I feel like writing on my blog. It's 22:44, Gilad is on his way to work for the night. I love our new apartment but I don't feel as safe in it as I did in the previous one. Here we're open on all sides. In our previous apartment we were surrounded by people I was frightened of, but they had no way of reaching us. Even if they saw us through the barred windows they had no idea or way to get down into our apartment. We were like in a fortress. A little sweet lit up apartment buried inside a dirty old smelly building. Now we have shrubs and trees surrounding us and distant cars swooshing by on the street. But if someone wants to break in, I fear they can.
In our old apartment, when Gilad went to work for the night I knew he was two buildings over. Now he's too far to run to if I'm scared. He's too far for his aura to stretch all the way from there.
Auras stretching. That reminds me of when I was in the army in basic training, and on one side of the base, behind the tall pine trees, on the highway, I could spot the sign directing to "Bet Shemesh", because home was about 15 kilometers from there and I felt the wind stretching all the way from my warm bedroom and I felt a little safer.
After we came back from Bulgaria almost a year ago, I felt so safe all of a sudden, I wasn't scared anymore to be alone, and the light in our apartment was so bright it just filled me all up, because Bulgaria, as fun and interesting in it's freshness in my life's scenery as it was, it also frightened me. One night I had a panic attack and I don't remember that happening to me in the past many years. And then we came home and I felt so AT HOME. It lasted for a while, but I think it's starting to wear off. I need to once again fly to a foreign land, in order to come back and feel like I am in control in this familiar place and that no one can do anything to me.
I am so vulverable. I reckon that if someone attacks me at any time in any place I won't be able to shout. No voice will come out of my mouth. And that thought frightens me. Gilad asks me how I can live with so many fears. I think that life happens anyway, whether I'm scared or not. The fears won't ever kill me. So I just live with them.
So many things make me cry. That's why I really like my last studio project, the one of me just crying. With a certain translation, my name means TEAR of SEA. מר is a tear. ים is Sea.
Things excite me so much to tears, like beautiful art. Like a video one of my classmates made. It was so soft yet so poignant, and endlessly beautiful in it's abstractness.
I cry when loved ones reunite. I cry when others cry. I cry when people tell of hard things that happened to them. I cry when I see suffering. I cry when I remember sad things. I cry sometimes when I think of the loss I feel of my beloved grandmother. I cry when I'm aggravated. I cry when something hurts me. I cry when I listen to certain music and the sounds escalate into the staircase of nostaliga nd memories. I cry when art twists itself into the truths that I myself would want to express but haven't yet. Well, I guess it's just that I cry when I'm overwhelmed. Usually that's from art.
I cry when it gets late and I'm really tired and I start to think of all the things that make me cry, like now.