What is Responsibility?

Photo by Laura Balc

For the last few years or so, I have been dealing with and thinking a lot about the concept of ‘Responsibility’. First and foremost, it’s a really tricky word to grammatically spell right. Secondly, it drives life and seems to be at the core of good living.

When it first occurred to me, I was about 35 years old, and I was traveling solo through Portugal. It was at the time I was living through the events of what became my first novel, The Paper Boat (which is now fully edited into a manuscript and I am actively looking for a literary agent to represent it). What occurred to me back then is that I wasn’t really taking much responsibility for my actions because I did not know what it meant…for me. This is the thing about great concepts such as God, Love, Purpose, Responsibility…we must have a real experience of them so we can define them for ourselves.

At the time I was traveling solo, I reached a point when I was not getting any jobs as a freelancer, I wasted all the money my mother had so kindly supported me with, and I had no real direction except to travel, write poetry and see where life leads me. I was sort of drifting, until I decided one day, when I was in Lisbon, that I wanted to search for a place where I felt I could learn something new. I found Ana’s farm, in the North of Portugal. She was living with her daughter Maria, who was 5 at the time, and was freshly separated from the father of Maria. Ana had a really big garden on her hands, with two immense greenhouses and more than ten outside beds. She needed help and I needed to learn hard work. I wasn’t used to hard work. My work until then was about sitting at a desk or on a couch, or laying in bed, and typing, or performing data annotation jobs. Four hours per day in the garden proved to be a glorious challenge, and the tiredness combined with a deep fulfillness of seeing the garden flourish became a great nurturance for me.

At the same time, I began falling in love with kids and they with me. I had a really nice relationship with Maria, with whom we were becoming friends and meanwhile, I met Adam, who had two daughters (3 and 7) from his previous relationship and two older kids (13 and 16) from his marriage. It so happened that all the kids during those months were living with him, with the youngest one staying half of the time with her mother. Suddenly I was dividing my time between a household of four children, and Ana’s farm where I would spend time with Maria. Five kids in my life. It was glorious, but also deep changes were happening inside me. Spending time with the kids woke up in me the mother role that I never got to explore. I was raw, didn’t know anything about kids. How they thought, what are their developmental stages. I had to be reminded constantly that they were just kids, as my tendency at the beginning was to treat them quite often as adults. But as soon as I was getting into their world, I was all in there and I began realizing that I really enjoyed my time with them, even more so…that I love kids.

So here I was, learning completely new things about myself, and even more importantly about what I love: gardening and kids.

Now, I was broke, and without any direction. I have managed until that point to be self-reponsible, to learn how to take care of myself and be responsible for my own well-being. But the kids were something else. When Ana and the man she met and became her partner, Maria and I got into a car accident, only the thought that something could have happened to Maria was overpowering. I realized that something had to change. I could no longer only think about me and my needs. I had to learn to care for others as much as I cared for myself, if not more. Not in a sacrificial way, but in a way that I would not be part of endangering the well-being of any child, or human being for that matter.

About that time, I got a car. A very old car that was basically a disaster on wheels. One day, as I sat in it, and felt totally unsafe for myself, not to mention taking kids with it, I had this moment of profound realization which expressed itself in the words that I said to myself

‘I cannot live like this.’

This realization changed everything. I decided I had to learn to make money so I can afford security. I had to become financially independent and I could only do that by coming back home to Moldova, from where I am writing this post right now.

When I came here, I set a goal. To make 2000 euros per month and re-connect with each of my family members. Mother, father, two brothers, two sisters in law, three nieces and one nephew. In less than I year, I managed to make the 2000 euros per month and in less than two years, I managed to establish a strong connection to each of my family members. This grounded me. I have now financial independence and my relationship with my family is one of mutual respect, support, appreciation and care. It is rare to live such a reality. Well I do and there is not a day that passes by that I don’t feel gratitude and thank God for my life and the people in my life that I love and cherish.

Now, what have I learned about responsibility from all these events? One thing is certain, responsibility is liked to being able to care for oneself, as well as care for others. That involves not only being kind and supportive, but also to have financial independence. As Adam said to me once ‘Living in a tent is nice when it’s by choice.’

These days I have been contemplating a deeper sense of responsibility. What does it mean to take responsibility for our lives? I realize that it is linked with being able to move on and let go. Let go of past happenings, suffering and hurts. Let go of fantasies and wishful thinking that doesn’t lead anywhere. Let go of unnecessary beliefs. I can see that responsibility plays a great role in forgiveness. To move on, to close a chapter, even a book, is to be able to take responsibility for your part, for your actions, for what you did or did not do in a circumstance or relationship. To acknowledge failures and mistakes and to celebrate successes.

Life it seems, is a step by step journey. We got to have a plan, even two or three, but we also got to understand that there is so much to know that we basically don’t know much if anything really. But it always helps to have a good motivation, like I did with the kids I got to fall in love with. They were not mine, I did not birth them or have been with them for long, but I could not allow myself to compromise their safety or not be able to take them out or offer them some of the things they desired. The love I developed for them, and that mother role that awakened in me, was not due to giving birth to a child, but rather from taking responsibility for my role in the lives of those around me. As a human being who is a part of humanity.

One thing is certain: gardening helps! But more about that…maybe…in the next blog post.

Thank you for reading!

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Via this way, I want to thank Oana Carp for her donation, which boosted my confidence to the roof, made me feel that my work is valued and had a great effect on my life as a writer! Thank you, Oana!

Can I change ‘me’?

We are human beings with complex minds. We all want the same, yet seek to find it through various ways. Some of us, are thrilled to step on the beaten path, while others are thrilled to find our own way. I am one of those people. Every time I try something, it is more of an experimentation, to see what works, for me. To know what works for me, I have to know me, as much as possible. And knowing ‘me’ means to know where I come from, how have I been educated, what have I learned and had to unlearn, and to be able to engage or let go of situations that don’t work. To let go in a healthy way, without running, without burning bridges, without causing suffering to myself and to others. I have to exercise care, precaution, attention, patience, detachment, listening, and I have to accept that it is extremely uncomfortable to change course. To change.

Change is inevitable. The ‘me’ I mentioned is a changing construct. I go back in time, and with every trip in time, I can twist the story. I can re-write my narrative. We all can. Not necessarily with words written on a paper, but with compassion, with understanding, detached. The conscious change, when we simply realize that things are not going well, that our bodies hurt, that our friends are people we no longer agree of but rather understand and accept, is not easy as it doesn’t always come naturally. We can continue to do the things that hurt us. We meet people every day who refused to change, who went with natural changes, probably hoping that higher forces will take care of things. Yet we know that when we care, when we really start caring about ourselves, loving who we are, when we become agreeable to ourselves, we are motivated to act.

Action is putting things into motion. We envision a healthy life, a balanced life, a life which makes us smile in the morning and smile in the evening before bed. A life where we do the things we love, every day, with utmost dedication. This commitment to living a good life seems to frustrate the mind that thinks that life is hard, and has to be hard. That nothing is simple. The conscious change therefore implies that we accept that hurt, pain, suffering, injustice as part of life, but we can use that hardness to soften our character. Not to become pussies, but to become more flexible and hopefully, with devotion and practice, to surrender completely to life.

I hereby invite you to take a more detached look at your ‘me’ and ask yourself: what is it that I know I could change, but I don’t, I won’t, why should I?

‘New Skirt’ from Cristina Burduja’s first self-published poetry collection ‘The Paths We Travel Alone’

Really Really Happy

Today, 20th of March, is the International Day of Happiness. Here is a short story that I wrote this morning, not knowing that today is the International Day of Happiness. I not only not knew that it is today, I had no idea there was such a thing as an International Day of Happiness. But then my editor, Mihai, to whom I sent the story, sent me a picture from Wikipedia informing me of what day is today…internationally speaking. So here it is…and as it so happens, the story I wrote this morning…is about HAPPINESS. My interpretation is that life decided to give me a ‘Welcome Back to short story writing’ gift, as I have not written a short story in about twelve years. Happy Happy Day!

Really Really Happy

She was happy. She had to be. She had everything she needed to consider herself happy. She had a house that she owned and a great car that was her dream car. She had a garden with fruit trees, vegetables, and flowers. She even had a pool. Her search for God was officially over as she found God. She learned to pray and get whatever she prayed for. She had a life.

On the morning she received the email, she was wearing new pajamas. It was red satin and, incredibly so, it fitted her perfectly.

She stared at the digital words for longer than she could afford. After all, she was a busy lady. She had a schedule, a discipline. Every hour, she had to do something that she enjoyed. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off the question on the screen:

Are you happy?

She didn’t bother asking herself from whom was the email. Who was the stranger that dared to enter into her tight routine?

But it wasn’t the question. It was the words that followed the question:

Really really happy.

‘Are you happy? Really really happy.’ 

Why the double ‘really’? Why so much emphasis on the reality of her happiness? Truth was, she didn’t ask herself this question in a long time. It’s not a question one asks themselves anyway. Mostly, it is asked. Received from someone. Usually a stranger, as friends or family don’t REALLY ask this question.

She decided it was nonsense. Deleted the email, blocked the sender and went to the bathroom to start her day. Her expensive, yet almost 100% natural, products were staring at her from underneath the bathroom mirror. They always seemed excited about the sureness of her using them, liking them, massaging them into her skin, wanting them to penetrate throughout the surfaces for which they were so strictly designated.

She then went to her wardrobe where the Thursday outfit, already picked, was waiting to be worn. A pencil skirt, a white blouse and a vest to match the skirt and the shoes. She did enjoy her clothes. They always felt exactly as she wanted them to feel. Elegant, a bit tight, made from quality materials. She then made herself a tea, which was, after the previous long stare at her laptop, the second unusual thing she did today. She didn’t drink tea in the morning, even though she had an impressive collection of teas. She usually drank warm water with a lemon from her lemon tree.

She had the tea outside, under the lemon tree, and while looking at her beautiful garden, saluting the gardener with a hand gesture in the air, she told herself, in a loud voice:

I am happy.

She paused, took a sip of her glorious tea, and continued:

Really really happy.

Must’ve been a scam, she thought, the email. People these days would do anything to get something for free. She decided her attention was expensive and focused her gaze on the flowers. Her roses were blooming. The pink roses she planted a few years ago. She loved pink roses and they loved her because she gave them care, real care. She knew them, felt them, they were part of who she was and it was seen. The pink they emanated was pinker than any pink roses she encountered until then, as if the reign of pink roses decided she deserved a shade of her own.

No, her name was not Rose, that would be cheating. Her name was Angela and she was fifty-two years old. She didn’t smoke in more than thirty years, but somehow now, she remembered she still had a pack of cigarettes hidden in a drawer. From time to time, she would randomly remember that and smile thinking how easy it was to ignore that information. But this time, she didn’t. She went to the secret spot, took the pack of cigarettes, went into the kitchen, opened it, and placed the golden cigarette filters in the running water from the tap. She soaked them and threw them into the trash. Then she took the bag out, sealed it, went all the way in the back and threw the bag into the big black trash bin.

For the rest of the day, she worked in her beautiful office overlooking the sea. It was a productive day. She made everyone at work happy. She was a good leader. She knew how to guide her team members towards their true potentials and everyone praised her.

Angela, you are the best! they would say.

Angela, you are so inspiring!

Angela, it’s such an honor to learn from you.

She usually smiled, and sometimes she even sent them a hug emoji.

In the evening, she decided to have a glass of white wine from her husband’s collection. She wanted to drink it while watching the sunset and stayed outside until the first stars appeared in the sky. She decided to go inside the moment she caught a shooting star. She didn’t make a wish, but asked God to give that wish to someone who might need it. God winked and sent the wish to a child in a rich country, who really really wanted a bigger toy.

She jumped back into her red pajamas, and while looking at herself in the mirror decided that red is not really her color. She took the pajamas off, threw it carefully into the laundry basket and made a mental note to wash it and offer it as a gift to the gardener’s wife, who was a professional red wearer.

Tonight she sleeps naked. The sheets caress her skin and she quickly goes into a really deep sleep. No dreams. Just a good night rest.

Writing a Query is Easy Peasy

Writing the query is easy when you have a team. Genie, Mihai, and Zoe helped with every detail, from edits to suggestions from authors and books that compare with The Paper Boat to delivering it to you in this post. 

It started, as it often does, with a grand realization + anxiety + fear, which all led to pure excitement. The query signaled that The Paper Boat was finally ready to enter the world and find its guides and audience. As I write this, I realize I didn’t sit properly with that moment. I didn’t acknowledge its full significance because I was too frightened by the fact that I had no idea what a query was. I mean the whole thing–that I can ONLY access the literary agents by submitting a query–was new, which probably reveals to you how I go about my writing journey. I don’t over-research. I take it as it comes while feeling fully supported at each step.

Supported first of all by life itself, and by my team who, as far as I can tell and have been told, are people that The Paper Boat itself attracted, which proves that it is alive and has an energy about it, a force. I love that about creations and books; they are independent and know what and who they want on board. 

I woke up one morning and found a video online explaining the process of writing the query, so I began writing it while pausing the video from time to time and asked my editors, Genie and Mihai, to bring on their contributions. That is the thing about having a dedicated and supportive team; you are never going through it alone, which is the real juice of creative endeavours. 

So: 

1. Write a book

2. Get a team

3. Write a query 

Here is the query, which is a really good read because it gives you compact information regarding The Paper Boat and offers you a template if you are a writer.

—

Dear X,

I am seeking representation for my book The Paper Boat, a work of narrative nonfiction totaling 45,732 words.

The Paper Boat follows the tracks of a female digital nomad of Eastern European descent at the beginning of her solo travels through Cyprus, Portugal, Ireland and Moldova. The story centers on the inner relationship with her alter ego, Zonja Bubbles, and her interactions with the characters she meets along the way.

 The central questions of the book are “What would I do in her place?” and “What is she up to now?” Readers are immersed in situations that require detachment and honest self-reflection as they follow the narrator on her quest for self-actualization.

“Trust the language” has been the guiding mantra of The Paper Boat. To this end, I worked with two editors: Eugenia Nordskog for language and Mihai Tropa for developmental guidance. Eugenia specializes in helping non-native writers express themselves confidently in English. Mihai Tropa, an academic who taught languages and education for many years, has curated and translated books for Edition Tertium in Stuttgart, Germany.

Comparable titles, from my perspective, would be Tracks by Robyn Davidson for both the simplicity of the language and the examination of crucial moments in a dedicated traveler’s inner life. The frank treatment of the potential for power imbalance within a sexual encounter reminds Eugenia of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, while Zonja herself conjures a modern-day Moll Flanders. Mihai sees affinities with Vonnegut’s works.

I have a BA in Journalism from the University of Babeș-Bolyai, Cluj-Napoca, Romania, and an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Essex, UK. In 2022, I self-published my first poetry book, The Paths We Travel Alone. I currently work as a Lead Linguist and Project Manager for Datamundi / Summa Linguae data collection company, where I train AI, work closely with numerous freelancers and play a key role in ensuring the quality of work.

My next project, already half-written, is a sci-fi novel which revolves around the idea of “a woman’s world.” 

I am currently based in the Republic of Moldova.

Thank you so much for your consideration,

Cristina Burduja

—

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My Writing Journey in a Flash

Photographer: Laura Bâlc (@laurabalc)

I began writing when I was ten. I got a short story published in a local newspaper when I was in the seventh grade. In eighth grade I had a breakthrough moment when I read a story I had written in class and everyone applauded at the end. I was surprised, and it made me wonder.

I can’t say I treated writing as something serious or un-serious – I didn’t really think about it much. I just wrote from time to time and enjoyed it. That hasn’t changed much. I still enjoy it, except now I take it seriously because I know how powerful it can be. A few years back I posted a poem online, “The End of Seeking.” Soon after, I received a message from the mother of a friend saying, “Thank you for touching my heart with your poetry.” And there it was, my purpose fulfilled. To be able to touch someone’s heart through the words I wrote made me more aware of my responsibility as a writer. Not in an overwhelming way, but in a warming way. It warmed my heart.

I studied Journalism as a BA and decided once and for all that journalism had nothing to do with creative writing. Then I did an MFA in Creative Writing, where I learned how to write for the theatre. I was naturally adept, and I loved thinking of life as a grand play. The roles we play, the costumes, the rituals. It spoke to me. It made life easier to understand and much more fun to live.

Poetry came easily and still does. It’s like breathing. I can write a poem at any time of the day. It might take a while to trim it into its final form, but writing the poem itself is natural. By the time I self-published The Paths We Travel Alone in 2022, I had written hundreds of poems. During the pandemic, I wrote one or two poems per day for a whole year.

My first novel, on the other hand, proved to be hard work. The Paper Boat taught me discipline, structure and commitment. I knew it had to be written. No one else could write it, and I knew that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life. It combined everything I knew: flash writing, stream of consciousness, trance writing, radical imagination, poetry and theatre. It took courage, and my heart was happy to offer it.

Photographer: Laura Bâlc (@laurabalc)

Now that I am finalizing the last chapter of The Paper Boat with my editors, Genie and Mihai, I am already working on my second novel (sci-fi) and my second book of poetry while also trimming my fifth play. And who knows... Maybe when I finish all of these projects I’ll discover that I want to become a marine biologist next. But even if I do, I don’t think I’ll stop writing.

Coming soon…

I am working on my second post. Hang in there. Read poetry. Drink tea.