equality in the classroom and stop disadvantaged children from feeling inferior to their peers because of their background. Equality of opportunities needs to be achieved, so as to limit the importance of the family background in determining the future of the child. However, the state may not have all the funding to finance such an educational revolution. Non-profit organizations should work to provide the disadvantaged youth with what the state does not have the funding to provide. In some cases this could be better school material base (libraries and computers), in others it could be teacher-training, or career-oriented courses, or work placement for high-school or college graduates. In any case, the role of the state and the non-profit organizations cannot be limited to simply one definition – it has to evolve and change according to the needs of the society. But one thing should be kept in mind: as Richard Morgan, UNICEF’s senior adviser on the post-2015 development agenda, said “Children and young people are the makers of a future sustainable world and measures of their progress will also be the markers of that world.” This suggests viewing every child as a precious opportunity to make our world a better place to live.

Short Story: Behind the Mask (of Reality)

It was a hot summer night and the stuffy air of the busy ally was filled with a combination of sweat and sun cream. People were passing by. People were talking. People were moving, buzzing, existing. But there, on the narrow sidewalk, was placed a crooked piece of black fabric that nobody even noticed. It might have once been a hat, but now it looked more like a mischievous dog’s miserable ruffled ball. And hundreds of feet passed by that hat every day, but they noticed neither the hat nor its poor companion behind it. Their occasional, rather accidental glimpse never took in his painted face and the brightness of his eyes. The vivid words coming out of his dry lips never reached their ears and the stories that he told disappeared between the crowds and disintegrated slowly in the hot air.

It was a sad thing, the boy behind the hat thought. With the mask of coulours on his face one could hardly tell if he was young or old, but there was something in the way he looked and smiled and talked would give his youth away. His face was a mystery that nobody cared to explore, and his name was a word lost in a dictionary. He had taken a late train in the moving to fast a pace world, and at twenty-three he was a piece of history. Broke, poor, failed, he would come out on the street every morning at nine with his face hidden behind layers of stolen paint; he would take out his ruffled hat, sit down and look at the strangers passing by. And they passed, and he sat, and if any of them was to give him a look, he would rise and in a loud voice would pronounce: “Freedom!” or “Happiness” or “Beauty”, and start telling the most unbelievable story one could imagine. He would speak loud and slowly, allowing everyone who cared to listen to follow him on his journey of words. He would gesture with hands and wave his arms in all directions and not simply tell a story – he would live it and he would make you live it with him. And when the last word tumbled out of his heart, he would sit back down and quietly wait for the next accidental look to give him a start.

The world changed when he was speaking but too few were there to see. The occasional look would come and go, but its possessor would never truly be there. People, their bodies and minds were too complicated a machine to work together and even though the body passed, saw and heard, the mind never registered, noticed or remembered. And they all together walked away disparagingly.

What a blissful thing it was that the boy’s train was too slow to notice! In his head everyone was part of the story. And everyone rejoiced and marveled at it.

 No one really did.

One day a little boy passed with his mother. The boy looked at Nial, for that was the storyteller’s name, and surprised pointed at his painted face. He was such an interesting creature! The mother pulled the boy away.

One single look was all that was needed. Nial arouse and exclaimed: “Magic!” His eyes were seeing different colours and the buildings started changing; people were flying and fairies were racing down a sparkly waterfall of no other substance but of dreams and the sun was yawning and the stars were playing golf in the sky and everything was beautiful and…

“Hey, you!” a waiter from the café across the ally called. “Sit down and shut up! Why can’t ya just beg like the normal people?!”

The fantasy was disturbed. The colours went bleak. The buildings shattered and crumbled down in spectacles of shiny glass. The fairies’ wings were clipped by gray whirlwind and they grinned in the air, sitting on broomsticks. The sun was blazing destructively. The stars weren’t playing fair.

“Hey! Are you deaf or something? Shut up, I tell ya! I’m tired of your useless stories!” the waiter shouted again and advanced threateningly. “I’m sick of ya! Every day you come here dressed like a clown and start telling these… lies! Lies’s what they are! You hear? Lies!”

“They’re not lies. They’re stories,” Nial said.

“Lies! Nobody needs your lies, boy! Go away!”

“The world needs my stories.”

The waiter’s face was taking on a new, brighter colour, filling his cheeks with cherry red and his forehead with orchid pink.

“The world needs no liars! I need no liars like you, boy! Shut up! Why do I need your silly stories? Fairies? Dreams? Witches? How’s that helped anyone? How’s that helping me? Ya know what’s helping me? Salaries. Clients. And you’re scaring away my clients! Go away!”

“Fairies, dreams, witches… and tomorrow dragons, heroes and unicorns.” Said Nial while slowly taking up his hat from the pavement and putting it inside a torn pocket. “The world needs my fairies and my dragons. Indeed, what else can I tell you about? Cheap clothes, cheap food… cheap life? Or the dirt on the street you walk on and in the air you breathe? Cheap street and cheap air! And cheap dirt, of course! The world needs me. People need me. I’m an illusion, but people need illusions because they see too much reality every day. I am the memory of fresh air in this hot haste. I give an escape for those who look for it. It’s forty degrees out here, but don’t you see how cold we are? It’s a cold and cruel and real world, and I’m the escape from it. I’d be fairy and a witch and a dragon, if you wish. I am magic. And after the collapse of religion and the decay of lying I’m the only kind of magic we still have.

The boy picked up his hat and slowly waking away said, “See you tomorrow, my friend.”

Short Story: Simple Rules

Happiness was the most fragile of things and I had the stupidity to break it.

Nurture the frail flower! Water it every day! Feed it properly (or at least regularly)! And please don’t break it.

Those were the four simple rules that I had set on the day I bought the pills and promised myself to never take them. I had them in the palm of my hand, the little white and yellow balls that the child in me wanted to play with; I had them and all the happiness they were supposed to bring.

But no!

I told myself that fertilizers were not the way to go. Who knew what those chemicals would do to my poor exhausted flower. No. I would take care of it myself. Following my four simple rules.

Nurture. Water. Feed. Do not break.

And I did, oh how carefully I did.

And it grew, and it bloomed, and it flourished. It took on its natural pastel colour and opened its petals for the world to see.

And it was beautiful.

But I saw the storm coming from afar. I saw its rich violets and blues and reds and heard the blissful anthem of its winds. I had seen that storm before. I had dreamt of that same storm and written and talked about it until it had swallowed me completely. It had broken my flower once; I should not have let it do it again.

But instead of building a shelter I built a life wall. I put myself in front of the fire and wind, and breath, and devastation and waited.

Hush!

Can you hear that?

It’s coming.

I took the first blow standing. I smiled at the eyes of the storm and ask how it had been doing. I was strong. I was brave. I was daring.

I was stupid.

The storm answered with another, weaker blow that caressed my skin and made me shiver a cold shiver. It was the dead breath of a lover that never woke to love. It a gravestone with no name on it.

But the blows kept coming sweet as ice-cream. And I was the one melting.

It was the warmth of my body that betrayed me first. The warmth and shape of my body that was embraced oh so perfectly by the storm and made me believe it was just a breeze.

I turned my face to the storm but did not recognize it anymore. It was spring and it was birds and they were singing. And it was the smile of the deceiving sun that bent me.

It wasn’t the sun’s fault for my fall, however. A life wall takes more than one guardian. But here there was another who saw the light and not the torpedo and was blinded beyond belief. The guardian stepped forward and fell dead in the hands of the horrendous enemy that we were both in love with; the guardian was dead.

But the guardian broke the wall, and it was so hard to stay alone. And I was bent on my knees by that time, regardless, and there was no hope, for I was so exhausted. A lightning came and stroke down the betrayer, but that was I, and my flower had now no protector.

Fool!

My flower lies now dead beside my body.

But the rules were so simple…

Nurture. Water. Feed.

DO NOT BREAK.

Broken. 

Movie Review: Divergent (2014)

Divergent is perhaps one of the oddest dystopian stories that I have encountered because as bad as a system of putting people into only five factions is, suppressing all individuality and divergence, it actually works and manages to bring at least some sort of order in the future city of Chicago where the only survivors of a horrible war dwell. As a movie, it is impressively well written with a supreme cast including stars like Kate Winslet. The directors have done an amazing job creating this world, so different from ours, with great attention to detail making it easy for the audience to get to know the characters and the rules and laws they live by.

The story, based on Veronica Roth’s debut novel, invites the audience into a world where everyone knows their place… or else. Being different – Divergent – in that world is dangerous, as individuality and personal differences are hard to control and therefore unwanted by the system. The conflict is heightened by the struggle between two of the factions fighting over the governing power in post-apocalyptic Chicago. And of course there is a love story. But it isn’t the regular love story with shy smiles and blushes or driving passions. The scriptwriters and directors have outdone themselves in making the romantic side of the movie very natural giving it its own pace to develop and grow.

Even though personally I wasn’t impressed by the final lines of the movie (which usually have the greatest impact on the audience), the ending as a whole was extremely well-done. It differs greatly from most sequence movies, where something dramatic and unexpected happens in the end just to make you watch the next film from the series. On the contrary, Divergent felt very complete and wholesome as a movie and as a story, which is an impressively bold move on part of the producers, but it is also admirable as they have actually produced a fine piece of the art of cinema.

Movie Review: Veronica Mars (2014)

After the long, long waiting, finally Veronica Mars the movie is out! And I don’t think anyone was expecting a better continuation of the legendary TV series.

The story of the creation of the movie is quite interesting and well-know, but now that I have seen it, I wonder who would be stupid enough not to fund this?

We have all seen bad remakes or sequences or, as is the case, TV series wrapped up with a movie. But this is not the case. The writers and the directors of Veronica Mars have kept all the wittiness, drama and relationships between the characters through all the years between the filming of the last episode (which was broadcasted on May 22, 2007) and the creating of the movie. There wasn’t a single line that stood out of place – the conversations and dynamics between the characters felt natural as always, and the amazing job of the actors really reinforced that feeling.

The case that brought Veronica Mars back to Neptune, and to our screens, could not be anything but a murder case. And the fact that legendary Logan Echolls is suspected of the murder only makes the viewer smile a little bit more, because let’s face it – we all love a touch of Logan’s bad boy charisma. I personally disagree that there is a love triangle in the movie because the Piz-Logan conflict doesn’t seem to be conflicting anyone really… But that’s just my opinion.

The extended metaphor of the “addict” Veronica Mars is just brilliant and only made the ending more interesting, funny and Veronica-ish. The final line is one of the most epic final lines I’ve heard in so long and fitted so well with the entire spirit of the film, the story and Veronica Mars herself.

I believe that anyone, even someone who hasn’t seen the TV series, would enjoy Veronica Mars the movie, so I would strongly recommend it. However, if you have seen the series, then the film is an absolute must-see. No excuses allowed! 

Short Story: And If He Loved Me

                It had been three years, seven months and a week since the last time I was in love with him. We hadn’t spoken since. We didn’t meet all that often, so it wasn’t absolutely awkward even though he’d known about my feelings if not right away then at least eventually, and he smiled at me often, and I believed it was that little piece of truth that he knew that was so amusing to him. The story of me and him was a story that never happened but that had all sorts of scenarios, twists and turns, and possible outcomes. In my head only, of course.

                He wasn’t a nice guy or at least my friends and all the others didn’t say he was. So that thing, my thing, my crush… it wasn’t ever going to work anyway.

                It was funny, though, how we never talked, not even when we had to. We exchanged many glances, even now, so long after, and didn’t need to say a thing. And I don’t think love or affection of any sort was the reason for that – this mutual understanding was, as a matter of fact, the reason for the affection to begin with.

                But I still found it funny how we never spoke.

                He got a girlfriend a while after my crush was over and somewhere in the middle of our glances. And they loved each other, I guess, as people had been seeing them around, together, for quite a bit of time, and even though it didn’t hurt or sting or got to me in any way, I couldn’t help it sometimes but to imagine it was me in her place. I wasn’t jealous, let’s get that clear. I was just wondering, imagining.

                But I left. And I left him, and her, behind.

                And if it weren’t for my best friend, I wouldn’t have been there that night at all. She invited me posing the argument that I was away for so long that we needed to spend as much time together as possible, and she won, and we got dressed up, and we put make up on, and wore our heels, and she left me alone for a guy almost immediately after we went to the party, and I suddenly turned into the awkward wallflower in the corner that nobody noticed but everybody disliked. And it wasn’t my idea of having fun, but I loved my friend, and she was having fun, and I forced myself to stay, so when one day she told just the next drunken story, I would at least be mentioned as present. I hated not being in her stories.

                And there were many people there and not surprisingly so was he, and I had drunk enough of courage to stop him tell him to follow me.

                I wasn’t surprised that he did because we read each other’s looks and he read mine and knew better than to disobey. I led him to the balcony and imagined we were in an old Hollywood movie, and I was a princess at a beautiful ball and he was the prince asking me to dance. But he didn’t, as we didn’t talk but just stood there, not facing each other, smiling at the little park in front.

                “You know, don’t you?” I asked and he smiled ever further.

                “Everybody knew.”

                “Does she know?” I asked.

                “No.”

                I wanted to tell him how we didn’t need to be that way, how we could talk and we could laugh together, and how we didn’t need our glances because that was something couples had and he didn’t have it with his girlfriend and I thought it was unfair to her. I wanted to ask him about the time we’d been apart and the time I’d been away and to listen to his terrible jokes that were never funny. And I was still smiling, feeling his smile in the air, and wanted to ask him why he was so amused with me. Or I just wanted him to break the awkward silence with something stupid even though I knew he wouldn’t because there was nothing awkward in our silence.

                “What happened?” I asked in the end hushing the volcano of thoughts that had erupted in my head.

                He looked at me and I couldn’t bear that look. It was the smile I knew so well, a smile I never knew I’d missed to that day, and as he said “Nothing” we both glared away laughing quietly at the childishness of those days.

                We’d had enough at that point – memories and glances and smiles - and I wanted to leave, but he followed me and the sweetness I had imagined this moment would be filled with was nonexistent, and I wished to push him away, but there was no way I was going to do that because I had been in love with him and he followed me into the darkness and chillness of the night in the park in front. And for a very, very, long while we walked in silence at a safe distance between us, but I was shivering and he put his jacket around my shoulder and we cut the distance separating us by an inch or so. I couldn’t take it, the jacket, of course, but I did anyway. And I was unable to stop thinking of his girlfriend who was probably looking for him by now, as it had been more than a quarter of an hour since I first stole him away.

                “You should go back to her,” I said and involuntarily put a firmer grasp around the soft leather of his jacket.

                He took out his phone. He wrote a short message quickly and pressed send. And I hated that he didn’t go because what was happening couldn’t happen because it had never happened, and it wasn’t fair to happen just now, and he had to go back to his girlfriend and make love to her and forget about me the same way I had to forget about him… just the same way we always forgot about each other when the other wasn’t around.

                “It’s late, it’s dark, and it’s dangerous. I’ll walk you home.” He stated and cut further the distance between us.

                If I were to reach for his arm now, I could have reached it. The cool air allowed me to think more clearly and let me say things that I surprisingly meant like “How’s life been lately?” and “You’re such a sweet couple.” We both tensed at that last one but laughed it off as a joke a bad comedian would crack in front of an unsatisfied audience, and he said that he loved her, and I believed him, and we just moved on talking about the effects of the colours in contemporary art.

                It was not a date. He walked me home and didn’t ask for his jacket. He said we should have done it, that, the thing, the dating bit, long ago, but it was not the time and he had to go back. And I understood it completely and didn’t ask for his number because I wasn’t going to call, but opened the door of the entrance to the tall block of flats and shouted, “Want to come upstairs?” He was not supposed to say okay. But he did it anyway, and I felt terrible about his girlfriend, but we weren’t doing anything wrong, and, as we climbed up on the roof, we were not about to. It was just one of those places I’d always imagined I would share with him, but I never did because he’d never walked me home before because we hadn’t done it, that, the thing, the dating bit before, but it was a pity not to show him the beauty of the city at night when even the moon was sleeping and only our voices woke the sky.

                And it wasn’t awkward. We had started talking and chatting about the randomest of things, and we wouldn’t touch or even look at each other, so it wasn’t as wrong as she might think, but I guess it wasn’t fine either.

                It was an early spring night and temperatures at night could drop low, and while I was well-off in his jacket, at about eleven past three in the morning he began shivering. I didn’t want to leave him alone on the roof, as like with all beautiful things he was a bit broken  and I was afraid he might as well jumped off, but I didn’t want him to get pneumonia should he live, so I went down to my apartment to bring a blanket and something to drink. The stars were beautiful when lying underneath them, and we lay four inches apart while slowly taking in the warm bitterness of the gin. It wasn’t before the bottle was one third way down that we started talking about love and kisses. We didn’t kiss and we didn’t touch, but we talked about it and it was almost as good. We decided it wasn’t going to be fair to anybody, him and me included, if we kissed that night, as it was to be a kiss past its expiration time and it was going to be bitter and bad and sour. Nobody likes anything past its expiration date, love included. And then we discussed that red date that was so long past and wondered who put it there and whether we could change it. It wasn’t going to be fair but at least it might be sweet.

                We made a plan going ten years ahead and we fell asleep under the dark sky still keeping the good four inches between us. We both suspected that we might get cold during the night and the heath of our bodies might pull us closer to a surviving touching point, but that was for our unconsciousness to do and we were not to interfere with it.

                The first drops of rain came upon our faces at twelve to seven when the sky was beginning to turn light. They weren’t harsh or cold – just caressing softness against our skin. The heavy rain came soon after and awoke us from our dream, and we’d both believed the previous night had been a dream but were glad it was over. The morning shower freshened our thoughts and washed the gin and ‘the moment’ away. It was a new day. And we were not together again.

Movie Review: The Great Gatsby (2013)

The Great Gatsby is such an interesting history lesson on the ‘roaring twenties’ in the States. Even though I personally like the story of the movie, I don’t think that’s what’s most fascinating about it. It is truly unique in the sense that it shows a whole different era, not too long back in the history. It illustrates a different way of life, as it shows not only the extremely rich Gatsby but also some not as fortunate. I think, based on the book by Fitzgerald, this movie could have gone so many different ways in creating the atmosphere of the period; however, the approach taken has come to show really good results. Another very significant feature of the movie is all the emotions that are being transferred from the screen to the viewer – it just has it all: glamour, love, intrigue, fraud, action, and tragedy. It is impressive how clearly the movie shows one’s priorities in life and shows that money isn’t all.

The Great Gatsby is a different world and it is a beautiful escape from ours. Some say that it’s unrealistically glamorous, but I think that’s more or less the point. It’s not a realistic movie after all – it’s a beautiful illusion of the past that one doesn’t need to believe in order to enjoy. 

Movie Review: Boy (2010)

Boy is one of the most touching stories that I have seen in a very long time. It reminds me of those simple childhood days when all that matters is fun and games. The atmosphere of the movie is just beautiful with its simplicity. The movie is somewhat inspiring but it’s also somewhat sad. It follows the story of Boy whose father has left when he was little and his mother has died giving birth to his little brother. He and his brother live with their grandmother and the movie shows what happens when their father comes back with the sole purpose of finding some hidden money and leaving for a second time. It’s a truly unique story, which illustrates a different time and a different place from the craze of the world we’re used to in modern life. It gathers the genius and vision of a single person – Taika Waititi – who wrote, directed and played in the movie. This is perhaps the reason why it is so coherent and manages to pull you into this fully detailed and beautiful story.

It is definitely worth sparing those 87 minutes and watching Boy, as it is a true masterpiece of the cinema art.

Movie Review: Tropic Thunder (2008)

To be honest, I didn’t really expect to like this movie; the weird thing is that I actually did. This is not the typical American comedy – it feels like a strange combination between a dark comedy, a parody, Survivor and a war movie. It follows the creation of the most expensive (and least successful) film about the war in Vietnam to be ever created, and it’s terribly interesting because it has nothing to do with the war in Vietnam. It presents the actors’ and producers’ flaws and faults but lets them have their redemption by outing them in the most unusual situations while filming the movie. Although at times quite disturbing, the movie is thoroughly entertaining and very funny. It’s created by Ben Stiller and the cast is truly impressive including stars like Robert Downey Jr. and Jack Black. I don’t think it’s an Oscar winner, but it’s definitely worth watching.

Movie Review: The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)

Do you want to get rich? Well, if you lived in this movie, your answer would have most certainly been YES! So what then? The Wolf of Wall Street is a movie based on the book written by Jordan Belfort himself about the rise and fall of his career as a stock broker on Wall Street. It is a real story, fellows. It is almost a practical handbook on the topic ‘How to Get Rich and How to Do It Now’ and takes you step-by-step through the surprisingly quick process of becoming a millionaire (or a billionaire if you happen to be talented or somewhat lucky). That is if you lived in the 80s, of course. But if you happen to be as misfortunate as to live now, it at least gives you an exclusive insight on the lives of the extremely rich facing the problem of what they should do with their money. You could almost feel sympathy for those poor fellows who have so much cash they don’t know where to put it.

This movie is incredible in the sense that you can actually believe that the story is just a written fiction created to impress you watching it in front of the screen. What is unbelievable is that it is, nevertheless, a true story. And it is a fantastically good story! You have a dream, you have an idea, you have a genius to live up to the idea, you have a fraud, you have romance, you have drugs, and, not to forget, you have FBI interference that will make you sit on the edge of your seat asking yourself what would come next. And all this happens after for years you’ve been told these things happened only in the movies.

There are so many reasons to watch The Wolf of Wall Street and the amazing cast doesn’t even make the top ten. I’ll give you a bit of an off-beat reason, though. You should watch this movie because it is a living example that one can actually live a Hollywood-movie life – and if that’s not inspirational, I don’t know what is.

Short Story: The Question of Right and Wrong

I don’t think it was depression. It was just the general realization that I was doing something terribly important terribly wrong. And that I was feeling terribly right doing it that way.

                You see, it was a matter of freedom. I had it, and I didn’t. But even when I truly did, I felt as if I was wasting it. The others… they took advantage of it to the most. They were living. They were dancing, and I was feeling the gap gaping inside my chest pulling me back and building a wall between us. I was watching them when they couldn’t see me, and I envied them, for they were filling the gaps that I believed gaped within anyone’s heart with cheap alcohol and fooling their bodies and the chemistry controlling them into believing they were happy. I don’t know if they were – they might have been – but in my heart there was a storm and for me their shouts above the sounds of the music were cries for help neither of them heard.

                And yet they were living. I looked down and on my palms I saw the roots of my life crossing the pink skin of my hands. Those hands held it all – my life, my soul, my abyss and my salvation; they held my freedom and my slavery. I put my hands up to my ears and listened. I listened to what my hands had to say about my life, but I forgot to close my eyes, which saw them happy with liquor. And I envied them again, and I could hear only their music but not my hands, and I was lost once more.

                My eyes wanted to follow them and were locked on the key to their happiness. It looked easy and yet utterly impossible. The way their bodies move and the game of light and shadows that fell on their skin and hair, the way they thrust their own hands against each other and connected in the wild rhythm was like a prism to me, capturing me, mesmerizing me, horrifying me. My eyes pulled me forward, but my body stayed sitting still. My hands weren’t connecting with anybody’s and never had. The silver lines glistened lonely in the darkness of the colorful lights and asked for a companion. And I reached forward to hold on to one, but my body still stood sitting.

                I grew angry with myself and my silly body. The answer was right there in front of me; the answer was sold on shelves in glass bottles; the answer was pounding in between the sweat and breath of the dance floor; the answer was in the air they breathed. The gap felt enormous inside my chest and I wanted to fill it. But my body didn’t respond.

                I closed my eyes and frustrated lifted hands to ears once more. And the sound of the life nectar running through my roots overwhelmed me. No other liquor was to be needed. They, the roots from my past leading me to my future, were louder than anything shouting in my ears Don’t!

                And I didn’t. I just sat there and watched them move. And they saw me sitting and smirked disgusted at my empty of sweat face and the quiet innocence of my lips. And they grasped each other’s hands but didn’t connect, they had lost their connection. And again I wondered if they were happy that way.

                I sat quietly and wondered if I was doing it wrong that thing, you know, living. And if I was using my freedom to the most and if I wouldn’t regret it in fifty years. And I knew that when we went back they would tell me the epic stories of happy drunkenness and funny deliriousness and that then again I would wonder the same thing. If I was doing it wrong that thing, living.

                Thinking of that I got up and backed away. I went out to celebrate the cool night air and mesmerize my silly eyes with the sight of the stars. I didn’t hear their music, but they didn’t hear mine. And my hands glistened with a strange light. I breathed in and let the scent of the world fill my lungs, and my lungs were so close to my heart, and the gap started filling, and my hands let go of the abyss for the night and let me dance with the sound of billions of hearts pounding along with mine.

                The question of what was right and wrong, I knew, was to arise many times again, but that night it didn’t matter. That night I was crazy; that night I was drunk with life and delirious with freedom; that night I was part of everything and everything was part of me; that night I was magic, and the world was wonderful. I sang, and I danced, and I laughed until I was out of breath and beyond. And when I was done, there was not a question left. If I was doing it wrong, I still wouldn’t change it. My happiness was harder to find, as it wasn’t sold in bottles, but that night I had it in the palms of my hands.

Пътепис: Чанг Май, Тайланд

Не вярвах в машини на времето, докато не дойдох в Чанг Май. тук хората са различни и колите са от миналото. Сградите са стари и социалистически без действително да са нито стари, нито социалистически. Чанг Май е хладен и бавен, и отпуснат, и невероятен. И не обичам Чанг Май, както обичам Барселона или Берлин, но го обичам по един по-спокоен, по-естествен начин. Тук мога да дишам, а дъждът е тропически. И не оценяш колко е силен и опасен, и обсебващ, докато не започнеш да яздиш слон във водите на бързата кафява река. И няма водопади, когато вали, защото няма реки и няма пътища, а всички се движат във водата. Хората са малко луди и малко пияни, и може би дори малко... нещо друго. Но няма да го разбереш, докато не те избутат от рафта или не хвърлят змия по теб. Добре че поне животните са с всичкия си! Иначе целувките с крокодила или питона, или тигъра биха били твърде опасни. Но всичко ще е наред, ако си намериш един Антъни, който да те заведе до върха на планината или до храма, някъде там, и да те нахрани с пържени червеи. Намери си един Антъни - струва си. После се качи на мръсните стъпала на изоставена сграда, за да оцениш спокойствието на света от един покрив и през музиката на тези, които никога няма да напуснат. Не се напивай в Чанг Май, защото си заслужава да го запомниш. И си отваряй очите, защото салфетките ще ти казват да спасиш света, захарчетата - да се усмихваш, кафенетата - да продължиш напред, а банкоматите - да опростиш живота си. Философия има във всичко, предполагам. А когато идеш на някой от нощните пазари и базари, забрави най-добре за парите - там те и без друго нямат сила над желанията и покупките. И не забравяй да оцениш рибите и хората, които те забелязват. И макар че можеш, не пиши по всички стени в Чанг Май - остави място и за тези, които ще дойдат след теб. 

Научи се да псуваш. Научи се да псуваш и изплюй всичката горчивина, която си събрал - тя не ти трябва тук. Псувай на воля и се отпусни, и слушай дъжда, и се наслаждавай на живота. Припомни си регето и изпий една вода на площада. И не се страхувай, ако искаш да се усмихнеш или ако не си се усмихвал от много време. Усмихни се на непознатия и се влюби в него и всяка мисъл за него остави да те ощастливява, докато накрая не се почувстваш у дома. Да живееш в Чанг Май не е най-лошото нещо, което може да случи, дори и да е само за седмица.

Movie Review: Across the Universe (2007)

Director: Julie Taymor

Across the Universe is so much more than the ordinary musical. The music implemented in it is not simply a means of expressing a character’s words instead of mainstream lines – the music goes much deeper than that. It sets the moods, shows the viewer an insight to the character’s thoughts and feelings, and, what is most impressive, weaves additional, smaller stories into the big picture. It is hard to say whether the Beatles’ songs complement the plot or the other way around, but in the end of the day the combination of the two is spectacular.

This movie gave me goose-bumps, made me cry, and laugh, and dream. It is beautiful beyond limitation while describing a very contrasting part of the American history – the war in Vietnam. It also gives very different aspects to the story showing the lives not only of the soldiers or the hippies fighting for peace, but also of all the different people around them, each with his own story and each somehow involved in those events although not directly. Even though some of the characters portray stereotypes of the time, each of them is somehow surprising and showing himself as different and free to follow his own path instead of the mass movement.

Another thing that particularly appealed to me was that even though there is strong love story, it is not the main topic of the movie and it’s not what everything revolves around. The balance between the different themes is fantastic, and I believe that the Julie Taymor has done an amazing job directing this movie, focusing in a unique way on all of its issues.