Zurück zu den Ursprüngen, wie es so schön heißt. Nachdem dieses Pseudo-Tagebuch hier seit nunmehr zwei Jahren ausschließlich englischsprachig ist, habe ich mich jetzt dazu entschlossen, hier und da auch wieder einmal etwas in meiner geliebten Muttersprache zu verfassen. (Schließlich heißt es ja auch zynisch.at und nicht cynical.us; aber um ganz ehrlich zu sein warte ich ja nur, bis dramaqueen.org frei wird!) Aber bitte keine zu großen Erwartungen an meinen kleinen Exkurs in die deutsche Sprache haben. Da mein Leben seit einiger Zeit einfach nur mehr Kopf zu stehen scheint und eigentlich permanent alles anders kommt als erwartet (Beziehungen, Familienprobleme, Freunde), habe ich hier ohnehin schon genug gejammert und mein ganzes privates Leiden öffentlich breitgetreten… wenn auch sehr vage und gekonnt indirekt. Ich bin zwar eine Drama Queen, aber zumindest eine mit Klasse. (Ja ja, daran ändert auch eine andere Sprache nichts, meine Lieben!) Eigentlich bin ich ziemlich stolz auf diese hoch melodramatischen, in Tragik getränkten und in Übertreibung getrockneten Beiträge - denn selbst wenn ich ein (Welt-)Meister des zu-ernst-Nehmens bin, vermitteln diese Einträge meistens doch ganz gut, was mich bewegt. (Und ich hoffe doch, dass das für Leser zumindest ein klein wenig interessant ist.) Folglich blieb dann in letzter Zeit auch wenig Raum für unbedeutendes Bla-bla.

Wow… dein Leben scheint wirklich zerbrechlich zu sein. - mein bester Freund Yannick

(Ja, ich werf jetzt einfach mal ein paar passende Aussprüche ein. Jeder, der mich kennt, weiß, dass das Herumschmeißen von Zitaten eins meiner größten Hobbys ist!) Zerbrechlichkeit ist ein essenzielles Stichwort, wenn es um die letzte Zeit geht. Mit psychischer Stabilität hab ich’s nämlich nicht so. 17 ½ Jahre meines Lebens vergingen ohne großartige Aufregungen oder Spektakel, bis schließlich ein riesiger Ball ins Rollen kam, als ich am 3. September 2008 zufällig neben jemandem im Flugzeug von Athen nach Wien saß, der mir sprichwörtlich die Augen öffnete und - so kitschig und übertrieben das jetzt auch klingt - mein zukünftiges Leben verändert hat. Damals war ich noch siebzehn. Und das ist bald zwei Jahre her. Was in der Zwischenzeit passiert ist, ist derart rasant von Statten gegangen, dass ich bisher kaum Zeit gefunden habe, mir darüber Gedanken zu machen. (Ja, das klingt jetzt äußerst glaubwürdig, nicht wahr?) Wenn nichts geschieht, dann geschieht nichts. Ich jammerte (griechischer Nationalsport, es liegt in meinen Genen! … also zumindest in der Hälfte meiner Gene, die anderen 50% jodeln lieber) bisweilen über die Ereignislosigkeit meines trostlosen und faden Lebens. Einen Vorteil dieser Flaute lerne ich aber erst jetzt richtig zu schätzen: es gibt kein Risiko. Wenn nichts passiert, dann kann man nichts verlieren. Dann kann nichts ‚zerbrechen’. (Auch das ist ein blöder Irrglaube, es kann immer was kaputt gehen.) Und natürlich ist das ein absolut uneffektives Argument, da jeder sich wünscht, dass sich die Dinge entwickeln und verändern. Doch da wir hier von der Zerbrechlichkeit meines Lebens sprechen (wie es mein bester Freund so schön auf den Punkt gebracht hat), komme ich zum Punkt (gefühlte drei Absätze zu spät, wie immer): … ähm? So, jetzt ist es passiert. Die Situation, vor der ich Angst hatte, ist eingetreten. Ich weiß nämlich nicht, was ich mit dem ganzen Geschwafel ausdrücken wollte. (Und bisher achtete ich immer darauf, dass meine pseudo-weisen Gedanken auch einem tieferen Sinn dienen und sich das Lesen zumindest gegen Ende, wenn ich endlich Tacheles rede, bezahlt macht. Tja.) Ich wollte glaube ich rechtfertigen, warum ich psychisch nicht ganz stabil bin. Aber keine Ahnung. Ich weiß es wirklich nicht mehr. Vergessen wir das. Nächster Absatz.

Dimitri muss nicht so tun, als wäre er jemand. Er ist jemand. - meine schwedische Nachbarin Ann

(Ad Zitat: So etwas hört man gerne!) Worum ging’s gerade noch? Wisst ihr nicht? Brav. Dann geht’s jetzt heiter weiter. Es gibt einige Dinge, die mich an mir selbst stören. Eines dieser Dinge ist sicherlich die Tatsache, dass ich Worten viel zu viel Bedeutung beimesse. Stellt euch das einfach so vor: in meinem Kopf sitzt eine Gruppe weiser, alter Mini-Männer (und Mini-Frauen!) an einem Tisch. Und die können einfach nicht anders, als sich über jeden möglichen Satz, der nur ansatzweise für mich von Bedeutung ist, zu beraten. (So, und jetzt schnell im ICD-10 nachschauen, welcher psychischen Krankheit das entspricht! Und sofort das LSF anrufen!) Nein, ernsthaft. Die Maschinerie in meinem Kopf hört selten auf, und das ist für mich selbst - und teilweise natürlich auch mein nahes Umfeld, verständlicherweise - äußerst belastend. Ich bin froh, dass ich nicht komplett naiv durchs Leben gehe, aber alles zu hinterfragen… muss das sein? (Die Männchen und Weiblein in meinem Kopf sagen ja! Ich sag’s euch, gleich hol ich die Neuroleptika, und das bedeutet dann euer Aus! Aber Scherz beiseite. Das ist nicht witzig. Oder nur ein bisschen.) Die ultimative Lösung? Gibt’s nicht. Na ja, aber zumindest einen Lösungsansatz? Hm. Ein Vorsatz: nicht mehr so viele Gedanken. (Wow war das jetzt bahnbrechend.) Lockerer sein, mehr für mich tun. Weniger Pflichtbewusstsein, mehr Spaß am Leben. Klingt doch gut, oder? Ob es leicht umsetzbar ist, wird sich erst weisen müssen. Ich sag euch dann, ob dieser Plan auch fruchtet.

You can’t improve on perfection, Dimitri! - David über mich

(Tut mir Leid, ganz ohne Englisch geht’s scheinbar doch nicht.) Tja, ein weiteres Stichwort ist wohl Zufriedenheit. Ganz ohne Drama würde es nicht gehen, immerhin könnte ich dann ja hier auch kaum etwas schreiben, doch ist es ganz wichtig, zu wissen, dass ich tief im Inneren eigentlich mehr als zufrieden bin. Mit meinem Leben und mir. Gerade deshalb habe ich ja überhaupt die Zeit und die Kraft, jede Kleinigkeit zu zerfleischen und bis zum Umfallen (also die anderen fallen um, nicht ich!) zu analysieren. Jetzt heißt es einfach nur geradeaus schauen und sich auf das freuen, was noch kommt. Vorerst heißt das für mich das Ende meiner Zivi-Karriere diesen Freitag. Dann heißt es ein Monat Griechenland und eine willkommene Pause von meinem turbulenten und nervenaufreibenden Grazer Leben. (Ha ha. Bitte den letzten Satz noch einmal lesen. Und dann mitlachen.) Danach fängt mein Studium der Linguistik endlich an (hi hi), und schließlich geht es Ende Oktober nach New York. Und das sind doch beinahe eine Hand voll spannender und einschneidender Ereignisse, auf die ich mich freuen kann… und auf die ich mich auch tatsächlich freue.

So, und schon habe ich keine brauchbaren Zitate mehr. - ich

Struktur vermisst man an diesem Eintrag hier bitterlich, nicht wahr? Auch die Konsistenz lässt zu wünschen übrig. Tja, aber viel mehr als Ehrlichkeit und eine großteils unkohärente Abfolge meiner wirren Gedanken kann ich euch auch auf meiner Muttersprache nicht bieten. Zurzeit beschäftigt mich viel, ich glaube das konnte ich erfolgreich zum Ausdruck bringen… und ausnahmsweise könnte man diese Dinge als wirklich bedeutend bezeichnen (für mich selbst zumindest)… es geht nämlich wirklich um etwas. Seien es die oft genannten Freundschaften oder eben meine Familie. Es steht viel auf der Kippe, und da lässt wieder die Zerbrechlichkeit grüßen. Aber ein wahrer Zyniker grinst weiter, denkt sich seinen Teil, und überlebt. - Und berichtet weiterhin über sein Leben. In welcher Sprache auch immer er will.(Und markiert ganz viel Text fett oder kursiv, ohne dass das auch nur irgendeinen Sinn ergibt. Da steh ich drauf.)

This must be what heaven looks like. Can someone please buy that for me? Why? Hey, you’d forever be my hero, OK? That must be enough! I think I really like Grafea. But $200? Well, let’s just hope I have some rich fans out there. (Ha ha… ha.)

Oh my effing God. If there’s ever a right time to act like a drama-queen, it is now. In the past few days, my life has changed. In major ways. See, I like to surround myself with people I love and need most. And I’m a picky person, meaning that this group of people I like to keep close to my heart is a tiny club of individuals. You might as well call them my substitute family. And if we really think of it as something as kitschy as that, then I’d have to say I have sisters, brothers, a partner, a mother figure, a grandma - everything. Additionally to the mostly great family I already have. (Only that unfortunately - and I blame no one for that but the circumstances! - this family has been deeply troubled lately, which is exactly why I needed my friends the most.) And usually (with rare exceptions, of course), I don’t overbear anyone with my affection. I don’t tell them I love them all the time or how much they mean to me. Even when that is truly the case. Phew. Why so much fuss? Well, in the past few days, I’ve been left alone, stabbed in the back, wrongfully labeled a bad friend and I felt lonelier than I’ve never ever felt before. And no, I don’t like to bias you and tell you I’m the victim and I’ve done nothing wrong. Holy mother, I’ve done my share of wrong, I most certainly have. But what I’ve done to deserve this? To deserve no second chance after letting people into my heart and attaching to them up to a point where I felt the desire to keep them around until I… well, die? Cease to exist? I don’t know. I lived my life trying to be happy (which sounds like an egoistic thing to do, but hey, doesn’t everyone do it?) and in the process, I attempted to do no harm to anyone. And I don’t think I really did. I only did harm to myself.

I degraded myself by trying to make right with everyone. By justifying each and every of my actions and choices, which is something an individual of 19 years with their own opinion shouldn’t have to do. I turned left and apologized, turned right and apologized. I turned everywhere, losing my own voice, my own incentive, my own driving force that had made me the Dimitri I had been the first 18 years of my life. I didn’t want to lose either person, both of which had become a major part of my life I never ever wanted (or want) to have to let go, but ultimately, I wasn’t even given a choice. Yes, all this fuss is about two of my best friends not wanting to have anything to do with me anymore, which hurts like someone ramming his fist into your guts. Repeatedly. It comes in waves, and most of the time, I feel so alone that this feeling could easily drive me crazy if I didn’t do anything about it. Of course I’ve tried to make right… again. I apologized sincerely, offered to do better in the future… which I would have done. The truth? Why should I agree to compromise my life? And my happiness? If someone can’t respect what makes me happy, it’s their problem when it comes down to it. I still don’t know why, and heck, I don’t know why my happiness should even be anyone’s business but mine, but apparently, one can’t have it all. And for some reason the thin line between giving advice and interfering with my choices became steadily blurry, up to the point where I adjusted my actions to what my friends wanted them to be. And that’s when I started to betray myself. And even if I feel like shit right now and could cry every minute of each day, I see that that was wrong. And that friends should respect the choices I make. Even if they think they are the wrongest and worst choices in the freaking universe. That shouldn’t matter.

In the process of losing something, you usually realize how much you wanted it all along. Well, it’s not like that with me. Only now that I am losing such a big part of my life (and I’m still saying I don’t want to lose it, but apparently I’m not being given a choice because there’s absolutely no reaction to my apology) I understand what it was I wanted all along. And who it was. And how unfair I’ve been treating some people. Like my mother, who is undeniably the most important person of my life. I will never be able to give to her what she’s given to me. But I try. Every day. I’m very vague in these entries, and of course I’m writing them so that certain people read them (yes, I’m as pathetic as that, but who isn’t nowadays?), but I will state one name here: Manu. And I just want to thank her. I realized how precious such a long friendship can be. It all started when we were both six years old and I went to her place, almost daily. And we would have lunch and then play games and do homework. I loved it. And our friendships went through so much that it grew steadily, and that’s fascinating. And she’s not just a substitute. You know what I mean? She’s the real thing. She was always there when I needed her, and even if it looks like that, I’m not just running to her because the others have left me, no. I’m seeking out to her because she’s the one I should have been seeking for all along. It’s just so true and pure, and uncomplicated. Even if I’m melodramatic and melancholy and I don’t talk much nowadays, I’m not a fan of complicated. I’m more fond of uncomplicated. And that’s what Manu is giving me. And I thank and love her for that. And I hope that she - whatever may still happen in both our lives - will always be there. As much as I hope my other friends will make a turn and give our friendship another chance. Because maybe these friendships can also still grow into something pure and true. I don’t know. But you know, I’m a sucker for hope. I dig that stuff. I know it makes me pathetic… but I’m repeating myself.

And now I’m going to say something I say too seldom: I’m great. I am really a great guy. Have always been, will always be. People should be glad to have me in their lives. And they usually are. Sometimes they unfortunately think they can do everything to me, and that I’ll stick around and come back eventually, and try to fight for their affection. Well, who am I to do that? I deserve to be loved and to be treated well, by everyone who wants to be in my life. And that’s a rule I will live by from now on. I’m not worth less than anyone. Gosh, up until now, I’ve been the best at everything I’ve done in my life, and this trend will continue… I know that because I know myself. And I will be an Oscar-winner if I want to be, or I will revolutionalize linguistics or buy a penthouse in New York. I have potential, a lot more than most other people. And I don’t need people in my life who stab me in the back or don’t appreciate me enough for who I am or what I give them.

God, I don’t know why I feel so good right now. These mood swings should worry me, shouldn’t they? (Menopause? Yeah, that must be it!) Well, I don’t really feel the urge to cry now. Maybe because I know for certain that at some point in my life, I will be surrounded by myriad people who will respect me as much as I do… from now on; abundantly, that is. As of today, I will be strolling through the streets fully aware of who I am. Look out for the half-Greek cynic that smiles all the time, everyone!

No, you’re not hallucinating, dear reader. I’m really publishing yet another of my confusing entries. Only that this one… won’t be as confusing, probably. (Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not promising anything.) For all this damn confusion is slowly but steadily disintegrating right now, leaving something beautiful and utterly marvelous behind: certainty. The evolution of what was once a crazy idea, drastically turning into a serious concept to be actually taken into consideration, until one day, it hits you - the realization that what had previously been labelled a ‘crazy idea’ was probably the right and fitting choice all along; yes, this evolution is exciting, and you can’t help but witness it standing by. While just a week ago, I was working on my application for film school in Vienna, I know now for certain that it won’t be that path I’ll be taking come this fall. I already spilled the (surprising) beans in my infamous entry from last week (meaning this won’t shock you a bit), but back then, it was still confusion… this feeling that overwhelmed me. The fact that I truly opened my eyes for the first time led to a new possibility manifesting itself on the horizon. Over the course of one week, this possibility has become my choice. And I think it’s the right choice. That’s why I feel so comfortably certain about it. So here we go again: I will be studying linguistics and Russian in Graz this fall.  Which doesn’t mean nothing will change. Because honestly, I think everything will change. Eventually.

Reactions to my newly made decision were diverse. While one friend - the best one, that is - reacted frustratingly apathetic, another friend was happy not to have to let me go. And yet another friend reacted skeptically, thankfully questioning my motives to seemingly so easily let go of such a huge and long-time dream of mine (… to refresh your memories: filmmaking). My beloved mother, who has always given me all the freedom and space that I needed, was undoubtedly happy I’ll be staying, though she as well told me I should be doing what I want to do, and for once, try to neglect (something I do very seldom) other factors that could influence my final decision, like having to leave her here, basically childless. My quasi-mother, my Swedish neighbor whom I’ve known all my life, was so happy she hugged me and didn’t let go for a while. She said that that was the most beautiful Mother’s Day gift she got this year, and gee, I’m not even her child. Seen as I’m telling you about the different reactions I got after revealing my new plans, it might come off as though I excessively care about what others think about my choices in life. Well, of course I care, and if I said anything else I’d be a cold-blooded liar, but I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing it for me, and that is the real truth. Suddenly, my life seems so much more balanced. Of course, a lot isn’t working right now, my family life and my most precious friendship to be precise, but a whole lot more is running just like clockwork. For the first time, I’m looking forward to this summer, and also a big premiere: I’m thoroughly looking forward to studying. (Gosh, I’ve already started writing a paper on punctuation. And yes, I am a freak. But I guess you never doubted that.)

I’m not afraid of leaving my home. ‘Home’ being such a vague term I don’t like to use in that regard. What I wanted to say is that I’m eager to leave my apartment; the place I’ve lived in my whole life. Staying in Graz doesn’t mean I have to stay there. I want to stand on my own two feet and be independent; yes, completely independent for once. It might make me seem cruel or heartless, saying I’d like to move out of a place so full of myriad memories, but I don’t think it is. I’m going to act like a damn know-it-all to you know right now, and I’m apologizing in advance for that, but I’m going to throw two of my favorite proverbs into your faces: A house is not a home. Truly, a house, or in this case, and apartment, doesn’t yet make for a home. And of course, I love living with my mother, whom I want to stay close with; but that doesn’t mean we’ll have to co-share a flat forever. So why the hell am I not going to Vienna again? For home is where the heart is. And my heart is in Graz. Everything I love and care about is here. And while eventually, I’ll probably have to relocate at least parts of my life somewhere else, a part of me will always be in Graz.

Like I said, no more confusion. Just certainty. And a lot more entries. (Again… no promises!)

I couldn’t really decide which title would fit this following entry best, so ultimately, I didn’t choose, meaning it might as well be called ‘The vacuum’ or ‘The importance of staying cynical’. (In the end, I called it ‘[…] envious of kangaroos’ because Australia currently has something that I’d rather want close by.*) See how much of what I’m about to scribble the combination of these titles already gives away? Of these utterly exquisite compositions, it’s the latter that suggests I might finally be on the verge of parting ways with my oldest and most honest friend - cynicism, that is. But frankly, I can’t. So screw it. My precious relationship with my good ol’ pal cynicism won’t cease to exist as easily and quickly as other things seemingly - and quite unfortunately so - do. Some people cling onto hope or naive expectations. (I do, too.) But I’m happy there’s a pessimistic little brat accompanying me all along the way, whispering into my ear in a nay-saying yet charming voice, saving me from completely letting go of all doubts: cynicism. (What a nice little tribute to this blog’s eponym. It was about time someone told the truth about cynicism. The truth? Yes, the truth. That, basically, it’s not an entirely bad quality. And it shouldn’t be condemned one.)

Things happen. Unexpected things happen. You live your life, drearily. Bleakly. You like yourself, OK, at least that’s a good start. But basically, you’re living your life, waiting for something spectacular to happen. And suddenly - prematurely judged as yet another wasted effort - there come the fireworks. The lavishly spectacular fireworks that finally manage to lighten everything up. Yes, it’s the dreaded l-word I’m talking about that surprisingly manages to heighten my mood beyond any point I once thought possible. Yes, I’m happy as a cupcake. Occasionally. Mostly. And no, the l-word I’m talking about is not ‘lesbian’, like in that TV show I’ve never watched. It’s… love. Duh! And it’s new. So I can’t and won’t write anything about it yet. Rambling about it takes so much of the excitement away. Honestly? Something I’ve learned in the past is that you have to love yourself. Truly love yourself. If you’re ready to throw up, you might just wait a second; you know I’m not a big fan of kitsch. Really, I’m not. I might be a drama-queen (where is my award for the biggest understatement of the millennium?) and I like to be shown affection and that someone takes an interest in me, but kitsch? Well, frankly, I loathe kitsch. Kitsch (yes, I’m aware of the fact that I’m somehow overusing this word, but that’s just for presentational purposes!) is, in my opinion, the equivalent of a total absence of self-irony. (Self-irony, on the other hand, I love!) Kitsch in combination with a little self-irony, like for example when mockingly using uber-romantic nicknames? That one’s a winner, folks. I love me some sarcastic proof of affection.

So, what’s going on in your favorite half-Greek’s half-Russian’s life? (My name from now on, should anyone ask, is Dmitrij Meletow. Remember that!) Other than the fact that I’m at work and probably should be, uhm, working, not much, actually. Don’t ask me where my sudden desire to express myself through blogging (once again) is coming from. It’s been here before, it has left before. (Why do I feel it has left more often than it’s been here? Well, never mind.) I just feel like I have something to say right now, so you will just have to put up with my blabbering here. OK, but where to start? How about yesterday? Yesterday was a game-changer. Uh-huh. It was a rather cloudy Sunday, and I was bored to death. Other than sitting in my cozy bed in my cute pajamas and watching American TV shows I didn’t really do much. And now brace yourself for the million-dollar question: what does Dmitrij do when he doesn’t have anything to do? Think? Too much? Bingo! Just mail me your bank account information and you’ll have your million by noon. Yup, I did a little almost humanly impossible amounts of thinking. (Look at my previous post and you’ll know how seriously I take premeditations.)

Only that this time around, my thoughts weren’t destructive but rather constructive. (That’s a first, everyone!) I thought a lot about my future and how it’ll turn out. I thought about my career and the choices that I’ll have to make and that it’d probably be wise to look into some alternatives. Because seriously, how many Oscar-winning screenwriters have actually studied screenwriting? I bet the percentage is not even worth mentioning. Fact is, while I was eager to leave my home nest to go and conquer this small village up north Vienna, I’m not quite sure I want that anymore. (For various reasons! … Just saying, for all you skeptics who are rolling their eyes right now and thinking it’s only because of the l-word mentioned above. And believe me, the biggest skeptic here is M-E!) More than anything do I want to study something that fulfils me, motivates me, is fun. Something that manages to awaken my interest and also to maintain it steadily over time. (And that’s not an easy job. You can’t entertain me easily… over time, at least.) But if I really go to Vienna, I don’t think I’ll be entirely able to completely focus on my studies, for I’ll have to make a living for myself. I’ll have to go and get a job, and while I would do that in Graz too, probably, it would still be much easier and a lot cheaper to do it here. Right now, the only reason to really move to Vienna is if I decide film is the one and only thing I’d ever want to do and that there’s no other choice or alternative that would please me equally. But alas – or fortunately, we’ll see about that – I think that there really isn’t. (Well there’s graphic design, but that’s the same thing, for you can only study that in Vienna as well.) Lethargy is not my friend. (And it isn’t yours, either!) I realize I might be falling into that big depressing hole again that I managed to crawl out of last year. See, I enjoy life. And I like life, truly. But there’s one condition: I have to have something to look forward to.

And when I finally get to the point where I experience whatever it is I’ve been looking forward to all along, I need something new and fresh to look forward to, you know? I just need to see some joy in my near future that I can cling onto. I need to desperately wait for something beautiful or exciting to happen next month so I can enjoy living through this one. (Sounds crazy, but I really do need these highlights.) And right now, there’s nothing. Nada. Niente. Rien. I could continue, but I hope you get my point. Just a week ago for example, I was still looking forward to the beginning of July, because had everything worked out as planned, I would have gone to New York with the person responsible for the l-word. (I won’t say l**er here. But I just did, didn’t I? Oh well.) But with just one sentence quickly said, a bubble like that can burst. With my plans to go to Greece for a few weeks this summer still being heavily shaky (not only do I have absolutely no contact with my father right now, but the Greek military still wants to recruit me, even without any money) and three (!) whole months of holidays, there’s really a whole lot to look forward to this summer, right? L-word-person and friends (and probably also my mother) mostly being away in the summer, I can now learn to live with the prospect of spending it with my cats on balconia. Yikes, I can barely withhold the utter exhilaration I feel right now. Whoopeee! OK, the exhilaration is gone. Thank god, it was really almost too much to take.

Maybe I’ll just book a flight to somewhere I’ve never been before. Alone. I’m feeling a little sick when I think about spending all of my summer here, mostly alone. Not knowing where I’ll truly go this fall.

(At this point, I stopped writing this entry and saved it as a draft to complete it at a later point. Cut to one day later, Tuesday, May 11, 2010, when I wrote this…)

And, oh lord, what’s that? CRASH! WOOSH! TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK… KABOOM!

What’s that? Huh? Have I completely lost my mind? (Wake up, people, that already happened about, uhm, 19 years ago!) My plans have changed completely. In the course of just a single day. Gosh, I feel like Nicole Kidman in The Hours. (Minus the fake nose.) ‘A half-Greek’s life in a single day. Just one day, and in that day, his whole life.’ Am I being too dramatic? (Rhetoric question. Feel free to ignore.) Moving on. Wait… everything has changed? Yup, and even though that sounds utterly spectacular, my future seems much more orderly now in comparison to what it was still looking like yesterday. (Or on that cloudy Sunday when I did a little the most thinking any human being has ever done before.) First big twist: I’m not going to study film. At least not this year. I love writing scripts and composing images… filmmaking in general. But it’s just not the right time for that now. Instead, I will be studying linguistics. Well, for someone who knows me well, that’s not a big shock, right? (For God’s sake, it’s turning me on when someone talks about punctuation. Need I say more?) Wait for twist number two: I will not only study linguistics, but Russian, too. Yes, I know I’m not really half-Russian now that I re-named myself Dmitrij, but Russian is one of the top two most important languages - seen from an economical standpoint, at least - of the future. And that’s what we’re talking about… the future. Right? I don’t think there’s a point in studying English. (Or Roman languages. Yawny-yawn, anyone?) Other than it being completely overrun and redundant in our contemporary age, I think even just reading one entry in this blog will prove there’s not really heaps of things I could learn in that regard. And Russian? I know about two words of that language. Plus I don’t know the Cyrillic alphabet. And there are six cases, for God’s sake! It presents a challenge, and I like to be challenged after this year of ‘Zivildienst’ that, had it gone on for any longer, would have seriously left me brain-dead. Twist three: I might as well consider leaving one of the two mentioned studies above out of the mix and replace it with IT. Yes, IT. And don’t you dare think that I’m not talented when it comes to science. (Well if you still did I couldn’t blame you, because mostly, it’s the truth. But IT I could manage… I think.) You might hold on for shocker number #4… sit down, relax, and breathe. (And get yourself some popcorn, people!) Here it comes: I’m not going to Vienna. Frankly, I’m going to stay right where I am. And belong. For now. I belong somewhere else, somewhere far beyond Austria’s borders, and my life will lead me there in time. But right now, at 19, I don’t feel ready to leave so much behind. It seems like a too big price to pay. And before I finally leave Graz for good (probably), it still has something in store for me, I think. Even if it’s just plain old morphology or syntax. (God how I love, love, L-O-V-E linguistics!)

Too little KABOOM? I’m sorry. But you thought that was it? Ha ha. It was not. Twist #5: I am going to Greece. (It’s not a done deal, but I’m working on it.) And I’m going to stay longer than I’ve stayed in the past two years. Probably a month or even five weeks. (Or a year, if the military still wants me. And honestly… who doesn’t want me? OK, don’t answer that.) Yes, I’m going to return looking like I bathed in chocolate ice cream and my hair will have lightened up, meaning the sun will have made me a semi-fake blonde. (Eager to join that club!) It won’t just be fun being in Greece, but then again when has it been? My father’s not exactly my best pal, and he won’t be this summer. And twisty twist number 6: Even though I’m staying in Graz, I’ll move out. At least I plan to move out. I want to stand on my own two feet. In a cheap way, of course, because if I rent myself a fancy and pricy apartment I might as well go to Vienna and rent one there. Part of why I’m staying in Graz are the finances, like I said. And staying at home would help me save up cash. Uh, what the heck, I just needed a sixth twist. Now I’ve shot all my wad. I think I’m done. Questions? Feel free to comment.  

See? Change is inevitable. And that’s a good thing. And yes, I’m quoting myself here. I swear, in thirty years, when I’ll be writing my 4,296th entry, I will be a legend.

*EDIT: I changed the title again. I’m just digging Little Boots’ album Hands too much right now not to reference it here somehow. This is apparently from the song Mathematics.

Incredible, right? Me publishing a post, just like that. I tend to get a little repetitive these days, which – be informed – I’m fully aware of, but I just have to point out once more that I am probably the worst blogger in the world when taking aspects like regularity or quality (and most of all diversity!) of content into consideration. And quite obviously, I only compose new entries when I have something major to whine about that is important to no one but my humble self. (Whining really seems to be my destiny.) Right? So why should this time be an exception? Well, beware; it’s not. I shall continue whining for the time being. Seems like we might even have reached a new level of “whinyness.” (And yes, that’s a word I just invented. Whining and creating neologisms, that’s what I do.)

Getting to know oneself can be pretty rough. You know, I’m good old young Dimitri; always nice, always trying to put on an honest smile. (Emphasis on the honest. I never fake a smile. And that’s the truth, even if it sounds so cheesy it makes you puke.) Unnervingly ambitious and perfectionist, sarcastic, overly sensitive, incredibly nice, helpful and tolerant. That’s the way you guys probably all have come to know me, right? Want to add some of my lesser-known character attributes to that list? I guess for some of you who haven’t managed to discover all of my nuances, they’ll include myriad revelations. And here we go: (very, very) vulnerable, excessively analytical, (way) too thoughtful, sometimes irrationally  (and sadly, sometimes rationally) jealous, insecure, self-conscious, inexplicably lazy, lethargic, narcissistic, obsessed, determined. Phew. Hard to digest, these nice little (and almost exclusively negative) characteristics? To me, they were, are and will always be. Funny thing, because to succeed in life, I think I have to do exactly that: digest them, or, in other words: evolve. Stop whining and get over myself already. Easier said than done. (When is something ever easier done than said? Duh.) Read on for a little more insight in my ongoing adventurous soul-searching-trip. It’ll give you a little much-needed perspective.

“Maturing” is a word that is powerful, for it seems so concise while it still conveys a whole lot of things: growing older, having new experiences and becoming aware of things once unaware. Yeah, bla bla, now we’re digging into philosophical territory and I’m being vague to an extent that’s driving you crazy, I know. And I’m sorry. Let’s just cut to the chase: the process of maturing can be exhausting. To me, it is right now. That’s why on some days, I’m literally too lethargic to even speak properly. That scares me, and it might as well should (for sometimes I’m really too exhausted to speak or crawl out of bed, but then again I don’t want to admit it’s probably all hormonal and part of living through midlife crisis post-puberty), but fortunately I know that this unbearable lethargy is just a nasty side-effect that accompanies the huge wave of new things I have to learn and that I get confronted with every single day just about now.

Not long ago, I was whining about how little was going on in my life. (My preceding entries practically wreak of that. See for yourself, if you want to.) I was pissed about the lack of “fireworks” or suspense. Well, little did I know suspense can be such a nerve-wracking thing. Little did I know what feelings I’d be able to feel. Experiencing new things can be like opening little presents, one after the other. Only that under the fancy wrapping paper, there’s no gift, but a new facet to your own personality that you weren’t aware was lumbering inside you. See, I never knew I could be jealous. Like really jealous. I laughed at people who behaved irrationally or were freaked out by the stupidest things. My point? I laugh at them no more. I’ve slipped into so many pairs of different shoes in the past few months that at this point, only very little remains that I consider ridiculous or irrational behavior. I know I’m intelligent, not exactly bad-looking, and that my ambition is a loyal driving force that – hopefully! - won’t ever let me down. What I’m going to say now might make me sound arrogant (but you truly know I’m not), and I’m willing to take that risk: I know that I can achieve almost everything I want to, and that’s because I know myself. Being such a self-reflective person is not only exhausting, but seen long-term, it’s quite useful. There’s nothing I know better than my weaknesses and strengths.  So – excuse my language – but where the hell does my insecurity come from?

I shall recite a little anecdote that could be helpful in explaining why I feel just how I feel. (God I act like the wisest person in the world. I hereby give you permission to slap me when you next meet me in real life. And make that a hard slap!) My parents got divorced when I was three, and despite my father’s best efforts to raise me bilingually before that, I quickly forgot the little I’d known before I realized it’d happened. So when I returned to Greece a few years later, I had to learn this tricky language all over. Not from scratch, of course; some of the fundamentals were still lying around in the very back of my mind, and I only had to dust them before they were the rock on which I built upon. But let’s just rewind a little bit to the part where I listed the most commonly known of my characteristics, and look at one of the most distinct ones: perfectionist. Yes, I’m perfectionist. A whole lot. And if you’re asking yourself right now where I’m going with this and whether this anecdote has a point, I’m telling you, it does have a point. My perfectionism resulted in one thing that kept me from proceeding: while re-learning Greek, I shied away from saying sentences I wasn’t completely sure were 100% correct. I didn’t want to make any mistakes. I learnt Greek, and I’m speaking it fluently again, but what I’m saying here is that while it would have been easier to make mistakes, consequently learning a few lessons and proceeding much, much faster, I didn’t ever let myself make any mistakes. And I’m still like that now. Only that you can replace “Greek” with family, love, friendships. And when I still – despite all my efforts not to - do make a mistake, I fall so hard I’m not always sure I want to stand up again.

Life is just about to start, really. For God’s sake, I’m only 19. And the fact that I obviously tend to believe I’m mentally way beyond my age is not really helping. Because the truth is: what do I really know? If I really knew that much about life and maturity I wouldn’t be boring you with stupid anecdotes to make clear how reluctant I am to make mistakes of any sort. I’m just happy that I know that about me.

The bottom line: my “family” – if you can call it that – is still in bad, bad shape, I’m in an exciting relationship with someone who means the world to me, and my few extraordinarily functional and uncomplicated friendships have become so unique and distinguished that I relish growing older with these people that I care about most. I’m also finally taking a step ahead and am proud that after all that time of bragging about it, I do indeed have the guts to pursue my dream and become a filmmaker. Whether I end up broke under a bridge or not. At least I’ll have an Oscar three Razzies and a whole bunch of incredible people to keep me warm.

And that’s a wrap, baby!
(I’m sorry, but I don’t cover the bills for aspirin or other drugs you might want or have to take after reading this entry… after all, I don’t want to go bankrupt like Greece. Hi hi, and I still have it. Cynicism, you’re still my best friend.)

Really? A new entry already? Can this be true? Is the universe still intact? Check. Is Julianne Moore still the best living actress without a single Oscar? Check. Am I still a nerd trying to find luck in his life? Check. Okay, people, relax, all is fine. Phew. I just wanted to give you a much sought-after update, that’s all. See, I am in a very strange mood right now. How do you feel when on the one hand something beautiful may be - and I’m saying may, because I’ve become very, very careful in this regard - blossoming, while on the other hand every breath you take wreaks of utter exhaustion? (I’ve still got it, apparently… Wannabe-philosophical posts that seemingly don’t make any sense are my specialty. If anyone can decipher any of this, I’ll have to give you a reward. Seriously.) All of this is incredibly personal, of course, and privacy is also an aspect I’ve gradually learnt to deal with in a more mature way. Generally, I open up myself rather easily, which, in many cases, can be dangerous. (And hurtful.) But the reason I’ve actually decided to keep my innermost feelings and complex thoughts to myself is that I don’t want to get on anyone’s nerves. (Hoops, ‘ts to late for that, huh? Forgive me, dear readers. I’ll give you candy for wasting your time. Eventually.)

Exhaustion is a word that lays heavily on my mind… and heart, lately. Never before in my life have I felt this way. Never ever have I had to quickly hide behind a corner so that no one notices I’m bursting into tears… uncontrollably. Never before have I lost seven kilos without noticing. And never before have I wanted to admit to myself that I don’t know what’s going on with me. That, ultimately, I may just not be stronger than my problems. (Which, ironically, aren’t even my problems, but Lord knows I’m not a cold bitch… I can’t help but care. I can’t help but empathize. That’s just me.) ‘Being strong’ is mostly labelled a good thing. Physically strong men are generally considered attractive, emotionally strong people admirable. But there’s nothing enviable about occupying a very special position in a family, in an environment: being the strongest person, that is. Reaching a point where everyone ceases to - excuse my language - give a shit whether you have to run down to the cellar to cry, because usually, and up until now, you’ve always been smiling. Smiling. And smiling. I’ve tried to be the best human being I can be. I’ve been asked to be forgiving, kind, helpful. I’ve been asked to make sacrifices. And I can honestly say - with a conscience as clear as it could be - that I’ve tried. And for the most part, I’ve managed. But I’m living my life. My life. My. And I cannot do this anymore. I can’t take anymore of this. I have to move out. Caring for a mentally ill family member and all of its state-deteriorating side-effects can’t get the better of me. I still want to smile. And smile.

On the other hand, I’m happy. Something exciting may await me on the horizon. I’m sceptical, as always, because in the past, I’ve always ended up being hurt. Truly, truly hurt. And (for the near future, at least), I’m done being hurt. But there’s absolutely no need to be so pessimistic, which is why I’m hoping for the best. And relishing the few exciting and lavishly happy moments I get. For a change.

There’s a beautiful verse in a song by The Smiths, that goes:

Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad

So, for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time

And I will end this melancholic little post (beautiful, nonetheless), with the title of exactly this song: Please, please, please, let me get me what I want. […] Lord knows, it would be the first time.

What? Really? The geek is… back? Well, no, not really. See, when you are, say, me, ‘back‘ is a pretty relative term. How many times have I promised the exact same thing? How many times have I apologized for not posting anything in ages? A lot of times. Rough guess? 1,659. Yeah, that should be a quite accurate number, actually. So… what makes you think it’ll be different this time around? That’s the thing: nothing. I’m not back, I’m just here. Right now. Writing an entry. That’s because in this very moment, I am in a very chatty mood. And if I don’t have anyone to talk to close-by, usually some sort of other self-expression has to do the trick. Which, in this case, is blogging. (And maybe, just maybe, I will do exactly that more often from now on. Only time will tell, I guess. If you managed to successfully analyze my blogging-pattern, you’ll realize that I’ll excessively blog for about a month and vanish for, hm, say, six months after that.) How is all of this relevant? I don’t really know. Have you missed me? Definitely. You know that secretly, you have. And I have missed you too.

So what has happened in my life since I last wrote an entry in 1983? Phew, a lot. In a nutshell: A very important era of my life, namely ’school’, has ended. Quite successfully. Still, I fell into some sort of post-school depression. I also realized who my real friends are. Shockingly, I can count those on just one hand. (And sadly, I’m no alien with 13 fingers.) I opened myself up to these people, and what I got was sheer support, for which I love them. I have learnt so much about myself as a person, and I’m really and honestly proud of myself. For the first time in my life I’m completely and utterly comfortable with who I am, and I’m having a blast. Not that my life is any more spectacular now than it was back in my heyday (truly everyone knows my heyday is yet to come!), but loving yourself just the way you are really is the key to happiness. (Okay, shoot me. I’m pretty sure this is the title of some cheesy self-help-book. Just moments after writing it I could puke at the thought of it. But the essence of it is still true, minus the kitsch, of course.)

Bottom line: School ended, I sorted out friendships and relationships, and I’m happy with myself. Where are all the buzz-worthy fireworks? Well, I’m still waiting for them to come. The most important news I have to share: I got a job. (Note to the readers: A compulsory job. It’s called Zivildienst and it’s a welcome alternative to serving in the army, which, God forbid, was never a choice for me. Hallelujah!) Back in June, I was one of three guys to be picked for that special job, and I was the one who ultimately wound up getting it. (Fortunately.) The burnings question: What kind of job? Well, brace yourself for this: I now work at a women’s shelter. Actually, I’m finishing up my third month there. In these past three months, I have experienced many more challenging situations than I’ve experienced in my entire time at school. (And you haven’t met the people I went to school with!) I’ve seen the devastated look on a woman’s face who has lost her children and is committed into a psychiatric facility - against her will, that is. I’ve seen women who have lost virtually everything - their jobs, their families’ support, most devastatingly: the faith in themselves. Children who have never known anything else than a life in misery and poverty. And my heart is aching every single time I see these things. But they let me grow, as a person. And that is the most precious thing I could hope for, along with the fact that I genuinely get the chance to help these people. And at the end of the day, I really feel that this is what counts in life. Of course I’ll be telling all of you more about my work at the women’s shelter (only if I’ll ever blog again after this entry) - the things I get to see there are really worth telling, and worth reading. (And of course I won’t invade anyone’s privacy or exploit anyone’s trust, that’s not my intention. My intention is to share with you what life sometimes has in store for people. From now on, this blog will not only feature stories of my seemingly unspectacular life, but also shockingly daunting stories from the women’s shelter.)

Other than my work at the women’s shelter, what important news are there? Care for a newsflash? Sure, let’s go: Virtual TV is finally back online with a new design, and I’m very proud of it. Also, I’m producing new episodes of my virtual hit series Faye, due sometime in 2010. (Or 2014, if we stay realistic.) I also took up tweeting again, and at times I feel a little Twitter-addicted. I fell in love for the second time in my life (yes, with a person!)… and was hurt, again. But not as badly as was the case back in November of 2008. I bought a fancy MacBook Pro which I’m loving to bits and pieces. I decided to move to Vienna with my BFF Andi next year, and I’ll either be studying film (which was my initial plan) or graphic design (the idea of studying that was sort of an epiphany, and I don’t want to dismiss it). I’m so happy Julianne Moore was Golden Globe nominated for ‘A Single Man’, and so disappointed she got snubbed at the SAG awards for Diane Kruger in ‘Inglorious Basterds’. (Still hoping the AMPAS will honor her with at least a nomination. For God’s sake, it’ll be her fifth!) Movies I’ve seen since last May that I love? Princess and the frog (so glad there’s finally a hand-drawn Disney classic), The Hangover, (500) days of summer (I’m in love with Joseph Gordon-Levitt… uhm, and Zooey Deschanel, of course), Up, Julie & Julia (who predicted Meryl will win the Oscar for that flick? Everyone thought I was wrong. Well, we’ll see come March 7th), Drag me to hell (best horror film ever), Inglorious Basterds (the one and only Tarantino I’ll ever like). I was terribly devastated when Michael Jackson died and I still haven’t recovered from the shock. Also, I’m still mourning Bea Arthur, Golden Girls’ Dorothy Zbornak. Not to mention Ray (the firefly from ‘Princess and the frog’… God I loved that firefly, I want to marry it)! My Matura grades? Any guesses? I’ll just tell you my average: 1.0. You do the math, buddies. Also, three of my new favorite TV shows: Damages, Big Love and United States of Tara. (FX, HBO and Showtime. I’m not big on networks, am I?)

A lot more things have happened. For Pete’s sake, seven months have passed since I last wrote, so that was kind of a given. But now that you’re updated, I can re-vanish for a few years, right? Just kidding. You have me back. Tomorrow my transformation into a geek will be complete when I’ll finally wear my brand-new retro nerd glasses: a Ray-Ban Clubmaster. I’ll have Andi take photos, and I’ll likely be inspired to retool the site a bit, changing the design and all. But like always, don’t expect any fireworks.

Until next time, stay cynical. Over and out,

Dimitri 

Wow, so that was it. That was really it. The Matura; at least the written one. In retrospect, I really don’t know what I was so scared of. But to be fair, I wasn’t really anxious before taking that English exam. And tada, proves I didn’t have to. 100 points out of 100. A humble fourth of these (= 25 out of 25) for the actually rather challenging listening comprehension, which exaggerated a little with the fancy British accent, making it almost incomprehensible. Don’t get me wrong, I love the British accent, but it’s undeniably harder to understand than American English. Well anyway, here come the three texts that I wrote, which made for the remaining 75 points.

First, we had to write an argumentative essay of about 350 to 400 words. If you click on the small thumbnail on the left, the task we had to fulfill will emerge in a bigger picture. And as a small bonus, you have the option of reading my texts in the original handwritten versions. It’s much more personal that way.

Family life has always been a core ingredient of a healthy society, for the principle of passing on important values to the next generation seems to be as old as time itself. As time passes, things gradually develop and change, the underlying structures of family life being no exception.Khalil Gibran’s words, clearly addressed at parents, poetically imply that their children should strive to embrace their individuality and live their very own lives instead of mirroring their parents’, assigning the parents a sole task of sheer importance that must not be underestimated: providing their offspring with love and much-needed guidance, all the while leaving enough space for them to grow.

A family only functions as long as all of its members respect their respective responsibilities along with the needs and rights of those who surround them; parents ought to give their children a good example, but they shouldn’t try to create an image of themselves, as Gibran beautifully stated. It is one of the parents’ many challenging jobs to successfully find a good balance between strictness and freedom that they confront their children with, meaning the path they lay out for their children and the one they ultimately and without a doubt wind up choosing for themselves. This is where family becomes a source of conflict[s]; aside from all the benefits it provides, including unconditional love and safety, it is known that children’s or parents’ stubbornness often leads to arguments which consequently poison the atmosphere, but, and this is what is important, not seldom lead to mutual understanding being raised. And, as I previously stated, its dynamic nature allows family life to develop and, eventually, change.

In our modern age it has become increasingly apparent that “family” is an abstract and vague term, merely containing the notion of someone caring for each other, being related, or living together. Where does that leave divorcees, same-sex couples or adopted children, all convincing examples of how vividly and inexorably structures can change? The accompanying picture [see the scanned sheet above] poignantly proves that while marrying and having children might have been the only acceptable standard back in the day, this old tradition has far overstayed its welcome and is now replaced by newer versions of “family”, conveying all the same principles and values - and quite abundantly so - while looking slightly different from the outside.

So is family life a challenge, or rather a golden cage? It is neither, at the same time being both; but, in my opinion, having the privilege of living one’s life with caring people - related or not - with whom you share ties that truly bind and the joy that comes with that definitely outweighs the obstacles one has to face while doing exactly that.

I like that text, actually. I’m proud of it. I’m getting rather abstract at some passages, but overall, I think what I wrote quite sold my liberal views on the topic. Anyway, next up is the second text (a formal letter of complaint), one that should have been shorter. I guess I couldn’t quite restrain myself, which resulted in a text that is a little longer than it ought to have been. As before, you can take a peek at the task that we were asked to perform when clicking on the small thumbnail, which actually contains two tasks. But I’ll talk more about the latter afterwards.

Dear Sir or Madam,I am composing this letter as I’ve just finished watching your highly anticipated show’s premiere [side note: Austria’s Next Topmodel], which I must honestly say left me truly shocked and slightly aggravated.

I am a woman at the age of 46; I am the mother of two precious teenage daughters with whom I usually enjoy watching television. Though as we were watching your falsely acclaimed show I felt the sudden urge of simply turning off the TV just halfway through the show, for what I saw was downright horrible.

Have you realized that out of the many thousands of participants you decided to choose only the ones that obviously looked the skinniest? It shockingly seems as though one of the shallow main criteria to correspond to your slightly unhealthy and unrealistic definition of beauty is extreme slimness; many of the other girls that actually had curves looked naturally gorgeous, but seen as they weren’t even given the chance of properly presenting themselves due to their early dismissal, your show sends out a message that is - in my eyes - just utterly wrong. Young blossoming girls all over the country now got the idea that they are “fat”, albeit being healthy and beautiful girls. Frankly, the overly thin contestants you picked are in no way fitting role-models, who thanks to your program will now badly influence countless young girls, including my daughters.

Have you noticed, by any chance, that your show is severely superficial to an extent that makes it almost unbearable to watch for anyone with realistic expectations of beauty and values that go beyond white teeth and shiny hair? I strongly suggest the judges of your show start to thoroughly look at the whole package and dig deeper, getting to know the girls and their colorful personalities rather than making premature judgments based solely on looks.

And lastly I’d like to say that the insensitive, basically mean way of dismissing girls, thus shattering their obviously biggest dream is not entertaining to watch. Seeing girls cry as they are told they are just not good enough might create drama and boost the ratings, but it is appalling, and you should take that fact into consideration.

Please think about my concerns. I assure you, I’m not the only one having them.

Yours faithfully,
Faye Wyman

I’d make a great concerned middle-aged mom, wouldn’t I? Oh yeah, I definitely would. I’m proud of this letter of complaint, as I was able to use some of the fancy adverbs I so desperately wanted to scatter throughout my Matura. Notice my frequent use of “utterly” throughout all of my texts. I just adore this word so much I want to hug it. It sounds so sophisticated, and yet simple. My oh my, my use of know-it-all adverbs is really obvious, huh? Abundantly, inexorably, poignantly, anyone? Ah, gotta love ‘em. And last but not least, a short story. The weakest text of the three, and the shortest one, too. Take a deep breath and take it all in. (The task is the second one on the scanned sheet above, by the way.)

Once again, he dared to take a brief look into the mirror; quite shyly, as always, for he knew exactly how much he hated this picture that so mercilessly presented itself to him, mocking him. Once again, he spotted wobbling fat where he wished to see these rock-hard abs;  chubby limbs where there should have been strong, masculine arms instead. Hopeless, utterly hopeless, was his search for something - just anything - aesthetic in that callously pitiful image.Of course he knew he shouldn’t have gone to the beach that morning; myriad unrealistically beautiful, tanned male bodies had, once again, made him feel extremely insecure, making him want to escape his skin, his body, all of what he felt was a gruesome trap. If only he had known how.

Suddenly, he felt something rushing through his veins. The abs, the arms; he did want to see them, he did want to finally change. But the mirror wouldn’t show them. His fingers, they trembled; a tear rose and fell over his hot red cheeks. Smash! Once. Smash! Twice. The mirror - gone, his trap - shattered. He knew what he had to do next, and he enjoyed what little exhilaration he got thinking about it. Never again would he allow a mirror to mock him.

Yeah, told you it wasn’t anything special. Although I like the sentence about the hopeless search for something aesthetic in that image in the mirror. For no one knows how to throw in a ‘callously’ just as subtly as I do. Ah, just joking. So that’s it, folks. That was what I produced in five hours of my life [on the 19th of May, 2009], and what consequently and fortunately got me an A. Stay tuned for more Matura craziness. Upcoming: my mostly error-free French Matura (and that was a huge surprise, though a very good one at that) including a translation, my complex Mathematics Matura (in order to revitalize any of mine [and your] underused brain cells responsible for logic and other nonsense like that) and finally, my victorious and glorious German Matura (don’t get your hopes up, it won’t get nominated for a Pulitzer… or will it?). Over and out.

Last November, I was utterly curious to finally get to watch Kate Winslet’s and Leonardo DiCaprio’s onscreen reunion. I’d never been a big fan of the much buzzed-about blockbuster Titanic, but when I saw the trailer of this new drama called Revolutionary Road, I got hooked. I’m a huge sucker for subtle dramas featuring richly nuanced, three-dimensional characters and a riveting, realistic story, and this movie proved to include all of the above - quite abundantly, that is. But what’s it about? In the hopeful 1950s, Frank and April Wheeler seem to be a model couple: bright, beautiful, talented, with two young children and a starter home in the suburbs. Perhaps they married too young and started a family too early. Maybe Frank’s job is dull. And April never did see herself as a housewife. Yet they have always lived on the assumption that greatness is only around the corner. But now that certainty is about to crumble. (Taken from the back cover of Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, Vintage Books, New York.)

The movie starts out very slowly; the story seemingly takes all the time it needs to get the ball rolling and introduce two complex and therefore amazingly interesting characters: Frank Wheeler, and his wife, April Wheeler. Whereas the beginning of the movie might seem a little low-paced, the audience can witness the first of the film’s many highlights after just a few minutes; April and Frank have an ugly fight on their way home; it seems that all the irreversible damage has already been done, and there’s not really anything that can save their broken marriage at this point. The flow and rhythm of the story doesn’t slow down after that. Myriad beautiful and subtle scenes gradually paint pictures of who these characters are; what they feel, what they want. They are struggling to be happy, or quite frankly to be great and special, and as an intellectual audience, you feel with them throughout all their painful struggle. To sum it up poignantly: the screenplay is stellar; Justin Haythe’s adaptation of Richard Yates’ late novel is not only true to the original, but it is compelling and taut. No scene is irrelevant and redundant, and one of the biggest strengths of the movies, the dialogue (especially in very strong and emotional conversations), just stands out, due to its audaciously frank bluntness; viewers are quite pleased to see that for once, characters actually say what they think and feel rather than keeping it to themselves.

The production design for this movie was luscious, the costumes lavishly beautiful. It’s always great to see that there are still a few people out there who know how to make a story taking place way back in the 50’s look not only credible, but breathtakingly stunning. Sam Mendes’ direction falls nothing short of pure perfection. The images in this movie seem so naturally beautiful, and yet are they artistic, and if one carefully pays great attention to them, they just prove picture-perfect. This director certainly knew how to make this story work visually, and the frames and the pace, and even the editing, all of it makes for a movie that goes under the skin. Not to forget the wonderfully melancholic music by Thomas Newman, which successfully echoes the tone of the entire movie, providing it with yet more dramatic nuances.

Of course I’ll now finally have to address what makes this movie the best movie in a long time; the performances. Kate Winslet is April Wheeler. The subtlety with which she plays this difficult role is almost unbelievable; given the story’s approximity to reality and the strong dialogue, her heartbreaking portrayal of this troubled character just rounds out the whole picture. A little weaker than his female counterpart, Leonardo DiCaprio still acts his guts out, and deserves some recognition, too. His portrayal of Frank Wheeler is hauntingly good and mature, and the variety of emotions he evokes with it is downright phenomenal. But one has to argue that it is probably the fact that these two talented actors worked together - once again - that made their respective performances so strong, and I’d have to wholeheartedly agree.

This seemingly depressing movie is undoubtedly one of the best dramas of 2008, if not the best. Its powerhouse performances and its strong story make it not only worth watching, but a masterpiece that will be remembered for a long time to come. I know Kate Winslet won her Oscar for The Reader, and quite deservingly so, but personally, her portrayal of April Wheeler in this extraordinary movie was what sold the deal for me. The movie is now available on both DVD & Blu-Ray. Also don’t forget to read the stellar book by Richard Yates on which it is based upon, also entitled ‘Revolutionary Road’.