The People I Will Never Forget

this is not a chart. im just saying what i have always had to say.

Rada Moneva (also known as Totally Rada:)): I first met her when I was 5. I was new at my local kindergarten. Ever the histrionic one, I decided to show off my skill with climbing objects you shall not so confidently climb. The result was blood on the pavement and a shattered chin. I didn't know at the time, but the shattered chin motif would be present in some of the most important moments of my life. 15 years later, I can proudly say that this 5 year old Rada, the witness of my first attempt in self-destruction, grew up to be the smartest and probably most charismatic person I've ever had the chance to meet. After all, we hitch-hiked together in the Summer of 2005. If I was a tall, blonde, handsome German boy, I would probably marry her.

Ani Kodjabasheva: I remember September, 2004. I was contemplating whether I should sleep, snore and be ashamed of it during Literature Classes, or sleep, snore and get over it during Literature Classes. While this little brunnette was taking notes rather EXCESSIVELY. Not gonna lie, I hated her instantly. But years have passed and wine has been drunk. And poems have been written. And conversations about Jack Kerouac have been done. And beer has been drunk before noon. And more conversations about Jack Kerouac have been done. And concerts have been attended. And literature classes have not been attended sometimes ... And in between all that has or has not been, I fell in love with the little brunette that was once taking notes excessively. She always tells me I'm an inspiration, but I think it works better the other way around ...

Nikola Enchev: 3 sentences - He published a book before me. He is still in a relationship with Ani. He is a genius.


Svetlana Vassileva Naydenova, Also known as my mother: It's ironic, but this is the person who threatened me with a knife in 2006 and saved me from death in 2008. In the first case, she hadn't taken her pills for 2 months ... and she is a schizophreniac. In the second case, she found me unconscious in the bathroom after I overdosed on * her * pills. So our relationship has always revolved around death and pills. Still, she has the most beautiful smile in the world. Let me rephrase myself - she once * was * the most beautiful, tall, skinny, blonde, charming girl in the world. To me. To my father. To all her numerous boyfriends and one-night stands. And she wrote beautiful, genius poetry. Nowadays, all anybody can say about her is that she is a fat redhead, who refused her book to be published on the day it was supposed to be published, with multiple abortions behind her (you see, I was the lucky one), with no friends, with relatives who are ashamed to share the same blood as her, with an ex-husband who turned from a rock star to a Christian immigrant in Spain, with a daughter, who tried to kill herself ... Yeah, but she still has that smile.

Mihail Georgiev: It was 2006. I was wearing a weed-green top, brown hippy trousers, long earrings and black sneakers that hurt my feet with every step I took. I was auditioning for this role in this amateur college play ... I've always been crap at acting. I've always failed in faking it when people expect me to fake it. I met "the director" the next day in the cafeteria. Some very loud, very unexpected music was coming out of his headphones. And I could instantly recognise this song I've heard in a Marlon Brando film and was never able to download ... (The Stereophonics - Pick A Part (That's New)). That's how we ended up exchanging Yahoo! Messenger user names. Mine was ordinary_failure and his was Sabakukunigaara. I think I wasted my 16 year-old philosophical thoughts on him. And then again, since we lived in the same neighborhood, we decided to bring our conversations to LIFE. We spent hours and hours in this 1 / 3 field-1 / 3 forest-1 / 3 river place. Nowadays, this place is completely gone. But I would never forget those moments near the 1 / 3 river. I say it's a river but it was probably an urine channel. Where he tried to kiss me but I didn't want him to. Where my signiture outfit still was a weed-green top, brown hippy trousers, long earrings and black sneakers that hurt my feet with every step I took. Where I felt happy for the first and last time in my life. It was because I happened to be with an extraordinary person, who would probably change film history one day. And then the dark times followed ... He THOUGHT he was in love with me. I was not. We met briefly during the summer. His family was in a hotel 15 minutes away from where I was at this point. So we made an arrangement for a meeting. I was an hour late. I was wearing white flats, short blue jeans skirt and a red top. He drank a pint of Guiness, I drank some insignificant cocktail. I smelt like hell at this point because I wasted 30 minutes running around places, trying to find the place where we were supposed to meet. Whatever we did afterwards, I can't really recall. What I do recall is that his father didn't like me at all. Several years later, after hearing about his father's death (which was in the Summer of 2009), I cried as I have never cried before.

Intro

How the fuck am I supposed to start my first post here?

I'll tell you how.

With a song.

Today's favourite is Deep Dish - Hello. It's one of those songs that bring me back. Bring me back home. Bring me back to sanity. Bring me back to flats, jeans and pink tops.

Bring me back to when I was 17 (if you continue reading my posts, you'll notice more than a handful of references to this period in my life). It brings me back to my shy days. If they ever existed.

Because they are the shelter of all the qualities of a hallucination.

Those were the days when I would wake up in the morning, buy a bottle of vodka, bring it to college, mix it with ice tea in the cafeteria toilets. Get my classmates drunk. Play loud music on a Nokia like a chav (Hooverphonic - Mad About You was the OST when a teacher would go to the toilet).

Those were the days when we were supposed to be learning about C + + and trigonometry, take SAT practice tests, write profound thoughts on Shakespeare ... Well, I had one profound thought on Shakespeare and it died from loneliness. My SAT results suggest I'm George W. Bush. I still don't know what trigonometry is. And C + + is a foreign language in whose country you can't live in (try fitting in a hard-drive).

Those were the days when I would donate a limb to NOT blush when a boy approaches me. Instead, I donated my liver ... Yeah, it was then and there that I signed a contract with alcohol: "You make me less shy, I drink you like a Soviet soldier". It worked for a while. I even got engaged in this hedonistic, pub-crawling relationship with a 21 year old uni student. As intriguing as he was, in between our 3 weeks of beer, I always knew I was using him. For something I would use 13 more people in the future. I dumped him the day after the "usage". First he cried on the phone. Then he sent me 20 quid by post to make me feel like a prostitute. I felt alive.

So here I am, three years later, artificially blonde, yesterday's make-up under my eyes, addicted to addictions, typing with one hand and smoking a yellow cigarette with the other. And as I get those memories out of my head, and as I close my eyes, I see this short, clumsy shadow, doing the "walk of shame" after she has lost her virginity, wearing a white skirt with a blood mark on it , smiling mischiviously at the world, the red on her cheeks blossoming ... And I think "What the hell was she thinking?" Then I pick up a red cigarette. I inhale death and exhale life. And it's all clear to me now: all she wanted was to be me.