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Thursday, January 18, 2007
Tell me your secrets!

Zu tagged me to write about 5 secret things about me. It will be a quite difficult task, as I don’t really have secrets. But here goes nothing:

  1. There’s this superstition I grew up with: if a flock of birds flies over you and you are not standing or walking under something (building balcony for example), you should put the palm of your hand on your head, or someone should do it for you, in order to keep you safe from bad luck. I am 24 know, I know the poor birds have no influence over me, my good fortune or anyone else’s for that matter. But still, every time I get to the office at around 7 and the local crow flock flies by, I find myself holding my hand on my head, discretely of course, I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy. Moreover, this is not the only superstition I still act on, although I have no idea why I do it. I do it just in case!
  2. Sometimes, I indulge myself into thinking the weather is manipulated especially for me. Rain when I can’t cry or feel bad, as the song says “Rain, wash away my sorrow/Take away my pain”. Sunny, bright mornings just to make me feel better or to suit my glorious mood. Yes, sometimes I am the center of the universe! Talk about being egocentric…
  3. When I was young (yes, very young, about 10), I strongly believed there were no rules in love and war. Therefore, I had no problem blackmailing a qui 8 years older than me into getting me some favors from a guy I had a crush for. They were colleagues, Prince Charming had a skateboard. The blackmail: if you want me to let you have fun with MY skateboard, make sure HE teaches me a few tricks. :P It did not really work, but one day, when he came back from school, he said something nice to me about my skateboarding skills :D. He was also the only blond guy I was ever keened on.
  4. Everybody knows I hate fish (as in any food made from it). Few people know it is not something I was born with. My rejection of this food is actually psychological. See, my dad loves fishing, he goes on fishing trips quite often. This was my way to express lots of anger, frustration and disappointment directed towards him. It got so bad I can’t control it and if I am forced to eat fish, I makes me feel sick.
  5. I have no idea where my step dad is buried. Or if he was buried or cremated for that matter. I call him my step dad, but my mom never married him. He wanted to, but she had enough of marriage with my dad I guess and agreed to live only together. When he got sick, his daughter came from Germany and while I was in a Latin camp preparing for an international contest, she made sure we moved out of the house. My step dad said nothing against her decision because she promised to take him with her to Germany for getting proper treatment. We found out he eventually died a lot later, from a woman who used to do house cleaning for us. She left him to die alone, surrounded by strangers. I hated her for years for that.

Ok, enough for secrets, I got on a quite dark side with the last two. So, a special tag for Ryan who complains he hasn’t got enough topics to write about. Other than that, the tag is open to all who find it interesting.

posted by Alina @ 11:10 AM  
4 Comments:
  • At 1/18/2007 2:43 PM, Blogger loloma said…

    And now that you told us your secrets, they are not secrets anymore. I don't have many secrets either - that's because I have a big mouth, hehe. So when I do have a secret, I do my best to hide it from myself first and then from others. (I'm sure that made sense) ;)

     
  • At 1/18/2007 3:46 PM, Blogger Alina said…

    Loloma, it makes sense. The idea was to share them, so yeah, they can no longer be called secrets. :)

     
  • At 1/18/2007 7:05 PM, Blogger Shirazi said…

    Now I know more! BTW, is tagging still alive?

     
  • At 1/18/2007 7:06 PM, Blogger Alina said…

    Yes, Shi, of course! Please feel free to try it!

     
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Name: Alina
Home: Bucharest, Bucharest, Romania
About Me: "This is my church. This is where I heal my hurts". It's also where I feel free and my preferred means of expression.
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