Iuliana Cosmina

I have quite a big imagination and the scenarios and stories I invent when I am awake, do not even compare to those my brains creates when I am asleep. I once dreamed 20 years of an alternate life for me. That is how crazy my dreams can be. But this entry is not about that.

Some time ago I took part in quite an interesting conversation. You see, I work in an international company and most colleagues speak at least two languages. And this conversation was about the languages we dream in. And it was the first time I realized that I dream in Romanian and English, but it really depends on the characters involved in the dream. If I dream of characters that speak English I will dream in English, but otherwise I rememeber as being Romanian. But last night was different. And I remebered that conversation exactly because of that.

This week an Italian colleague quit the company and last evening all of us went out for a beer to celebrate his new beginning. As a consequence, my brains decided the night out must continue in my dream, in Italian, because another colleague was telling a story in my dream in Italian and was telling us “Lei e la mia donna”. There was no “donna” there, but apparently, he had one.

So yeah, apparently I can dream in Italian, I’m now waiting for the French and German dreams. Because obviously, if I dream of people speaking those languages and I understand and remember what they are saying, I must be way good at those languages than I think.  

When I was little and just started reading, my favorites were fairy tales. Not because of all the imaginary characters with fantastic abilities and unreal adventures. But because they had a clear and concise end. I think the first tale I hated a little was One Thousand and One Nights because I was unable to find all the books at the local library. 

And now as an adult, I love some series but hate the studios that dropped them without a clear end. Firefly is the fist one that comes to mind. Lie to Me is the second and there are a few more, but I digress.

After Game of Thrones started airing, I had to buy the books, because I needed an end. To my disappointment George RR Martin, did not finish writing his book series, so after reading all the published books of the series I still feel… off. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. It’s like you’ve been dumped, but never given a reason. It’s like a bullet would that healed with the bullet being left in.

That’s why I hate Netflix, so many of their series are just … unfinished. And some of them are great, but just because people haven’t discovered them – and how could people discover them, there are only 24 hours in a day, and we work and sleep for about 16 of them – they will probably get cancelled.

That’s not the case of Altered Carbon though. I think they are going to continue this one. But I cannot wait for them to do it. So I bought the books and started reading them.

One of the most interesting things I do, when I read books after being introduced to a TV show is to take a note of the differences, and modify the scenery and the characters looks based on the descriptions in the book. And if you think Joel Kinnaman is hot, just imagine him with dark hair and more blueish eyes. It is interesting though how the story in the movie diverges from the one in the book. Maybe I’m not that far into the book, but things look a really different so far. For example, it puzzled me in the show that the main Meths in the Story, Laurens and Miriam Bancroft would choose 40-year old looking sleeves, when they had the option for younger, hotter ones. I think that this was a visual decision for the show, to make it clear that they are indeed really old. But in the book, Miriam wears a 20-year looking sleeve. And Ortega, is taller and slender, but in the movie they preferred to cast an actress that looks typically Latino – short-ish and curvy. I’m not complaining, Martha Higareda is hot as peppers and she is a very good actress, but in a futuristic world, where you have a planet colonized by a combination of Slavic and Japanese people, and the main character is named Takeshi Kovacs, it would not have been a long stretch to have an Ortega that looked less Latino. A, and there’s no evil sister and Quell is not that important so far.

I did the same for Game of Thrones, corrected the characters, scenery and the story with details provided in the books. It’s a fascinating process really and I think that it enriches the experience of reading a book a lot.

But the main idea here is that stories need an end. I hate things that are left just … hanging. Well, not hate, hate… more like I am just bothered by them. Because when something does not have a clear end, I find myself from time to time imagining endings and yearning for a confirmation that I will obviously never get. Thank heavens sometimes the books help with this.

So, anybody else has the same problem? How do you deal with it. Let me know in the comments below.  Or keep it to yourself, it’s not like any of us has time for that much conversation, right? :D

Stay safe, stay happy!

I was born in a traditional East-European family. A Romano-Chatolic one. I’ve loved God before I even understood what it was. I obeyed the rules, said the prayers. But things were not that good for my family and me. Bad stuff kept happening, parents were fighting, money was never enough and friends always seemed to be more close to each other than to me. I always felt somewhat excluded.

My parents did not help much. They always treated me and my sister as a burden, that had no say in adults decisions and we were told since I can remember that as long as food and a roof over our head is provided by them, we have to be thankful and obedient.

My syster rebelled since she was in her crib. Seriosly, she rebelled against being left to cry alone by kicking her head against the wooden fence of the crib. She still has a visible scar next to one of her eyebrows. In school she refused to do homeworks and get good grades. In highschool she smoked and wore way too much makeup. And her final act of rebellion was to run away from home at 18 years old. She lives somewhere in Milan now. I keep promising myself to visit her someday.

I did not rebell. Not visibly. I realized that rebellion can easily be crushed by people thrice times bigger than you that do not shy away from hitting kids. So I rebelled in the only place that I could. In my mind. And the mind has infinite resources for fuelling and maintainign a rebellion.  So while I was going to church, saying my prayers, getting good grades and being obedient, in my mind I was a vigillante that protected weak people, like the real me, that did not shy away from hitting or killing violent adults that did not choose redemption (a sort of Batman), that was wearing a dark costume, drove a motocycle, smoked on the windowsill at night, when her own parents were sleeping, not because she was afraid of them punishing her for smoking, but because she respected them too much and did not want them to know thier your daugher had a vice they considered despicable.

I still have the novel I wrote about her and just realized she did not have a name. She was strong and she had to be, because her life was difficult as well. Her life was even more difficult than mine, but she was able pull through. And through her, so did I.

And here I am, I’ve become so much more than her. I don’t really fancy motocyles that much anymore, but I do like leather and kicking ass, but not in the literal way, in a really cool, strong character, supportive and happy all the time kind of way. But I also did a little bit of karate and mma training for a while, so in case of need I can do that too.

I don’t know why I remembered her today, maybe because lately I’ve been feeling a little fragile. I just pushed through a cold and I am close to finishing the book. I just have a small hickup called reactive programming. :) But I’ll push through this as well. This is what I do best. Push, then hide away to charge the bateries. Don’t worry about me, all is still well with the world.

Stay safe, stay happy!

I think I’ve mentioned around here that my family and most of my friends are worried of me being single for so long.  It’s tiring to keep repeating that I am ok, that I am happy and I don’t miss being in a relationship. Actually, to be honest these four years have been the best years of my life so far. And this kind of freedom and peace can get addictive; I am aware of it. I was always afraid of this, that if I ever end up alone for a longer period of time I will be no longer able to commit to a relationship again. But as life is supposed to be better in two I haven’t given up the idea yet. I accept the fact that it might happen at some point, I might meet someone that will feel better being close with, than without. But at the same time I am at peace with the fact that it might never happen. So, I’m done hoping, yearning and looking for it. When I was young every guy that gave me some attention would be scanned for signs that he might be “the one”.  But I’m not young anymore, I am mature and wiser now.

I am aware that I work a lot. Time is a very limited resource and when you live alone most of it is occupied  with keeping house, work and your free-time activities.  And I also have a cat. And I just moved to a new country. The little spare time I have I spend it sleeping, like normal adults. :)) None of my activities will lead me to meet “the one”. Because the people I interract with are all colleagues, and when it comes to work I always kept a little distance and never gotten personal. It’s a work ethic that I always had and it is difficult to go against it. So, this leaves me with zero chances of meeting someone. 

So I did something that a mature person would do. I subscribed to a speed dating event organized by these guys. I do not want to force things, but men won’t start falling out of the sky for me, right? And the event was tonight.

Two day before I started feeling the normal anxiety. I don’t really have time to date. I don’t really want this. What should I wear? Should I leave directly from work? Should I take the car to work, leave it in the parking lot and come back after the event and drive home? Would I be able to drive with heels? Do I still know how to walk properly in heels? WTF did I subscribed for this? And the ticket was 20 pounds ffs… In the end I made myself pretty, I wore my red dress that turns male brains into mush, I took an Uber to allow myself a glass of wine to tone down the anxiety and there I went. And I got there. And I had my wine. On the house, because the event was cancelled and apparently nobody told me about it. And since I was out into town in this lovely restaurant I also had dinner. So I basically went on a date with myself. I’m not even sorry. The wine was good and the dinner was fancy and tasty.

You know what I’m sorry about though? My time. I wasted precious time being anxious about this, preparing for this. I never really had any expectations to meet “the one”, I know how peculiar I can be. I’m also sorry about the money. 20 pounds the ticket and 12 pounds the Uber; that would have been my Crabbies supply for two weeks. And I love Crabbies ginger beer. And I’m a little saddened by the fact that I will probably never go to a speed dating event ever again, because now I just cannot take this kind of things seriously anymore. And if I don’t get my money back, this will be the first crappy service I payed for here. This disproves my theory that “services are more expensive in this country, but this is because they are worth it“. And this is the most important thing that I really am sorry for.

Later Edit: I am getting my money back. All good. Theory still stands. :D

Stay safe, stay happy!

A month ago I got myself a new addiction: Netflix. The relationship between me and Netflix is a love-hate relationship. I’ve got it for a month and intended to discontinue, because I know how addictive it is. But I ended up keeping it because of an awesome Finish detective series called Bordertown. And then I realized that British series might be useful to me in improving my accent. So, oh well  5.99£ for a  month is not much, is less than my beer& cider for a week. :D

So yeah, I am now one of the thousands people that Netfix & chill with a bag of Doritos and beer once a week. But after a few series, I ended up seeing Shooter and that’s when I discovered something that started grinding my gears. The movie is marked as rated 15+, because of all the blood and guts. But … every “fuck” in it is censored. And I was like WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

I am not watching the movie on a kid profile, the movie actually has a lot of shooting, stabbing and bloody fights. And the worse thing in it that apparently it was worth censoring was the word “fuck” and every derivation of it. I’m not sure you realize how ridiculous this is.

Let’s be realistic people, swear words exist and have been used since language was invented. They are as important to a language as words to express love are. As a parent, even if you like it or not, your kid will learn bad words from older kids or adults that are more relaxed with their use of language. My mother was a very religious woman, so swear words were strictly prohibited in the house and in her range of hearing.  But she and my dad used religious swearwords. Yes, you read that properly: religious swear words. Those were allowed. (Makes a lot of sense, right?) Anyway, Romanians are very creative with their swear words. Here are the most common ones I heard around the house: “in mortii ma-tii”, “pastele ma-tii”, “cristosii ma-tii” and “mama dracului de treaba”. They roughly translate to: “in your mother’s death relatives”, “in your mother’s Easter” (yes we have a swear word involving Easter), “your mother Christ-es”(yes, more of them) and “devils mother’s business”. They definitely don’t make sense in English, like I said, Romanians are very creative with their swear words.

Ironically, I was quite a good Christian until I was 18, probably even better than anybody expected or knew and I hated religious swear words and never used them. Especially because I was such a strong believer, they seemed vile and using them was a serious sin to me.

But I was curios about the swear words children older than me used. Also friends of my father’s helping him build one thing or another used some interesting swear words when they would hurt themselves, or talked about things that were not working properly and giving them hell. I liked those swear words especially because my mother hated them and prohibited me and my father from ever using them.

So here I am, an adult. I really don’t swear that much; the reason for that is that I am quite a calm and happy person. When I do swear, I rarely use something else than: fuck, fucking, bloody, damned and my own personal signature swear expression: “piz, mazare, cartofi”.

Growing up, whether  my parents like it or not, I probably knew more swear words than they did. Actually, I definitely did, because I knew swear words in four other languages. But I know that swearing is not cool, I know in society it is frowned upon, unless you are in some pickle or some tool is giving you hell. It is acceptable to say “fuck”, when something has gone terrifyingly sideways. It is acceptable to say “fuck” repeatedly when you just erased the production database.  There are other situations when you can use various “fuck” variations. Using “fuck” instead of punctuation will always be frowned upon, as this is a clear sign you are not mature enough to use swear words. Adults know when to use swear words to accentuate meaning. Let’s take a simple example: “The cake was awesome!”. Sure it was, but “The cake was fucking amazing!” means the cake was so good you had a culinary orgasm.

So, protecting children and teens from swear words does nothing. I mean, what are we really protecting them from? Next we might decide that rape, beheading and death are bad words. You can’t protect people from words, not unless you educate them.

And Shooter is rated 15+, the least worst thing in that movie is the use of the word fuck.  It’s so ridiculous that is cringy to explain. It just does not make any sense.

In Romania we have an expression that can be roughly and gently translated to: “I’m a fucking lady, for fuck’s sake!”. So let me have my “fuck” word, stop being such prudes.

Stay safe, stay happy!