Romania has a pretty strange educational system. And, well, the whole system does nothing to tell you that you are special, that you are capable of greatness. I don’t know if this is a bad thing or not, but I’ve always wanted to believe that people have greatness inside of them, that people are capable of being great, of doing wonderful things.
But they’re constantly being told that they’re just average, that they have to play a small part, that changing the world is a task reserved to other individuals.
It’s always others who get to do all the things we want to do, isn’t it?
I grew up as a strange kid. I always wanted more, not because I felt I was great (and I don’t feel like I’m great), but because I felt that it would be better to fail trying to achieve greatness than to never fail at all.
You know, when we’re little we usually dream big. We look up at the stars and we imagine that we only have to grow up in order to reach them. Most of the times, we grow up and never look up at the stars again.
In a world of numbers and figures and bills and mortgages and loans you don’t have time to dream big, you don’t have time to aspire for greatness. You’re constantly being told so.
I was constantly told so, but I just didn’t listen.
I spent years writing with the sense that I wasn’t a good writer. And it was frustrating to do so, to write when others told you that you weren’t cut out for this, or when they simply didn’t care enough to tell you anything at all. You see, I was constantly comparing myself to all the great writers I was reading, and I just felt like I wasn’t good enough.
And I was afraid that I would never be good enough.
Much, much later I learned not to care. I learned, in the hardest possible way, that I can only strive to be better than I used to be. That’s the only battle worth fighting. I learned that constantly asking yourself whether or not your good enough is harmful. In fact, it doesn’t matter if you’re good enough or not, and you’ll never find out if don’t try.
You are great. Maybe you don’t even know it, maybe no one knows it. You just have to find that one thing that makes you great, that one thing you feel you’ve been meant to do and do it over and over again. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.
Maybe when you feel like you’re fighting against the whole world for something you believe in is the best possible feeling ever. It might make you angry or sad or frustrated, but in the end, you’ll know you stood up for something.
The world doesn’t owe you anything.
It’s well worth remembering that. In a way, it all depends on you.
Yes, luck plays its part, but if you try hard enough, if you work hard enough, luck will be the only factor you can control. Only you can choose to do so. And guess what? The harder you work, the luckier you get.
There are two types of people in this world: the ones who exist and the ones who live. Most of the times we can’t even figure out which category we’re in, let alone fight our way out of it. Honestly, most people don’t want to know.
I say this is wrong. A life worth living is one in which you are aware of your decisions and actions and you react based on what happens around you. Based on what happens inside you. It’s not easy or simple, but it’s something you’ve got to do.
Looking For The Summer!
Coloured wigs, chocolate crepes and worldwide Adventures
Since I was a child I would wrinkle my nose in distrust when I heard “I have a surprise for you”. By the very nature of a surprise they always come when you least expect them and you are caught unprepared. For me, I really didn’t enjoy this feeling of apprehension and not every surprise proved to be a pleasant one. Over the years, I tried to train myself so that nothing could surprise me anymore. I had built enough experience and faced enough weird and wonderful situations that I believed I had learned what to expect from people and life in general and there was nothing that could catch me unawares.
By doing this however, I realise now, I was setting myself up for the biggest surprise of all – LIFE. I forgot how unpredictable it can be and that no matter how much I calculated or planned down to the smallest detail, I could never predict the actions of other people.
Then, one day in February, I found myself one late Friday evening on the steps of a hospital in a country to which I had moved only 3 months before. A country with a completely different culture from my native Romania. For me, Dubai was a place where I was a foreigner, a stranger, who had as many friends and confidants as I had fingers on one hand.
Yet, there I was, holding in my hand a result of my first biopsy, a result that to my surprise and my terror, read “cancer suspicious”.
Neither I, nor my flat-mate, Elena, one of my few close friends in Dubai who had come along with me to receive the results, had any idea where I could ask for guidance. So, in tears and in a moment of panic, I grabbed the phone and I called my director Jerome, the only man that I could think of that could help me with some advice. He was literally the only person I knew in the whole country who had more experience of the place than me. I never expected for a moment that after this conversation, this man was going to be by my side all the way through the rest of my diagnosis.
In the hardest time of my life, when I didn’t have my family or friends, the people I trusted and held close to my soul, it turned out that he, a man I had only worked with for 3 months, was the person who supported me. Jerome gave me courage and strength when I felt helpless and terrified. He simply would not let me forget that I am a strong woman and a fighter and he offered me a shoulder to cry on when I just couldn’t hold back tears anymore. In the morning, after the results of the 2nd biopsy to confirm the suspicions were finalised, my doctor told me the diagnosis. Cancer was confirmed.
I felt like the world was crumbling around me. I was 32, healthy, didn’t smoke or drink, went to the gym 5-6 times a week, ate good organic foods – was this really me they were talking about? How could this be me? I was completely lost! But there was Jerome, he was holding my hand and wiping tears from my cheeks. He was my boss, we had nothing other than a business relationship, we did not go out together partying after work, we just worked with each other and he was absolutely the last person I would have thought to be there for me at a time like this.
Unexpected, unpredictable and unforgettable are the only words that come to mind when I recall that moment.
Jerome (though his modesty will hate that I write this) is a tall, handsome, dark haired and blue eyed Frenchman, with a penchant for good suits and silk ties. I never told him, but the (female) Hospital staff were often joking, asking could I always bring him with me as they like mornings when they can see a “beautiful man with a sexy French accent”. I always laughed, to me, he was my boss! Even when he helped me out and stuck by me, he was just “Jerome”. It always made me smile to see the staff at the hospital giggling like schoolgirls because of him.
I met wonderful people in this hospital, being one of the few in Dubai that had a breast cancer specialist. I was lucky to meet my doctor, Dr Sama, a lovely Arabic woman with whom I had a connection that I never thought possible between a doctor and a patient.
She helped me every step of the way, closely following the procedure to diagnose me, while trying to apply as many discounts as possible. My health insurance had by this point, refused to cover any cancer treatments and further diagnostics, as a result I was paying for each procedure (and still am). Every day she was trying to find options for my treatment and surgery because at that time I had no way to afford the treatment I needed.
Above all of this, she gave me warmth and hope. I found in her more than just a great doctor, I found incredible support. She was already the mother of 2 kids of her own, yet she hugged me and kissed me like I was her own child every time she saw I was struggling to cope. This woman, who I met as a patient 2 months before, was in tears when I told her I would be going to France because I had managed to find an affordable option there for my treatment. She cried tears of joy that I had found a way to treat the cancer, but surprisingly also of sadness because she couldn’t do more for me and felt helpless.
Unexpected, unpredictable and unforgettable are the words that come again into my mind when I think of this woman who played such an important a role in my life. I hope she knows just how much she truly DID help me.
I was lucky and surprised in the last 6 months, since the marathon of hospitals and treatments started, to meet incredible people, people who were strangers to me but that helped me and supported me emotionally, physically and financially. Strangers and friends alike gave me strength and courage, made me smile and kept me positive. People who were already close friends, relatives, colleagues, people I had met only occasionally and people who didn’t know me at all, who hadn’t seen me or ever had spoken to me…all of these types of people were with me all the way.
Sadly, there is an ugly reverse side to this coin. The unpredictable surprised me when some of my close friends, people I felt were very close to my heart, or even considered as family to me, chose to turn their heads, forget the times that we had together and stay away. I was shocked and hurt by this, but the comfort I took was that, for each “friend” who decided not to help, there was a stranger waiting to show support.
I guess I learned that life is completely unpredictable, that you can make your calculations and “expect the unexpected” but you will never know, or have control over, how the fates conspire and can change from day to day. I learned that life’s surprises are even more intense when you believe, as I did, that there is nothing that can surprise you.
In the words of Gabriel Garcia Marquez:
“There will always be people who will hurt you, so you need to keep your confidence and be more careful in whom you trust the second time”
This is true, but the part that Marquez forgets to mention, is that there will always be people who will make your soul happy, give you hope and will make you smile when you feel like giving up. Even if you never knew them beforehand, or would have ever in your wildest dreams, expected them to step up!
People say you lose your hair when you have chemo, which is true, it does fall out, but I’m now the proud owner of 4 different wigs, so I definitely have more hair now than when I started. There are a couple of ways you can handle this situation: you can choose to see the bright side and move forward smiling; or you can let it drag you down and create an uncomfortable and depressive frame of mind. Going through chemotherapy has plenty of challenges without adding extra stress, so I tried very hard to take the hair loss in my stride.
For women, hair will always be a very important and sensitive subject. Often, women’s hair is a representation of our style and our image. It’s a huge part of our self-confidence and its linked heavily to our ability to feel good about ourselves when we go out with friends, or our partners or to events like weddings and special celebrations. Every time we feel like we need a change, to feel beautiful or sexy we try a new color, a new haircut or evena radical new hairstyle. If we feel that we need a treat or simply the need to disconnect from everyday life, we can go to a beauty salon. We spend hours of time and huge amounts of money to style and maintain our hair, keeping it looking great at all times. I was definitely in the category of women who loved to go to beauty salons as often as possible, spending a few hours each time seeking to change something in my look. Having long, thick, dark and very curly hair it was easy for me to be creative with it and I always enjoyed the ability to change my look and surprise my friends. I loved my hair and I never asked myself what I would do if one day I would no longer have it. That was,until the day I was told that I would lose my hair in the first 2 weeks of treatment. To my surprise I received this news unexpectedly well, my first thought was, “so what? Hair grows back, could you just get rid of the cancer please?” I would often say to friends and my doctors that losing my hair was the very least of my problems.
As soon as I left the doctor’s office I told my boyfriend, Gordon, who accompanied me, we were going to find a hairdresser to cut it short, as a first step. I chose what, for me, would normally be a very weird haircut. Straight, short and choppy at the back getting a bit longer at the front falling down to around my chin. I knew would last only two weeks, so if I hated it, there was no big problem, but to both our surprise it suited me incredibly well. I found this very funny because I would never have had the courage to go for a look so drastically different under normal circumstances. I didn’t hesitate for a moment, I sat in the chair and I told the hairdresser what I was looking for. She looked shocked and she insisted on asking me if I am 100% sure I want something so short, as it will be a radical change.
My transition haircut proved to be a very good idea which first helped me to get used to the idea of losing my hair and second reduced the visual impact when it actually started to happen. Although I was feeling comfortable mentally and didn’t feel like I had any issues accepting the idea of not having my hair for a while, when I found myself in the situation of running my hand through my own hair and seeing far too many strands between my fingers, I started to feel much less brave. It took me two days to be able to say out loud “I’m losing my hair”. Gordon confessed he had already noticed from the start, but he said nothing and let me bring up the subject when I felt comfortable doing it. He didn’t point it out to me because he knew I was already aware, but that I was just struggling a little to admit it to myself. He gave me courage and reminded me that beauty does not depend on how long or short my hair is. He told me I was beautiful regardless. I didn’t want to just wait and see it all fall out naturally so I asked him to help me cut it all right down to a number 1 crop. It wasn’t an easy thing to do for either of us. Obviously cutting off all your girlfriend’s hair is not an everyday thing to do and at the same time I was thinking nervously about how I’ll look with a bald head. As tough as this moment sounds, I still keep a special memory of that day, the first lock of my hair that Gordon cut. He knotted it and sealed it with a gold wax stamp on a piece of letter paper, on which he had written some beautiful words to remind me how strong and beautiful I am. I still find it incredible how he managed to turn what should have been quite a painful memory, into a special one that I actually smile when I think of. He said the letter with the lock of hair is to remind me how brave I had been and how it will grow back in time once I’ve done what I need to do.
All patients with whom I spoke in the clinic told me how hard it was to lose their hair, some even said that this news had upset them even more than the diagnosis itself. They were trying to prepare me for the nightmare moment when it would happen and I would be distraught and horrified.They are always surprised when I tell them how I faced it head on and that I’m now wearing a wig. Yes, I’m wearing a wig, a half natural hair, half artificial one which boasts a very similar hair style to the one I used to have when I got my curly hair straightened, even the color is similar. It looks so natural that it’s very hard to notice that it is “fake hair” (as I like to call it). To my amusement I was really surprised to be told, and not only on one occasion, that I have a very beautiful hair. It always made me smile saying thank you, thinking to myself, yes I do, but it isn’t mine!
In France, people undergoing chemotherapy treatment have the cost of the wig reimbursed by health insurance, as a result, they are very expensive to buy. My “normal”, every day wig I found in a small shop in Paris, where my friend Linda took me. Linda’s mum had breast cancer 5 years ago and she has been a great source of honest advice all the way through my treatment. It was a store with incredibly affordable prices, good quality and a wide variety of styles. We enjoyed strict privacy during the testing, having a very comfortable room to ourselves. We studied, without being disturbed, all the catalogs and I tried at least 10 styles, lengths and colours (sorry, I promise, I am not advertising for them!!!). I must admit that as soon as I walked into that room, as welcoming as they had tried to make it, I felt my stomach empty. I stared at Linda and I said “I did not expect to feel this strange”. She didn’t let me fall into this trap and started to distract me by recommending wild shades of red. We started to laugh and joke, playing with the different models we were shown. Besides the wig I also picked a purple headscarf, which reminded me of the beautiful scarfs worn by the Arabic women in Dubai, and a strengthening gel for eyelashes which proved to be a very good suggestion from Linda. At least, my eyelashes haven’t fallen out so, it must have been. After a few hours in the shop, we lost ourselves in a walk through the streets of Paris, continuing to laugh and telling stories. By now I had totally forgotten about that first feeling I had in the room and was just immersed in the enjoyable company of an amazing friend who always helps remind me what a strong woman I am.
Hello Sweetheart, Get Me Rewrite has been named as one of first blogs where WordPress will launch it’s WordAds advertising. (This is probably because of the reticent and pure manner in which I’ve already got Google Ads, Amazon Affiliate Marketing, Zazzle T-Shirts
and everything else but Joe’s Advertising and Auto Repair up on the site already.)
Now, it’s extremely important to me that this go well–I have gotten used to eating real food over the past 60 years and would rather not stop now. I have absolute and complete faith that the $16.57 that I have made this year from my previous efforts will be vastly exceeded by the classy advertising that WorldPress will install. They are promising new videos, automated tweets from the people in the ads, and completely seamless integration of advertising with my usual high-quality content.
So, everyone needs to gather together around their computer screens, click on everything that seems clickable and, in general, act like a bunch of damnfool spendthrifts I have full faith that you can do this and support this tiny piece of American Content Production before it’s outsourced to the Albanians who wrangle zillions of zombie computers and actually know how to make money at this game.
Don’t just do it for me,
You can change the world
Jun20 by Cristian Mihai
Every once in a while I feel like doing things differently on this blog. And so I decided to interview Karen Robiscoe, an avid blogger and author I’ve come to know through the WordPress Blog-o-sphere. *looks worriedly toward crashing sounds emanating from the kitchen*
Of course, I wasn’t really expecting to find the lady on my doorstep this morning, but I have to admire her get-up-and-go. She certainly got up and went *winces at the sound of shattering glass * and who knew she even had a passport?
It seems Karen interpreted my invitation quite literally, traveling all the way to Romania, but I suppose that’s a hazard of interviewing the literary minded, at least if you interpret the root of that word liberally. *cranes head nervously toward sound of suddenly barking dog* So, without further ado, let’s meet the lady now!
Cristian: Welcome, Karen, welcome. How was the flight?
Karen: Fancy. *sits on couch, and pummels cushions enthusiastically* And a little long. We circled the runway for hours!
Cristian: Blame Twilight for that. Part of the reason I invited you to visit virtually.
Karen: Two bags of peanuts, though.
Cristian: Jet lag is the worst.
Karen: It certainly is. Especially if you use frequent flyer miles. Do you know they actually seat passengers in the cargo area now?
Cristian: *points to splintered frames askew on a fluffed cushion* Are those my glasses?
Karen: I got all kinds of cozy with a giraffe. That’s probably what’s riling your dog.
Cristian: I don’t have a dog.
Karen: You do now. Where’s your guest room?
Cristian: I don’t really have one.
Karen: You don’t mind couching it then, do you? *pounds cushions again, completely shattering frames* I have a bad back.
Cristian: You’re getting off topic. I invited you here to discuss writing.
Karen: Writing? You want to talk about writing? I thought you said “biking.”
Cristian: I want to discuss your blog and pending book release.
Karen: And after all that trouble I went to ship my unicycle. *sighs dramatically*
Cristian: Tell me, Karen, while I still have patience—and readers – what kind of writing do you feature on your blog?
Karen: The pixelated kind, mostly. Are you sure we’re not biking? I noticed some really excellent trails on the way here. Right after I stopped to gather these wild mushrooms. *reaches in bag, and produces some suspicious looking fungus* Want some?
Cristian: I’ll pass, thanks. So you’d characterize your writing by dots per inch?
Karen: Uh-huh. Except for the Post-Its. I get crazy heavy-handed with Post-its. I use yards of the things. I’ve been known to write entire novellas on Post-Its.
Cristian: Speaking of novellas. You have an actual novel pending publication, don’t you? An urban fantasy titled SPIRITED REMIX?
Karen: I do indeed. It details the adventures of a disenfranchised Spirit seeking posthumous redemption.
Cristian: Sounds interesting.
Karen: It is. The guest appearances by Carlin, Hendrix and Einstein help.
about me? impossible. I can’t talk about myself…hmmm. what i can say is that I have been married, I have many sisters whom I love to pieces and a 13 year old Jack Russell Terrier named Olive and two cats that really are Olive’s, William and Bay, who are also 13 years old. I got them for Olive when she was a pup. I work. It seems like I work all the time, possibly because I do little else.
via About | marthapfeil.
valeriu dg barbu: I would have liked to tell you that…. I have a radio – avrei voluto dirti che… ho una radio – aş fi vrut să-ţi spun că… am radio | valeriu dg barbu blog
I would have liked to tell you that…. I have a radio – avrei voluto dirti che… ho una radio – aş fi vrut să-ţi spun că… am radio by valeriu dg barbu
I had blue Chinese tennis shoes,
She had white Chinese tennis shoes and blue eyes,
I owned a slice of the public garden and a slice of the Danube bank..
In the stairwell (hallway) of the apartment building my eyes were pleading with her to come up – she knew their language-
To my place, on the first floor – My parents were out, working, at the construction site
She asked me only one thing: “Do you have a radio?”
Only two weeks later I managed to convince my father
And he bought me a Gloria radio…
She left… She so left!..
I don’t have tennis shoes anymore… today I am wearing something electrochemical,
I am stepping on holograms, I am stepping on fears and …. And I don’t even have those slices anymore
Not even parents, or…
All I have left is Gloria or echoes… “here is radio Romania,
Next we will be playing for you, Stevie Wonder with “I just called to say I love you…”
(translation by Michaela, thanks)
Nel vano scale condominiale
i miei occhi – lei ne capiva il linguaggio – la supplicavano di salire
su, nel mio appartamento, al primo piano, quando I miei erano al cantiere…
mi chiese solo: “Hai la radio?”
ci misi due settimane a convincere mio padre
che mi ha comprò una radio marca Gloria …
Lei se ne è andata.. da tanto se ne è andata…!
ora, non ho più le scarpe da tennis…
oggi ai piedi ho roba elettrochimica,
cammino sugli ologrammi, m’inerpico sulle paure
e … non ho più quelle strisce di verde e di acqua
non ho più genitori, o …
Tutto quello che mi è rimasto è l’eco della vecchia “Gloria” …
“qui è Radio Romania, mandiamo in onda per voi,
Stevie Wonder con I just called to say I love you…”
( traduzione da Angela, grazie)
aveam tenişi chinezeşti albaştri,
ea avea tenişi chinezeşti albi şi ochi albaştri,
aveam o felie din grădina publică şi o felie din faleza Dunării…
în scara blocului, ochii mei o rugau – ea ştia limba lor – să urce
la mine la etajul unu – părinţii erau pe şantier,
m-a întrebat doar atât: „ai radio?”
abia după două săptămâni l-am convins pe tata
şi mi-a cumpărat un radio marca Gloria…
ea a plecat… ce mult a mai plecat!…
nu mai am tenişi, azi port ceva electrochimic,
calc holograme, calc spaime şi… nici feliile acelea nu le mai am,
nici părinţi, nici…
– mi-a rămas Gloria sau ecouri… „aici radio românia, transmitem
în minutele următoare, stevie wonder, i just called to say i love you”
(traducere de… a!… eu am scris-o!)
I did not know – non ho saputo – nu am ştiut
an imaginary child wanted to know
how might be of elastically or… how might be of breakable the soul?
if does not have muscle, then why has often a sort of muscular fever
if it is not a flower, then why, however, has scattered the pollen in the hostile winds
who or what he cut the umbilical cord at birth, detaching it from Spirit
banishing him wandering in the world
an imaginary child wanted, in a natural curiosity at his age imaginary,
to cross the road toward living world and the mortal
and I, this “me” grown old in failures by luxury and victories trivial
continuously educated to accept the rules of a normal, of a moral…
I did not know to answer; I did not know to welcome him here
at the imaginary fence, I’ve him hustled back into the world him
if would I have given him the outfits of the child, that I was once,
would have laughed at him other children
those become salt and pepper, playing on the internet…
un bambino immaginario voleva sapere
quanto potrebbe essere d’elastico… o quanto potrebbe essere di frangibile l’anima…
se non ha muscoli, allora perché ha spesso una sorta di febbre muscolare…
se non è un fiore, allora perché, tuttavia, ha disperso il polline nei venti ostili…
chi o che cosa ha tagliato il cordone ombelicale al momento della nascita, distogliendolo dallo Spirito
bandendo lui a vagare nel mondo
un bambino immaginario voleva, in una naturale curiosità alla sua età immaginario,
di attraversare la strada verso la vita ed il mortale
e io, questo “me” invecchiato in fallimenti di lusso e vittorie banale
continuamente educato ad accettare le regole di un normale, di una morale …
Non ho saputo risponderli, non ho saputo dargli il benvenuto qui,
al recinto immaginario, lo spinsi di nuovo nel suo mondo
se li avrei dato gli abiti del bambino, che ero una volta,
avrebbe riso di lui in faccia gli altri bambini
che diventano canuti, giocando su internet …
un copil imaginar vru să afle
cât de supraelastic sau cât de casant poate fi sufletul
dacă n-are muşchi atunci de ce deseori face un soi de febră musculară
dacă nu este o floare, de ce scutură totuşi polenul în vânturi ostile
cine sau ce îi taie cordonul ombilical la naştere, dezlipindu-l de Duh,
lepădându-l în lume haihui
un copil imaginar vru, dintr-o curiozitate firească vârstei lui imaginare
să traverseze strada spre lumea vie şi muritoare
şi eu, eul acesta îmbătrânit în eşecuri de lux şi izbânzi banale,
şcolit continuu să accepte normele unui normal, ale unei morale…
nu am ştiut să-i răspund, nu am ştiut să-l întâmpin aici
la gardul imaginarului l-am îmbrâncit înapoi, în lumea lui…
să-i fi dăruit hăinuţele fostului eu copil, l-ar fi râs ceilalţi copii
care încărunţesc jucându-se pe internet…
- I did not know – non ho saputo – nu am ştiut (poezialuivaleriubarbu.wordpress.com)
- you are this child – tu sei questo bambino – tu eşti acest copil (poezialuivaleriubarbu.wordpress.com)
Welcome to a new friend: Adeline — Șic și clasic – “Chic and Classic” luxury fine arts, handmade work, original design
Cand cumperi arta nu cumperi doar ceea ce vezi si pipai cumperi sufletul unui om, sufletul artistului pentru ca el/ artistul s-a uitat in sufletul lui si a scos de acolo ce a gasit
I am into haute couture fashion design and bijoux couture jewelry. I was addicted all my life to elegance and fine arts. Now I am realy free to express myself. No borders, no restrictions. All I do is handmade work, hand made embroidery and hand made clothes, hand made jewelry.
From time to time I post some of my creations here, on my blog. Feel free to enjoy of it http://sicsiclasic.wordpress.com and this humble blog brings me unexpected traffic better than a pesonal or registered domain just becouse the best products dont need marketing
The title of this blog is in romanian language “şic şi clasic” and means “chic and classic” as my style of design is
Greetings from Romania
My philosophy of art and life
Don`t think, just follow your instinct, and much more listen the materials with you are working. Each colour asking for a colour, wich shape is asking for a kind of material and also for a kind of colour. If you change the colour everything is changing.
This I`v descovered working and making the things that you can see here
Working, I`v descovered that an artist when he is creating is much more closer to the God than a priest in the church, and this kind of artist can stay at the same “table” with God.
Art show me things about life as much as physics laws do to engineers, becouse also I must use physics laws into my work
Creating I`v descovered that when you have faith the courage comes itself. In art like in anything else that is unknown sometimes it takes courage to try.
I love harmony and echilibrum becouse it doesn`t exist fine arts without harmony between colour, material and shape.
Just because it is spring and I love roses Can you believe that they are made out of xerox paper and they are waterproof? Yes they are… during a sophisticated manufacturing design and some of they are painted with watercolors this is the reason why they have lights and shadows
They are especial only for it`s sensual meaning of feminism
Women are wearing it in their hair or like a brooch…
Enjoy of pictures
this is my first post …
I’m glad we found you … world
my name is Mary and I’m yet to Italy
I will try to share with you, real-world images, articles about what happens
beyond this virtual space that seized us nearly all free times
literary attempts will be sometimes, also, posts from those dear friends
Thank you for the reception in the middle of this wonderful virtual world the blogosphere wordpress
I wish for ye, God to give you fulfillment of your desires
tomorrow I will post the pictures
with love, Mary
The castles in Romania
Cristian Mihai (born 25 December 1990) grew up in Constanta, Romania. And he’s still growing up, or at least trying to. Sometimes he writes. Sometimes he gets lucky and writes something good. He can’t, however, draw a straight line. No matter how much he tries. Not even with a ruler. And, please, don’t ever ask him to sing.
- Cristian Mihai’s Blog (mindsplatterings.wordpress.com)