conversations with myself

mihaela hozmache


Conversations with myself

You never do until you do it.

I grew angel wings today. like the ones people tattoo on their backs. Some also with ink. And I flew. I was on Stokcholmsgade. Nobody saw me. But I did. She said I can always learn to fly. And I never did until I did it. I was looking at everything from above and I felt it in my stomach. That’s where I physically feel happiness. And sorrow. The same place, the same sensation. Isn’t it ironic? No, not really. It is like that by design.

By the time I got to Lundsgade, I was invincible. But only after I stopped fighting. All the way from the station I was trying so hard to keep myself covered, protected. The wind was blowing so cold… And he stubbornly managed to get underneath my hood no matter what I did. So fuck it! I’m gonna remove my hood and feel the cold. But feel it. Acknowledge it. Because you know, what you resist persists. Once I started feeling it, it went away. It was not the cold. It was never the cold. The same way it was never Denmark.

It’s your mind.



Day 160

17th of May 2016


The Danish girl. Speaking of unconditional love. How far would you go? How much can you love a person? What do you love when you love?

We are certainly not our bodies. And even if we were, the parts of our bodies regenerate every seven? years. So what is it that we love? I think we love the soul. And the soul encompasses the body, not the other way around. And when we get rid of all the shapes and start loving the absolute, that’s perfection. That’s the glimpse of a different world. The world our souls come from. In touch with divinity. We love the perfect soul that has forgotten that it’s perfect.

It forgot. And that’s how it should be. When we choose to encompass bodies, we don’t do it because we seek perfection. Although we seek it – the dichotomy. We do it because we want to experience everything else. The sorrow, the torment, the passion, the anger, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the hurt, the desperation, the infatuation, the imperfect love. As we can only experience it in the material world.

I had this revelation in Kallithea. You will never know. But I remember explaining my theory to Ana on our way to get a taxi and meet you. Ironically enough. I chose you. I chose to meet you and to be hurt in love. That’s why I came back. Otherwise, I would have stayed with all the other souls in the heaven gang and be blissful for the rest of eternity. I came back to feel the dark side of love.

Because the sweet is not as sweet without the sour.

Day 127

15th of April 2016



I went and did my nails today. Because I was running out of excuses not to study.

Now, the place where I do my nails is very cheap. That is mostly because the personnel is underpaid. They are Romanian, the employees. I would have said Romanian Gypsies, risking to sound politically incorrect. Then I realized I didn’t actually care. Because this post, similarly to a previous one, is me manifesting respect and love. In my own way.

And by the way, real Gypsies take pride in calling themselves this. Țigani.

As a Romanian, you are raised to fear and hate Gypsies, equally. I don’t generally discuss controversial topics like this. But if we’re friends, you might have heard my opinion. It was pretty radical. And that’s why I felt the need to write this.

Because today I got a slap in the face from life. I realized that everything I thought I felt towards Gypsies was wrong. Because the moment I started to interact with these people, my experience was completely the opposite. That means I was brain washed by the society. And I have been believing in other people’s opinions more than in my own experiences. Which is, by the way, something I promised myself I would avoid as much as possible in this life.

These Gypsies that I despised so much, showed more human qualities than many educated, allegedly respectable members of our society.

The girl who colored my nails was 18. She had pink hair, of the bad taste. Not that any kind of pink hair could be good taste. Unless you are 18 and experimenting. Oh, but wait. She was. And she had a terrible vocabulary. Very vulgar. I’ve seen enough in the first 10 seconds to label her. I was concerned that she would have to do my nails. I guess I completely forgot of the days I had purple hair and a disgraceful vocabulary. Life…

But then we started talking. She asked me where I worked. I told her I’m working for a pharmaceutical company. “Oh, so you work in a pharmacy”. “Yeah, more like in the back office…”. I could have been a snob and try to explain her the fancy things I do at work and how I deal with project management in a global office. But my mum taught me to be modest. And to speak to any person at their own level, in language they would understand. And I was proud of me there. For being humble and not making her feel uncomfortable.

She told me she has a son. Roberto. Incidentally, I also have a nephew called Roberto. We chatted about how that’s a beautiful name and how I also want a boy. Then she told me that she needed to leave Romania because her 200€ salary wasn’t nowhere nearly enough for her and the baby. She is a single mum. And she decided to come to Denmark, although that meant being away from the child. I guess she won me over at this point. We had more things in common that I could possibly imagine. And no, I don’t have a son.

And then the most surprising thing happened. Instead of me starting to judge her for having a kid at 15, instead of me attributing that to her being a Gypsy and not educated, instead of referring to my arguments that certain people shouldn’t procreate, I just empathised and whole heartedly and interestedly started asking about the kid. You could see her light up talking about her son.

You live all your life strongly believing in things that have no relation with who you are. That is not to say that all Gypsies are good people – Irix, we should never disclose our plans with the ones from Ovidiu’s Square – But guess what? Neither Romanians or Danes are all good people. There is no such thing. There is an overwhelming amount of really fucked up people in this world. For which my radical opinion still stands. What I’m saying is that this labelling “good” or “bad”, if it is necessary at all, should be done through our own filter, through our own experiences. And not let others tell us who we are and how we should feel. About anything.

You shouldn’t judge anyone, because what you judge you will one day become.


Day 87

6th of March 2016


M-am trezit fără chef azi. Mi-a luat ceva timp să găsesc un motiv bun pentru a mă ridica din pat. E una din perioadele alea în care nu mă frapează nimic, cum zicea un prieten vechi. 

Frappe! Dar n-am lapte… Oh well, Greek coffee it is. Mi-am aprins o țigară. Mă uit pe geam, ninge. Ok, nu mă mai uit.

 Și apoi apare el, albumul! 

Încep să-l răsfoiesc. Un sentiment călduț. Sunt pozele pe care le-am developat înainte de a mă muta în Danemarca. Fix cu scopul ăsta. Pentru că  știam că o să vreau să-mi amintesc.

Și dau de poza asta. Instant, dau play la Binecuvântat – Puya și Velea. Aprind a doua țigară și am fluturi în stomac. Poza e făcută în perioada BACului. Înainte sau după. Nici nu contează. Dar cu siguranță descrie cu acuratețe atmosfera din liceu. Class a-XII-a. A. 

Ana e acolo – și e încă aici – because who wanted you at your worst, definitely deserves you at your best.

 Fumam Pall Mall Portocaliu. Țigările mele preferate, încă. Deși nu mai există. Sau poate tocmai de-aia. Dunhill Alb Lung sunt mai bune, dacă e să privim obiectiv. Dar vezi tu, ca și în dragoste, calitatea relațiilor se îmbunătățește cu trecerea timpului, dar inocența cu care iubești prima oară moare

Sau poate e doar faptul că nu-mi place oja albă. Pentru că eram Creatza – cu unghii și țigări portocalii.

Oamenii au tendința să idealizeze experiențele trecute. Sabie cu două tăișuri. Dar cred că e sănatos să-ți fie dor de unele sentimente pe care nu mai ai cum să le trăiești. Atât timp cât realizezi și că nu e sănatos o arzi în cafele în fiecare zi fără să ai alte preocupări. 

Am scris la un moment dat ca sunt exact – dacă nu mai bine – decât și-ar fi dorit Creatza la 17 ani să fiu. Dar trebuie menționat că și Mihaela la 25 de ani e mândră de Creatza la 17. Nu aș fi cine sunt acum fără ea.

 Și la fel de important, nu aș schimba nimic. 



Adele and saying goodbye

13th of February 2016

“Someone like you”. This song, like many others was assigned. Is assigned. So assigned that the last time I saw him, the shuffle player decided to play it right on time for our final hug. And even if we see each other again in this lifetime, that was still our final goodbye.

And today I’m also saying goodbye to something. To a fundamental part of me. To my previous view on love.

My first definition of love was the impossible. I was around 17 and I believed perfect love to be one that only lasts for a very short period of time, is intense, touches your deepest corners, changes you fundamentally – for the better – and then leaves you living all your life longing for this state of perfection. That is because, of course, you would need to be apart from your love in order not to allow the mundane and profane to alter the perfection. And I had it. And it was perfect. It was perfect because it was what I wanted then. And because I am a better person today because of him.

Then reading Patul lui Procust and thinking about the intellectual’s view on absolute love, I thought this should be it. I figured that the new definition should be selflessness and the unconditional. And if I managed to love someone like that, it would mean that I would have felt it. The perfect love. And I am grateful for having had the opportunity. I am not even sorry it took me many years to understand that I was wrong. Actually, it’s not that I was wrong. It’s just that one can never be happy while loving unconditionally. I didn’t know that then.

Some years passed and without any particular definition of love. But these days I’m in search for a new definition. Reading some Plato.  Trying to understand what I want to experience in this life and how I really want to feel. Now, one thing led to another and I just stumbled upon “Someone like you” again.

Because it’s a motif now. How else would I say goodbye?

I am saying goodbye to being a romantic. And it’s a process. It will take time. And part of me will always fight it. Being a romantic is how I know how to be. I’ve been that my whole life and I had deep emotional experiences because of it. And I was happy in my misery. I always preferred to feel something, anything, than being numb and not having any feelings. And even now, I’m tempted to think that. I find it very sad to listen to love songs and not being able to relate. I’m not in love, I’m not suffering from a break-up, I’m just fine. But that also means that I don’t feel anything.

I’m becoming pragmatic, or classical, if you want. That’s my new definition. And it’s not an easy process. I always believed in “the one”. Soul mates. Perfect fit. And these stories brought me immense joy. Also immense sorrow. There was this part of me that always believed that being unhappy is sexy. That happy people are boring. And that all the juice of life comes from this sadness. I don’t anymore. Being happy is good. It’s fun. Less romantic. Doesn’t help much with writing either. But I prefer it now.

So yes, I’m saying goodbye to my romanticism. It’s gonna be an interesting ride to try and find the fun in being compatible, in having a relationship with a person that is right for you. I mean, can you, the happy in a relationship people tell me where do you find the excitement anymore? I’m sure there is. I’ve heard of people happily being in long term relationships. And I truly want to experience the balance of one. Just for the sake of comparison. Or just for the sake of experience. Maybe I will come back to my romanticism after that. Who knows. Maybe not.

Day 52

31st of January 2016


In trying to forget, I blocked all the good memories. And you from Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp and any other social media I could. Now, that was all fine in the forgetting and getting over process. Because how else would I move on, right? But now that I’m over us, I’d like to look back and remember the good times. Here’s the catch. There are no memories of that. See above. And I found myself wondering why we were together in the first place.

And then it hit me. Because we loved each other. On and off. Fights and all. Different belief systems and all. I did go to freaking Kalithea for you, didn’t I?

I realised that I feel the same towards Sønderborg. And I don’t want that. I had great times in there. And I want to remember that. But most of the times I just can’t. And while it’s healthy to block memories when it hurts, I would very much like the unblock option, for when you just want to look back and say “Damn, those were some good times there!”. I believe we are the sum of our experiences. And I don’t want to forget who I am.

So today I’m grateful for remembering. Remembering that it was amazing. And I’ll do my best not to ever forget it again.


What is love?

29th of January 2016


…Baby don’t hurt me… Haha. No. It has nothing to do with the song. I’m actually listening to some Spanish music right now.

I had a great evening with my roomates yesterday. Which made me realize that maybe I don’t really want to move after all. It was also the first time in a long time that I had time to just sit and talk, without being pressured by time. No homework, no going to work. Just a glass of wine and a nice conversation. In the kitchen. It reminded me of my kitchen in Romania. Iris can confirm that it is a corner of heaven that place.

What do girls talk about when they talk? Boys. Of course. It took us about 10 minutes to talk about jobs, to catch up with our professional lives. Haha. And then boys. Now, I’m not going to go into the details of our conversation, not to disclose any details about our love lives. But it got me thinking.

We always get what we want. We all agreed on that. But what is it that we want? What is it that I want? I wouldn’t say I’m not happy with my love life. I would, actually. But it wouldn’t be true. I had two great experiences since I moved to Copenhagen. Because, of course, life divides in before and after Copenhagen. Haha.

To some extent, I had exactly what I wanted, when I wanted. My problem is that I’m not sure I wanted what I really want. Does it make sense? I wanted to feel adored. I had that, it was amazing for exactly 5 minutes. After which I took it for granted. It bored me. It was easy and comfortable. But I wasn’t happy. Then I wanted excitement. Lust. And a person I can respect. I had that as well. But I wasn’t adored any more. And again, I wasn’t happy. Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed the experiences. Both of them.

Now what? It’s a good time to search for a new experience. But what? Yes, yes, the answer is in the balance. That’s what they say. And I agree, in principle. But is that for me? Is it something that would make me happy? I’ve always liked extremes. I can fall in and out of love in an instance. Do I just want to be in love? Do I want stability? To be honest, for me this are opposites.

So now what? I have my dream job. I have great friends. I time for a social life. Even for a relationship. But do I want it? And if I want it, how should it be? I have no idea. And if you don’t know what you want, you’re only gonna get random experiences that won’t make you happy. Know what you want. Sure. But how? Make a list? A list of feelings you want to experience? That might be it. Still, I don’t know. Maybe I just need some time to figure it out.

What is love? Is it that excitement when you fall in love? Is it that feeling that the years will pass and you will fall out of love, but you will have a feeling of “I want that person to be happy. Not with me, but just happy”? Is it the daily routine of feeling comfortable with a person? I guess that if I figure that out, I’ll know what I want.

Until then, I’m gonna finish my wine and dress up for the party.

Despre Carla

20th of January 2016

Despre relația mea cu Carla’s Dreams. Și despre melodia care a devenit hit înainte să fie lansată.

N-am fost niciodată fana vreunei formații. Cel mai aproape de a fi, am fost cu Paraziții. Și pe Eminem îl simpatizez. A fost sursă mea de motivație așa cum Ombladon a fost singurul mod de refulare.

Dar ce am pentru Carla’s Dreams e altceva.  E mai profund. Poate pentru că sunt moldoveni din Republică. Și am un respect imens pentru moldoveni. Am așa senzația ca ei au păstrat vii trăiri. Că au multă viață-n ei. Ca mine. Și sunt artiști. Adevărați. E vie muzică lor. Te atinge fix în inima. Simți.

Mi-am dorit toată viața să cânt pe scenă. Și fiind vie, îmi doresc încă. Dintr-un singur motiv – vreau să fac lumea să simtă. Exact cum simt eu când îi ascult pe băieții ăștia. #eroina. Cu H.

Day 38

17th of January 2016


Data va rămâne mereu în engleză. Îmi place cum arătă. Și așa scriu și în jurnal. Să fim consecvenți, zic. M-am hotărât. N-are sens să încerc să mai scriu în engleză, deși potențiala mea audiență, e mai mult anglofonă decât… românofonã? Anyways. Am să scriu cum scriu eu. N-are engleza cuvinte să-mi exprime mie sentimentele. Așa cum n-are vară Danemarca.

Sunt nervoasă. De asta sunt recunoscătoare azi. Tare, nu? Dar sunt B.U.G. Mafia nervoasă. Genul de sentiment care te face să acționezi. Genul ală de “Ți-arăt eu!”.

Dar pentru că mie-mi place s-o ard în metafore și să compar viața cu orice, de la poker la patinat, na, poza de azi e de la patinuar.

Și poftim și comparația. Sunt într-o situație acum. Nu dăm detalii, că nu ne povestim viețiile pe net. Nu suntem suficient de intimi. Așa… sunt într-o situație, în care am mai fost, din care am crezut că am învățat, în care mi-am promis ca n-o să mai ajung și iata-mã… Motivul pentru care sunt nervoasă este că-mi repet greselile. Dacă m-ai întreba, ți-aș spune ca prefer altele noi.

E ca la patinuar. Doar am mai patinat în trecut. N-am fost niciodată prea bună la asta. Dar nici n-am căzut de mai mult de 3 ori. Și când am căzut, n-am murit. Atunci, de unde  atâta frică, mânca-ți-aș gura ta?! M-a ținut Raluca de mână și m-a plimbat de parcă eram copil. Lucru pentru care îi mulțumesc. Dar… WTF?! Chiar nu eram capabilă să patinez singură? Ba da.  Într-un final am făcut-o. Așa cum o să ies și din situația asta. Și da, nu era gheață lucioasă, patinuarul era în pantă și era plin de copii. Bun. Scuze găsește toată lumea. Îmi place să cred că mi-am luat viața-n mâini demult și nu mă mai împiedic de scuze. “Walk your fucking talk”, se aude de pe margine.

De ce repetăm greșeli? Eu am teoria asta,  că sensul vieții este să ai experiențe și să trăiești, să întrupezi tot ceea ce tu știi că ești. Uite, asta ar fi sunat mai bine în engleză. Anyways. Pentru cât de repede mă plictisesc, e uimitor cum am aceleași experiențe în alte decoruri. Și e uimitor ce paradox zace-n mine. Am trecut prin atâtea încât cred cu ardoare ca nu e nimic care să mă poată doborî de tot. Poate doar vreo boală. Dar nici în alea nu cred. Și totuși plâng ca fraiera din cele mai tâmpite motive.

Vezi tu, eu d-asta scriu. Ca să apuce personalitățile mele să comunice una cu cealaltă.

În concluzie, ce concluzie? Când a avut vreodată Creatza sens în convorbirile ei cu Mihaela&Co?

Să-ncerc, totuși.

Păstrez furia asta și o folosesc ca motivație.

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