Chances Are...

'Time is relative to where you are, what you do, and who you are waiting for.'

Apparently, this is a Spanish proverb, but I couldn't find the original saying. It's true though.

Who would have thought that Budapest would be the perfect half-way between Brazil and Romania? And who would have thought that 4 and a half years can mean absolutely nothing when faced with one's most ardent desire?

I've said to myself a lot over the years that he's the love of my life. The one I couldn't forget, no matter what, the one I couldn't hate, no matter what, the one I would take back in a heartbeat, no matter what. Sometimes, I believed it with my whole being, so much that I avoided talking to him, because it was confusing and it hurt, badly. Other times, I thought I was lying to myself and I was just saying it because I got so used to it, that it became part of my drunken vocabulary. 

So when he told me he's coming to Europe, I went through a "I want to see him but I'm not sure I want to see him" phase. I went from the initial butterflies and utter excitement to not caring, and a million other emotions in between, in just a couple of days. And finally decided on meeting him in Budapest, neutral territory, a city neither of us had seen before, the perfect excuse for two old friends to spend some time together.

This could have gone from disaster to paradise. It was closer to the latter. Not perfect, but perfection would have been hard to achieve after more than four years of not seeing each other. It was different than expected, better, given that my expectations were somewhat low. Not awkward, and quite natural. As if we just picked up where we left off and the last years never existed.

So did it answer the questions I had in the last years? It did. I am in love with him, still. He is the love of my life and whatever I might have felt for others doesn't even compare to this. But we're still continents apart. We still have our own lives, imperfect as they are. So beating myself over this is useless, time-consuming and nerve-racking.

I'm happy with how things went, and how things are. And if the timing will ever be right, we'll know it. I've grown up and I know now I have to go on with my life, remembering the good times, forgetting the sad moments, and going on smiling. Because life is great. And I trust my destiny is to be in the place I want to be, eventually.

Chances are I'll see you somewhere in my dreams tonight

You'll be smiling like the night we met

Chances are I'll hold you and I'll offer all I have

You're the only one I can't forget

Baby you're the best I've ever met

Vonda Shepard & Robert Downey, Jr - Chances Are

Asculta mai multe audio soundtrack

Aventuri cu cefereul (Part Deux)

- Aș dori un bilet dus-întors până la Budapesta, vă rog. Cu plecare în seara asta de la 23:45 și întoarcerea marți dimineață, zic eu, zâmbind grațios, doar-doar m-o trata cu mai puțin sictir.

Doama de la ghișeul 1 întreabă, după ce se uită vreo 2 minute la calendar: 

- Deci cu plecare pe 2.

- Nu, pe 1. Azi suntem pe 1.

Doamna tastează de zor în calculator vreo 5 minute, scoate biletele, mi le dă, îmi spune că mă costă 322 de lei. Încep să număr banii în timp ce ea îmi rezumă datele călătoriei:

- Deci aveți plecarea azi la 17:45, bla bla bla.

- Nu, am zis 23:45.

- Dar nu există tren direct de la 23:45, cel de la 17:45 e ultimul.

Îi explic că am văzut pe internet că există.

- Da, dar e cu schimbare în Arad.

- E ok, nu mă deranjează să schimb, atâta timp cât plec la 23:45.

Plictisită, doamna îmi emite alte bilete și le anulează pe primele. Eu mă gândeam că deja se face târziu și trebuie să mai ajung și la muncă astăzi. Aștept să îmi recalculeze - alt tren, alte tarife, nu?

- Acum duceți-vă la ghișeul 7 să vă emită un tichet de loc și diferența de rută de la București la Arad. 

Eu întreb:

- Și cât vă dau acum?

- Nimic - iritată - duceți-vă la ghișeul 7, cum v-am spus.

Zic mulțumesc, mă duc la ghișeul 7, stau la coadă vreo 20 de minute, apoi:

- M-a trimis doamna de la ghișeul 1 pentru un tichet de loc și diferența de rută până la Arad la trenul de 23:45 de azi.

Doamna de la ghișeul 7, mai drăguță, dar muuult mai lentă, se uită de câteva ori pe bilete, se consultă pentru vreo zece minute cu doamna de la ghișeul 1, pentru că habar n-avea ce trebuie să facă, se întoarce, îmi emite biletele până la Arad, și-mi spune:

- Doi lei optzeci, vă rog.

Îi dau banii și întreb dacă trebuie să mă mai întorc la ghișeul 1. Doamna zice nu, eu verific să văd dacă biletele sunt în ordine, îi dau 3 lei și, încă foarte confuză, mă îndrept spre ieșire. 

La 23:30 diseară am tren. Mâine după-amiază voi fi happy happy în Budapesta, alături de Ri, pe care nu l-am mai văzut de 4 ani.

Fever Pitch

Why is it that adults aren't supposed to go mad about anything? You've got to keep a lid on it. And if you don't, then people are apparently entitled to say what they like. "You haven't grown up, you're a moron. Your conversation is trivial and boorish. You can't express your emotional needs. You can't relate to your children and you die - lonely and miserable." But you know, what the hell? Every cloud has a silver lining.

It's not easy to become a football fan. It takes years. But if you put in the hours, you're welcomed, without question, into a new family. Except in this family, you care about the same people and hope for the same things. What's childish about that?

© Nick Hornby