My cousin’s New Year’s toast was “Let 2019 be full of things that have never been”. I wish the same for both you and myself. Let there be less heartbreak and sorrow, let there be more joy, let us be kinder, be better, let us dare to be ourselves. And last, but not least, let our dreams come true! ❤ But what happens when dreams are so big that you can’t even say them out loud for fear they’ll come crushing down on you like an avalanche? “You have the biggest dreams of us all”, a friend of mine wrote as a response to my New Year’s resolutions some years back. It was a silly text, meant more like an ironic comment on my perpetual discontent than a real list of “achievements” I was going after. But it got to me. And she was right. How come I’m never satisfied with whatever I have? Why does it always have to be so much more? Where does this restlessness come from and how come I don’t see it’s so destructive?

As I’ve been writing here for the past 3 years, I’m in a good place. The things I wish for now are the peace of mind to read and write, the time and wish to bake and photograph, the spare time and money to travel and a new dress now and then. 😉 That I hope I’ll be published and read and maybe be able to live off that is too much to even admit to myself. ‘Cause what would I write about? How would whatever I feel and think resonate with people who have devoted their lives to read and understand other people? I don’t even like people that much, when I come to think of it… Most of my writing springs from my own experience, I haven’t found the joy of making up other people’s destinies. And I still prefer poetry, since I don’t have to be as coherent and as explicit as with prose.

My biggest dream however is to become a mother, I’ve been hoping for it ever since I was 24, but since I couldn’t get pregnant I started doubting, to the extent where I couldn’t even imagine being able to “give up myself” for someone else’s well-being. And now we’re trying for real, IVF and stuff, and it’s so grown-up and so crazy that I’m walking around like a cat with false pregnancy, holding my stomach so the overstimulated ovaries don’t explode. All the years of postponing, of self doubt, of making up boundaries- I don’t have the time, I’m depressed, I’m tired, I’m in love, I don’t want a child to mess us up, who wants children anyways, look at the parents, they seem so miserable, I never get to see any of my friends with children, I don’t want to be like them and so on- they seem to be erased like with a magic wand. And I don’t know, they say you should be careful what you wish for, but I’m telling you, repressed dreams eat you up alive.

So I’m leaving you to that. Got to get back to my pills, done with the shots (for now, at least), the hormones calmed down and I’m just a body, a body that’s preparing so hard, right now it doesn’t even feel like my body anymore, there’s not even an embryo at this point and my body has lent itself to the idea, we’re just animals from this point of view, reason has nothing to do with any of it. And if we’re going to die from overpopulation it’s because nobody can turn off the biological clock and its ticking. Haha! That was deep!

xxx, Alina