I wanna be like common people Tweet

Kira was waiting for me when I got in the office that day. She had been there since the early morning, drawing princesses that carried my name, and asking for me. Naturally, everybody was wondering about my whereabouts, yet no one thought about calling me. 5 years-old, Kira wants to be a painter. Recently, she's fallen in love with me again. Last time she was 2 y.o. We spent the day together, more or less. It was strange to work and be with her; I realised I may had had a glimpse of what being a nanny, perhaps even a parent is like. We had a sweet gay lunch together; she ate well. She drew me at least ten different paintings. We chased each other and laughed. She agreed not to run on the stairs anymore when MaGe told her I fell on those stairs, years ago, and rolled down like an orange. We shared adorable secrets.
She told me I'm a princess. She whispered in my ear: "you're as sweet as candy!"
"What flavor?"
"Chocolate, the best in the world."
"Well, you're as sweet as candy, too; orange-flavored."
"Oh, I'm an orange like you now! Still, chocolate is better than orange," she smiled sheepishly, happy I was the most beautiful princess still, and hugging her.
"Well, Kira, I'll tell you one more secret: the best candy in the world is orange peel dipped in chocolate."
She blushed and kissed me many times.
Hours rushed by. Before I knew it, she left to her ballet class right in the middle of drawing me a new portrait on the office whiteboard. We hugged and kissed several times. Sheer joy can break one's heart; especially if one does not envision herself having children.

I had asked Maria for a face-to-face talk. When time came, later in the evening, I didn't have the heart to tell her what was eating me most: dealing with her ways. It was unnecessary, I realised in due time. It wouldn't have solved much, on a Friday evening. So the talk was about having the talk another time. She invited me for lunch over the week-end, at her place, to maybe work together. I didn't have the heart. During the coming week, part of the problems solved by themselves. We never lunched or worked that week-end.

Oana told me about a party with Electric Brother at Market 8. I considered it.

Still in the office, doing my best to catch up and avoid working over the week-end. Liviu came in with a blonde, good-looking Moldavian guy who needed an ad for a top secret, once-a-time exclusive party. Invitation only. As they worked, Maria called me on the phone:
"You may want to know, just in case. Coco died today. Amsterdam Coco."
"What do you mean?"
"My sister told me. Liviu was there when somebody called from the hospital to give the news. It seems he had a lung tumor that evolved fast and he was undergoing surgery today. The odd part is that the tumor was benign."
"I see. May he rest in peace!"
"Indeed. I thought you should know."
Coco was one of the most light-hearted people on Earth, and young—his dreams still on the verge of coming true. Liviu and I had great nights drinking beer while Coco was in the bar. We used to call him the reindeer since one night when all three of us had tried really hard to get rid of some drunken teenagers by playing the jazzy Robbie Williams album, just before Christmas.
I called Maria's sister, Liviu's wife.
"What happened to Coco? Are you sure? Do you know more?"
"No more than Maria told you."
Coco had been more than a reindeer; it felt impossible to live in a world where kind young men leave without having a chance to say good-bye to their mothers.

Wanna hear something that will make you sad?" asked Liviu soon after.
"I know already."
"I don't believe it," said Liviu. "I can't. I won't."
"What was it? Bleeding? His heart stopped? What?!"
"I don't know, honey. Care to come with me to my office a little?"
The fair-haired Moldavian welcomed me.
"Thank you for being so kind. Please look at that screen and tell me the first emotion you feel."
I looked. It was an ad for a party. I wasn't feeling any emotion. The truth? I might have felt something I wasn't able to consciously express.
"First thing you think, if this were in a magazine."
"It's interesting, I'd stop to read it. It's different, it catches the eye. Makes me think of fun and, strongly, sex."
Happy and speechless, the Moldavian shaked my hand.
"Consider yourself invited. This club will open for one night only. The DJ is the best in Moscow and London."
I've never got invited.

Went to Market 8. It was an invitation-only party of Parliament, which I crashed without intending to; felt cool. Surprised they wanted to find my name on their lists, I said, top-of-mind that I was there with Oana.
"She's from Amsterdam, she can come in" said the bouncer, smiling at me.
I wasn't from Amsterdam. He was. I hadn't been in Amsterdam for months. It pays to know the bouncers.
The party was for a crowd that certainly didn't just come in from the office; unlike me, no umbrellas in the heavy rain. The wardrobe lady treated me as fine as she had any other guest. Pleasantly warm, yet not intrusive, taking care of my belongings as if they were hers.
At the bar, I asked for a glass of wine.
"Are you sure?" said the bartender. "Everything's free tonight, have a whiskey!"
I roamed the place with my glass of wine, picking a cigarette pack randomly. Everybody was there. Oana, Mike and girlfriend, Igu, Electric Brother, Vlaicu, Ioana, Ilinca, Vlad. Four of us went one level down to smoke.
Alexe came in as I was deciding, together with Vlad, to finish my drink before going to the next venue—what was the rush? I asked Alexe to take a picture of me sipping my wine in that elegant attic, sitting in a fabulos white leather armchair. He did, using Electric Brother's phone, which afterwards refused to send the photo. Vlad showed up:
"You were right, we did find a cab! Are you coming?"
It felt liberating to leave a boring party I hadn't been invited to. Nice wardrobe lady pampered my soul again.
In the street, Vlad's friend gave me his arm and held the umbrella. Vlad was jumping water pools as if he were Gene Kelly. I had a great time, those three minutes, walking fast and laughing with Vlad's friend—Adrian? Andrei? More laughing came around in the car, we seemed somewhat likeminded to Vlad's astonishment.
Cab left us at MNAC, the friend continuing his journey home.
It was Vlad's turn to hold the umbrella, as we strolled the huge yard to see Santiago Sierra's art. I stumbled over the biggest red anturium I'd ever seen. Picked it up.
"Is that real?" asked Vlad.
"Entirely."
Woman, man, umbrella, and flower in the dark rain.

15 minutes later, standing in the rain with Vlad.
"I must have the only branded umbrella here" said Despina.
"No, mine's branded, too. And the one next to us as well."
I looked around, browsing the umbrella crowd in front of the museum.
"Except that fake Burberry there, maybe."
"How do you know it's fake?" asked Vlad.
"I don't."
"Is this fake?" asked Vlad, opening his coat to show a Burberry pattern.
"I don't know."
"It isn't."
"Look, I can't really tell these things, can you?"
Vlad left, annoyed we were waiting so long for this Santiago. Mihaela came and we started talking. A guy jumped under our umbrella, smiling widely.
"Good evening, girls, can I wait with you? I'll hold the umbrella for you."
So he did, talking in some foreign language to another guy close by, and weirdly enough—smoking Vogue cigarettes. Phew!
He soon jumped under the next umbrella, and probably hopped his way to the entrance. Then Maria came, then MiKa, and then Popescu.
"My dream coming true, standing in the rain with four ladies!" laughed Popescu. "Come to my big loving chest! Rest!"
We pushed the crowd to enter until I was swallowed in and the others not. All I knew was that 500 ladies were awaiting me in some sort of brutal art installation. Went through the security fast, read that persons suffering from claustrophobia, heart and lung diseases should think again about going in, and found myself in front of Gontz.
"Morning."
"Morning."
We kissed. It was past midnight; then again, morning had always been his hi.
"If you decide to go in, walk till the end." he said playing his role.
Walked in the tunnel. Lots of stairs to climb in dim light, stealth air, touched by many women.
"Please give me some money."
"Please give me some money."
"Please give me some money."
"Please give me that beautiful flower."
"Please give me some money."
"Please give me some money."
"Please give me some money."
In front of me, people were shooting photos and videos of those women of all ages and backgrounds; it felt a carnival, a circus, not art. Climbing until my breath had to catch up, I heard the fake beggers talking among themselves:
"My feet hurt. How many people could be out there, still?"
"I need some air."
"All these bitches, I made no money."
I started laughing hard. Was this what I waited for in the rain?
Reaching a plateau, I realized I'd walk down as much as I climbed. I was disappointed with the predictability. Was that all?! Ten minutes of exposing myself to fake beggers?
I waited by the exit door. My branded umbrella had yet to arrive.
Mihaela came out nearly crying.
Maria was touched as well.
MiKa came out with eyes that showed an inner whirl of emotions. She was deeply moved. I felt heartless.
Oana came out screaming:
"Is this art? What the fuck!"
She was carrying along a mother and her daughter.
"I'm bloody sorry I didn't have more money tonight, I could've come out with more than these two. Follow me!"
Dilmana came out somewhat disturbed that she was forced out of her world by Igu not being sensitive; she missed some of the experience.
MiKa told me about Santiago's installation Waiting, in Luxembourg. Huge black concrete block, one door only cut in it. The guardian in front would keep all your belongings, make you sign a contract, and show you in. He'd then throw dice to figure out how much you'd have to wait. Inside, nothing but a bench. And yourself. Between 2 and 12 hours, you wouldn't know until the guardian opened the door for you.
I was amazed. I would have loved that!
"Why?" asked Mihaela. "It gives me the creeps."
"I'm not afraid of not knowing. I'm not afraid of spending time alone. Worst case scenario: I'd sleep peacefully."
MiKa and Dilmana invited me to ride with their friend, Serban, and then call a cab from their home. I didn't have the heart to tell them I laughed. We rode.

Having called many companies, out of luck, out of topics other than Santiago, sitting in their lobby, I told them about Jasmine pearls. They were enchanted; they thought about filming the unfolding and I thought about them filming the unfolding.
Mihaela was hardly present. I was scarcely absent. I found a taxi.

Cab driver proved peachy.
"I love the rain, miss, don't you? Even with the traffic jams it brings. Although rain's a different story in the countryside. More powerful, more solemn, more beautiful."
"Yeah."
"I've a 5 y.o. daughter. She does everything better when it rains: sleeping, drawing."
"Indeed."
My heart was stinging. Could I have had some laughs to wash that odd day off?
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll leave you as close to the block's entrance as possible. Hell, I'll even leave you in front of the elevator. Need a hand?"

The doormen were playing with a black kitty. The white dog slept in the junk mail cartoon box. The hallway strangely smelled of cinnamon, welcomingly, homely. I opened the door to my studio, breathing in the aroma of the pasta primavera I had cooked the previous evening. How much random life could I take? I opened a beer, SMSed my horny baby, and watched Tarkovsky's Nostalgia. Crying, eventually.