there's no place I can be since I found serenity

Completelly free
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
(I wrote it for the Future Learn online course Start Writing Fiction)

The sleeping bag that Alex borrowed her was soft and smelled like his cat.
“You can keep it, - he said yawning, when she showed up on his doorstep at 6 a.m. on Saturday. – And never ever knock on this door before midday, capish?”
The morning was foggy and fresh. She bought a cup of black coffee in a stupidly overpriced coffee shop by his house and drank it sitting on a bus stop. People were passing her, not realizing that they are witnessing the birth of a new person.
Around 7:30 she through away the cup with her horrifically misspelled name, written in a thick black marker, and put her hand in the coat pocket, just to touch the ticket again. Here it is. Her only bag was waiting for her in a luggage locket at the Northern bus terminal.
For the first time in her life she was completely free.

How to make a woman happy
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
(I wrote it for the Future Learn online course Start Writing Fiction)

Emma said that I have no idea about how to make a woman happy. That’s true – I’m really clueless, even though I’m a woman too. I never thought that I need to know those things; it’s enough that my husband knows how to make me happy.
But my sister was in complete hysterics. And why? Because for once I decided to give her a really nice, expensive present. The one I dreamed about myself (speaking about making women happy, sis!) and the one I could barely afford.
Only after five minutes of her crying and mumbling through the tears I understood, that it’s not me, who was accused of not knowing “shit about women” and being “a pathetic bastard”. It was not me, who “gave up on everything after 10 years of marriage” and who was “not worth a single tear!” It was not me, who has to pack “that dirty suitcase and go to that dirty whore” and who will never see their kids again.
I really need to stop thinking that everyone will be happy to spend two days in a couples retreat advertized as a “true winter wonderland”. Also I think I need to speak to my sister more...

"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
(Wrote it for the Future Learn online course Start Writing Fiction)

After his first punch she froze. Bright, hot blood was pouring from her nose on the floor, on her t-shirt, but she didn’t care. He was saying something, but she couldn’t hear anything through the sound of shattered glass. It puzzled her. Nothing was broken, so where was it coming from? Later, after many years she realized that it was the sound of her shattered childhood – bloody and broken, in pieces, on the floor, just by her feet. She put on her only bathrobe – white with bright yellow suns - and went to the bathroom. Red blood looked almost pretty in the white sink. He entered after her – closed the door, didn’t let her leave, tried to hug her from behind, tried to explain something. She wasn’t listening – this time by choice. The water was dissolving thick red drops and after some time the ceramics were as clean, as new. As nothing ever happened…

Second time he hit her on the back. She never expected this, and maybe that’s why she wasn’t crying. Instead she was growling – loudly, like a wounded bear, trying to grab at least something to hold on to. He tried to explain something once again, said, that it was her fault, that even her voice annoys her, that she should be kinder and never shout at people. She didn’t remember what else – she was distracted by the print on the fluffy blanket she grabbed before…

Twenty years later she was still walking around with blood dripping from her nose, clutching to her back, not able to breath.  What really bothered her was that no one was noticing this…

My kingdom
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
(Wrote it for the Future Learn online course Start Writing Fiction)

I’ve never learned to swim. My brother always said that anyone can do it, you just need to throw them in water. On hot summer days by the lake we used to bath in the most shallow place, and even there I had to walk on my toes not to drink the water. I remember those days as no time has past – dragonflies on water lilies, melancholic cows, our dog, running after butterflies.
My brother used to pick me up on his shoulders and throw me in the water. Just like that, without any pause.
“Come on, swim, you can do it!”
But I preferred to sink to the bottom and to sit there. Through layers of greenish water I saw huge figures of people standing over me, fantastic shapes, created by water lilies’ leaves, and huge yellow sun - so far away, in another world. The bottom of the lake was quiet and peaceful, my own green kingdom. I was so happy there…
“Gosh you’re useless! No survival instinct, at all!”
After this words my kingdom usually broke down into pieces. Green quietness disappeared. Sun was burning my nose, the kids on the other side of the lake were screaming and jumping into the water, the dog was barking at a lazy red cow. I was in my brother’s hands, trying to learn how to breath again.
Who can ever blame me for not wanting to swim?

Sarah Kay - B
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
If I should have a daughter, instead of "Mom," she's going to call me "Point B," because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand." And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself, because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.Believe me, I've tried. "And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him. But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix. Okay, there's a few that chocolate can't fix. But that's what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this.(Singing) There'll be days like this, my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,no matter how many times it's sent away. You will put the wind in win some, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily,but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. "Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. Always apologize when you've done something wrong, but don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

you're going to be one sad little zombie (c)
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
Час тече, біжить, зникає з очей. Я ламаю підбори, гублю черевики, збиваю ноги в кров, плачу, мов дитина, але ані зупинити, ані наздогнати... Ще й враження таке, що біжу назад, намагаюсь вхопити щось, чого вже немає, що вже пройшло і зникло назавжди. Тобто, грубо кажучи, деградую трохи, і сама цього за сльозами не бачу. Але це не найгірше. Найгірше те, що водночас я намагаюсь спіймати майбутнє, і саме той його варіант, якого, мабуть, ніколи й не буде.
Якийсь просто таки антиподний флешбек до минулого року. Або просто я нарешті стаю хоч трохи дорослішою.
У неділю розмінюю новий десяток. Коли це сталося?

"Ковдра прикидається ліжком" (с)
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
Ковдра прикидається ліжком

Ковдра прикидається ліжком. Так було, є і буде, мабуть, завжди. Хоча значно частіше, на жаль, ліжко прикидається ковдрою.
У світі взагалі все непросто. Бузок прикидається масним поглядом, а масний погляд – бузком. Бузком взагалі прикидається багато речей – аналіз крові, діамантові сережки, статус у фейсбуку. Навіть троянди – найдорожчі, найбільші, найчервоніші, на найдовших стебельцях. Букет моркви прикидається ліжком. Вчасно принесені ліки - байдужістю. Собака на сіні думає, що захищає свою ковдру, а самотній пустельник – що ковдра йому ні до чого, і ліжка вистачить, бо зазвичай немає і його.
Ліжком прикидається безліч речей. Страх прикидається ліжком, дитяча травма прикидається ліжком. Егоїзм, дитячі комплекси, невпевненість та самотність прикидаються ліжком, що, у свою чергу, прикидається ковдрою.
І чомусь навіть найрозумнішим людям важко зрозуміти, що ж саме їм насправді потрібно – ліжко чи ковдра. Надто вже добре вони прикидаються одне одним.


Місяць над Києвом
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
Життя в Італії, звичайно, зовсім не таке, як вдома. Якесь воно живіше. Мабіть тому, що останні чотири місяці в Києві я боялась лягати спати, робила бутерброди на морозі та ходила в медпункт на нічні зміни. Тобто існувала майже в комі. Тому геть відвикла від різних вирів емоцій та решти романних фраз. От і не пишу про них нічого, їх дай боже так просто зрозуміти.
Тому ось вам краще гарний вірш від Джанні Родарі. Подруга, що працює тут у дитсадку, знайшла якось у книзі під час тихої години. І надіслала мені. Трохи нижче є переклади.



Чи місяць над Києвом
Сяє так само
Як сяє над Римом,
А може, й ясніше стократ?
Чи місяць над Києвом —
Місяць той самий,
Що сяє над Римом,
Чи, може, не він там,
А тільки
Місяців брат?

А місяць, розсердившись,
Хмариться, —
От ще питання! —
Й відказує так:
«Я всюди той самий,
Бо я ж таки місяць,
А не якийсь там
Нічний ковпак!
Я всюди буваю,
Скрізь блиск розсіваю,
Проміння усім розкидаю
Перу, й Парагваю,
І Кубі, й Китаю,
Я в Польщі й в Панамі,
В Канаді й В'єтнамі,
Мій кожен промінчик
Несе свій пломінчик
Куди тільки сам захотів,
Промінню й кордони
Не перепони —
Обходиться без пашпортів
(Переклад Григорія Кочура та Миколи Лукаша)


- Ты слышал - в Киеве Луна
Прекрасна, точно в Риме?
- Она, должно быть, не Луна,
Хоть носит это имя.

А может, в Киеве видна
Сестра Луны, а не Луна?..

Луна в ответ сказала так:
- Да что я вам, ночной колпак?
Нет, я для всех сияю.
До рубежей мне дела нет.
Дарю Парижу ясный свет,
Каиру и Шанхаю,

Гляжу на Кубу и Тунис,
И мне в пути не надо виз!
(Перевод Самуила Маршака)

No man is an island
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

John Donne
Meditation XVII: No man is an island...

Вгадайте стелю
"п'ю щастя", Є.Гапчинська
У мене тут знайшлась фотографія "ні про що", але місце це мені дуже сподобалось. Ну що, хто зі знавців Києва краще помічає деталі? Вгадайте, чия це за стеля (дах?), а я вам як винагороду пришлю найгарнішу листівку, яку тільки знайду в Палермо)


Log in