Ever since I wrote the last text my heart keeps nagging me with questions as such:
Aren’t you one sided ? You like to portray yourself as the most mindful and present in the room, but are you really conscious of your Self? Is’t it because you are trying to make yourself feel good that you see all these things around you? Who are you after all?
I have to admit that my heart does have a point here. It has the right to question my position. So I invited it to a conversation. I am not trying to put me down, not the communist style with their self critic as a demonstration of loyalty and selflessness. I am connecting the self living inside of me, caring the light and the exterior self, getting the inputs from outside.
This conversation came to me in a interview form, just like it happened years ago in a moment of profound desperation. I was only 18 and I was having the weight of the world on my shoulders and responsibilities I thought I was up to. I was indeed but the price paid is still perceived like a hole in my heart.
Why are you doing this?
Writing is the only conversation form that gives me the possibility to dive deep, to make sense (or not )of the thoughts and feelings I perceive in my body. I write because I can’t live in any other way. Writing stopped me from suicide and it kept the light on in my soul when I was wondering in a dark and wide forest.
Do you think that anyone cares about what you have to say?
I am not sure.Maybe not.
Does it matter?
Yes, and it hurts also, but only for a moment because otherwise I can’t be here. I keep me alive and I try to give the next 5 minutes a meaning. I say that one thing has a meaning when I understand it, when I can make it part of myself. I translate the world in my own language through writing.
What would happen if someone from your office would read your thoughts, you are not very kind when analyzing them?
Someone already does, at least it did, but this is a persone who is so kind and educated that it just smiles at me. I can see the eyes wanting answers from me, me wanting to be asked, but no sound comes out. And the person continues to behave in the most perfect and polite way. I hate fake politeness and there are times when I go against it but most of the time I control myself and I loose the interest immediately in having anything to do with that person or situation in the future. Quite extreme measures but this is it. Why be polite and shut up when the real you would ask something that is not clear or curious about? And yes, I hate it because I also do it when constrained by the superlatives of the social norms and when I find myself in highly educated companies. I hate being constrained not being polite.
If any other person would read it I might get excluded from the group.Or a conversation, a very needed conversation, might happen. But this is surreal because, as you can observe from my report, people are all completely blinded and absorbed by their own selves and how other people are treating or reacting to it.
I have to admit that I am afraid of what would happen.
Do you think that future employers would disregard you because of your authenticity?
Might happen, yes.
What would you do?
If it would come to my acknowledgement, I would write about it, deconstruct it and consume it. I would let me fall deeper and deeper in my own hole. Just so as to get out on the other side.
Why are you mentioning so often people eating and food?
Because it is a very common way today for people to hide away from their own feelings. Why? because we are not prepared to manage our own feelings. They are actually eating their own sorrow, hate, rage, loneliness.
How did you come to this conclusion?
Because I suffered from anorexia, bulimia and sugar addiction (even if it was from fruits) when I was working in the fashion industry. Because I am one of those people who are learning to understand and manage my feelings, emotions. Because I ate my loneliness and pain as well. And then I vomited it. And then it became my teacher.
How are you doing now? What made you change ?
Ever since I chose to be healthy and learn to be happy, learn to consider myself worthy of happiness I am having a healthy relationship with food. I am eating only plant based food because I am so happy when I do that. I consciously avoid using the term vegan because a horde of meanings were attached to it, meanings that I do not feel for. Just as it it with homosexuality. It became a war rather than a peaceful movement.
Having a plant based life style kept me alive in the most poisonous environments.
In Paris I was told not to eat anything and not do sports. I have a natural athletic allure and I have always loved all kind of sports, running the most. I gives me the feeling of freedom. But on that market successful models must be skin and bones. I spent days running from casting to casting, crying on the streets, loosing my self respect day by day. My only happiness were the fruits. And this is how my sugar addiction started. I hid them in the closet. I hid myself when eating plums or apples, because it meant doing something against the rules. Plus, I did not smoke or plunge into the drug illusion and this kept me even further away form the other models/people. I was completely isolated with my self hatting voice. Doing something different from what the agency said meant being kicked out. It meant being a bad person. I suffered from hunger and the strongest self hate I ever felt. Only during my student years did the self hating reach those levels. I was taking care of an old lady so that I could have a place to stay without paing. I studied in Romania. Coming home after long hours at the university I had to clean shit, literally, from the kitchen floor. Cook for her and even eat with her. I had to repeat my name each day because the old lady never remembered it. She had Alzheimer.She would naively look at me with inquiring eyes and ask me: Who are you? What are you doing here, fetițo? It was a survival and deeply spiritual experience. This is when I felt the need to get closer to the nature and a natural, peaceful way of leaving. This was before I got involved in the fashion industry. A good thing taken to the extreme in a poisonous and dysfunctional environment as the fashion industry is, turns against you.
In Hong Kong we were measured and put on the scale each Friday. If you were out of the needed measurements you did not get the pocket money, which is basically your only source of survival if, like me, you refused to work nights in the clubs drinking and entertaining the clients. I relied on the power of nature flowing through me and I survived. I felt good out on the hills surrounding the city. I would run around and learn to breath and see that there is a world outside the industry and the agencies chatter.
This industry has such a strong influence on us because it is deeply correlated with our identity, the ego. It might become an addiction which, like any other addiction, means running away from the darkness and pain inside. So many women and men are cough in this circle. Buying things that are supposed to make you happy, chic and on the edge-feeling empty and dissatisfied again-buying something new again.
In Seoul I experienced anorexia. The agency was very proud of me. I was winning so many castings. I could see my picture big in the malls and felt nothing but shame. Anorexia started from the fear of being rejected. Not getting work and thus, turning back home with nothing. People do not know that models, not the supermodels,just regular models doing the average campaigns, are not getting any money during the contracted period. Only in the end,when all the expenses were deducted: flights, accommodation. transport to and from castings, pocket money, you might get something.
In Seoul I was wandering the streets at night trying to ease my hunger by watching other people eat.I remember one night I was so tired after a day of work that I just stopped in a bust station, sat down, leaned on the glass and I watched everything passing by. The lights reflected on the wet asphalt. The asphalt under my feet lost the contour as I was crying again. In the morning I had to do it all over again.
In Chisinau I experienced bulimia. It was soon after getting out of the system, the fashion industry, and I felt like and really was the rehab period. The body was fighting for its right to survive, the soul was doing the same and my self, the higher consciousness in me, the one writing here now, was far away after years of being disregarded. Disregarded because the ego was in charge.
The process of putting me back together was extremely painful. And the pain was even more burning and poisonous because I was alone in all of this. My parents and people around me assumed what is called a dysfunctional acceptance of the reality.It means that they did not know how to deal with something like this, could not imagine that their little sweet girl could suffer, and they did not get involved as much as I was needing them to do. The never ending fight for survival in Moldova was blinding. It is an environment where going away means being successful and so- why would’t you do everything that it take to stay away?
What did they say when you came back?
Someone who is now part of the family said with an ascertaining voice- you fell down and you fell down from very high. But I was so happy to be out and I was conscious of whom I was dealing with, and so I did not let it sink in me. My parents accepted and were happy even. Apparently they felt my unhappiness all the way but never made me feel that they did, that they were with me.This feeling of being completely isolated within your own vomit, your pain is excruciating. My sister was having her own life, her own self discovery expedition and for her, seen from outside, fashion was a beautiful thing which happens to people, beautiful, loved people. Which doesn’t sound that bad, isn’t is? It is really attractive. It still is.
What was the meaning of all this suffering?
Now I understand it. It happend because I had to become conscious.
Why does it stil hurt you when people make jokes about your sexuality, eating habits and choices of living?
It hurt because these are very personal traits that I identify with. The road to complete dis- identification is long but I am on it.
It hurts because it underlines again something that I always try to dissipate-a kind of barrier between me and other people. Just like modeling kept me away from real connection with other people, my eating choices are having the same effect on some people.When you are slightly different from the norm, in a positive or negative way, people will avoid you. As it happens to rich or influential people, they can never be sure of the reasons someone is friends with them-If and only if they themselves are not the embodiment of their real self.
Being your real self is a barrier only for those who are still struggling with making the decisive step towards light.
It hurts because hearing a little dysfunctional and spoiled Italian lathing about you being a nun (not fucking people on a 20 km radius), not drinking alcohol or not wasting myself in parties- feelings of anger and very strong impoliteness are rising up in me.
And this is the decisive moment, the moment when I decide what am I going to do with this rage. The suffering taught me essential things-to see, to feel and to be compassionate. Because I can. There is no way out of it.
You know what is the most impressive and painful thing I realize ?
We all have the resources to be compassionate,present and helpful but we choose not to because it is not convenient, very uncomfortable and it takes time.
What a pity.