self declaration of love

I love how she drinks her coffee black, but adds a little bit of cinammon and vanilla.
I love how her nails wear that faded shade of blue, due to her hair colour mixing with the nail polish.
I love how she moans in the morning after her first sip of coffee.
I love how she breaks every rule except for her own
I love how she gets lost when she dances, like the whole world just ceases to exist and the only thing that matters in that moment is the music.
I love how she wears her freedom, doing whatever she feels like, without bothering about others’ opinion.
I love how she goes out in the middle of the night and the sunrise catches her on the beach.
I love how she lives like there’s no tomorrow.
And the most, I love that she is me.


Thank you, Queen!

My dear Queen,

Has anyone thanked you yet for writing “Cursed Child”? No? They keep criticizing it, don’t they? Saying how “it’s not a novel” (well, it’s a play, what did you expect?) or comparing it to a bad written fanfiction..But these people keep forgetting that you, just like Harry, didn’t choose the easy way. You chose the right one, the hardest one. It would have been very simple to write another novel, another story. But you wanted something different, better, never encountered before. Well, my Queen, in my opinion, you did well. You did better and amazing and freaking fantastic!


“Cursed child” is about what happens after the happy ending. It’s about struggles, heartbreaks, friendship, adulthood, prejudicies and even politics. It’s about love, change and human nature. And characters, which people keep forgetting they are not only humans, but twenty years older. Maybe not always wiser, but changed.

People expected “Cursed Child” to be the eight story, with the same characters and personality. Well, those people forget how reality works and how age reshapes us. How Harry wasn’t perfect, Ginny was always, in a way, the outcast, Hermione was pretty much predictable and prejudices rarely die.

I think those who criticize CC keep forgetting they had flaws, just like everyone else. Still, for me, they couldn’t be more perfect.

We LOVE to denounce, but has ANYONE ever thanked JK Rowling for giving us a real piece of the wizarding world?! Not a fanfic, not snippets or Rita Skeeter’s articles. A story, a full blown, AMAZINGLY written play, which has a much more meaning than anyone has noticed. It’s all between the lines, you know? (Many, many lines, since it’s a play, dear people)

I won’t give any spoilers ( KeepTheSecrets! ) but I’ll tell you this : it’s a gorgeous play in which I got lost just like in any other Harry Potter book. It gives you so many feelings and it brings you home. It’s funny, I enjoyed even those parts which some people considered weird (like the trolley witch), I cried at the end (thank Salazar for having two cats who cuddled with me while I was sobbing over the book) and I absolutely loved the character’s development! All of them.

Thank you, Queen. For bringing me back, for making me laugh, cry and hug the book at my chest at 2:30 in the morning, unable to sleep, with emotions running through my veins and with the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I love you, Joanne. Forevemore.


Yours, always,



Hurricane Inside

“Rockstar” touches you to the core. It starts with infinite sorrow, guilt and emptiness. It starts with a desperate feeling of missing and sadness. It starts with human nature at its hopeless peak. What comes after it’s like a shot of the most painful, but healing drug.

Maybe I’m just being subjective. Maybe I’ve longed so much for this book and fell in love with it since I first saw the cover, with its Slytherin accents. Maybe I just felt it will be a big part of me. Still..’s way more than that. Cristina, with her amazing writing, creates something perfect. Beyond perfect. She describes Storm’s emotions with such rawness and passion. You feel death’s glare, you live the desolation that comes with it. You wanna jump into the book, grab the character and hold him. Just hold him, without saying anything.

Storm is more than meets the eye. Though he seems everything you’ve ever wanted to be and more, young&talented, raging and giving his soul on the stage, his masks cracks little by little, showing a more damaged side of his. Though he has a family who loves him, an amazing girlfriend, a supportive therapist and many, many groupies (basically, people who can help him grow), he holds a battle with his own demons, which can be won only by himself and no one else.

Does he manage to conquer his demons? Well, that’s  up to you to find out. Order the book, read it and let it sink in. Then read it again, cry and thank to the gods, Satan, or whatveer you believe in that Cristina exists. Come to Bookfest on Sat and hug her tightly. Very, very tightly.

I cannot have a conclusion to this review. There are too many feels. Just..

“Be true to yourself and remember to laugh each day
It’s all that really matters.”




Order from here and see you at Bookfest on Saturday at 2 pm 🙂


mai mult decat o pisica

momentul meu de fericire suprema este atins cand imi iau pisica in brate. totul se evapora. clipa, grijile, ora tarzie, foametea si stresul adunat de peste zi, saptamani, luni. se uita la mine tandru, stiu ca m-a asteptat si se lasa imbratisata. isi muleaza corpul gri dupa al meu si-si pune capul pe umar, oftand un pic. ea ma accepta asa cum sunt. cu par albastru, mereu obosita, fumatoare insetata, un pic (mai mult) alcoolica, dezordonata, haotica, outgoing sambata si introvertita duminica, cu cearcane mai mereu si cu o carte-n brate, mirosind a John Richmond si cu firul ei de par gri pe obraz. ea mi-e totul. daca ma privesti in ochi, imi vezi pisica. sufletul pereche, demon adorabil, lingusitor si cu care ma trezesc in fiecare dimineata. cateodata, ma iubeste atat de mult incat ma lasa sa dorm si ne cuibarim amandoua in acelasi vis. 12376207_1078338195532434_8761572811625062660_n




ea mai scrie si la tastatura, din cand in cand.

Letters I’ll never send

Ma’ntreba o data D. de ce nu-i scriu ceva.


“Stii tu..scrisori.”

Pai si ce-ai vrea sa-ti scriu in ele? De ce?

“Nu fi dragut. Asa, vintage”.

Nu, n-ar fi dragut. Dragut ar fi sa iesim la o bere ca stai la un bloc departare de mine.

“Da, dar nimeni nu mai trimite scrisori lately.”

Da, si nimeni nu mai spune ceea ce simte. Oamenii prefera sa-si trimita linkuri in loc sa poarte o conversatie. Nobody gives a shit anymore, though at the same time, they care too much. Unde vrei sa ajungi cu asta? Discutiile filozofice nu duc nicaieri.

“Dar o scrisoare ar duce la mine.”

M., Slash si fum

Mi-am terminat ultima tigara cu M. Mi-a zambit melancolic (o premiera, el zambea foarte rar ; poate voia sa ma faca sa ma simt speciala?) si mi-a spus ca nu-i nimic, incepem alt pachet maine. Vrea sa-mi spuna si partea a doua din trilogie.
Stiu ca povestea lui a mai fost filtrata de alte minti si-a trecut prin multe suflete pana la mine, dar cumva, are un parfum deosebit. E ca si cum as inspira pentru prima oara briza din vama. E precum prima gura de bere, sau primul fum ajuns in plamani. Ma uit la el si-l inspir adanc. Am stins tigara impreuna, cat pe ce sa-l ard si pe el. Dar nu cred ca l-ar fi deranjat. Are un chip tanar in spatele caruia se ascunde sufletul unui demon batran. E fermecator, indiferent si cumva universul se invarte in jurul lui. Ma intreb, daca asta e impresia mea de astazi, oare maine ce voi simti? L-as scoate la o bere cu Vicky, Coco si Tedy. Probabil ar aduce-o si pe R. Oare ce-ar iesi?
Multi vor o poveste intre M si Vicky. Eu cred c-ar fi precum apocalipsa. Ceva mindfuck, de neoprit, care ar zgudui cititorii, lumea, probabil intreaga planeta. S-ar consuma unul pe altul pana n-ar mai ramane nimic. Si tot n-ar fi de ajuns. Universul s-ar inchina in fata lor. Perechea letala, indragostitii de prezentul vietii, cu cuttere la ei.
Mi-a placut de M. Mult.Mi-a resuscitat o parte din mine pe care o credeam moarta de ceva vreme. E precum o melodie de-a lui Slash care vine in playlist fix in momentul cand vrei sa renunti la alergat. Nu mai ai aer, vrei sa te opresti, ai privirea incetosata si apoi, cumva, il simti in vene, iti calmeaza ritmul inimii si-ti da un sut in fund sa mergi mai departe. Te ridica de pe asfaltul prafuit, te scutura de ganduri si-ti intinde o tigara. Si viata parca are iar sens. Merita sa te mai trezesti pentru inca o dimineata gri.
Mi-am regasit fragmente din mine in povestea lui M. Vama la Pirati, cu pizde proaste si aer fumat, realismul singuratatii pe care il resimte adesea, relatiile cu R. / B. , pana si cu D. Profunzimea lui filozofica, sentimentele de love/hate pentru Zeita, pasiunea si inocenta lui. Da, da, are si picaturi de inocenta, combinate cu latura letala. Este un intreg perfect, dragul de M. 
Eu nu scriu review-uri normale. As putea, insa prefer sa ma pierd in cuvinte si trairi. Oricine o poate lauda pe Cristina pentru structura frazelor, firul povestii si constructia complexa a personajelor. Eu prefer sa-i spun ca mi s-a cuibarit in suflet, impreuna cu Vicky, Tedy, Aneke, Alexandra si glimpsuri ocazionale de Gigi.
M., te astept maine.
Daca nu aveti habar despre ce boscorodesc aici, precum o pustoaica indragostita si fumata, take a look here .


Am reusit in sfarsit sa stau la o cafea cu Vicky. Spun “in sfarsit”, deoarece haosul imi guverneaza mai nou viata si nu mi-am gasit timp s-o citesc pana acum, desi vinovatia crestea putin cate putin cu fiecare zi cand o vedeam in geanta, singura si trista. Astazi, insa, m-a tras insistent de maneca spre soarele si caldura de afara. “Am adus vara cu mine. Acum ma citesti?”

Da. Si-a inceput povestea si parca s-a terminat prea repede. Ea, cafeaua, tigara si ziua asta superba. Pare prea ireal sa fie atat de frumos in februarie. Iesit din comun. Insa nu se putea altfel cu ea.

Vicky nu e un tipar. E un amalgan de lucruri, varste, trairi, experiente, nebunii, gusturi si arome. E tot ceea ce vrei, insa nu esti sigur per total ca ai nevoie. Eu am considerat-o cel mai mult ca fiind puntea dintre real si ireal. E o fantoma vie, ce traieste in sufletul tau si cateodata o zaresti in anumite gesturi, priviri fugare sau atingeri. Sau atunci cand dai foc scolii. Depinde.

Citisem undeva ca exista doua posibilitati : ori o iubesti, ori o urasti si inchizi cartea dupa primele 10 pagini.

Iubeste-o. Agata-te insistent de fiecare cuvant al ei, de geaca de piele cu captuseala rosie, oja neagra ciobita, parul decolorat si ciorapii rupti. Cu totii avem nevoie de Vicky, sa ne deschida ochii catre alte posibilitati, aventuri care unora li s-ar parea “outrageous” (if you know what I mean. Hint, hint.)

Avem nevoie de Vicky ca de aer. De ce? Cititi cartea. Si ascultati melodia.

Cu tine, V., n-am terminat. Te astept la vin. Sau bere. Sau ce vrei tu.