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Valentina Veriga - Tattoos On My Soul
Valentina Veriga


Translation from Romanian: ELISA FLOREA

ISBN 978-606-9024-19-5
Anul apariției: 2019
Format: 145x210 mm
Număr pagini: 72
Tip copertă: broșată (paperback)

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About 20 years ago, with anger and tears clumping under my chin, I started writing in a journal well hidden from everyone's glances. Later on, I continued writing in a notebook casually left sitting on my desk.

I don't recall ever having written when I was happy.

It was how I imagined I could cope with challenges and, as it will become obvious to you while reading this, the great challenges of my existence have always been sentimental. To me, writing has been the only easily available form of therapy.

At one point, I decided to show a great act of courage and publish a few poems on a blog that a handful of friends had access to, thinking that I would thus overcome my frustrations and insecurities. But it seems that the method fell short. 

Nothing changed! And so, I chose to run away from them.

I voluntarily exiled myself out in the world, traveling for 8 years... and through 61 countries. After which I grew weary.

I stopped and looked back over my shoulder to see how far behind my fears had stayed. Like tattoos etched deep into my very soul, my fears had always been there with me, still striking a chord with all that was written in my old notebook, casually flung in the luggage.

I hadn't managed to remove or even conceal them, hard as I had tried. Neither time nor distance had solved a thing.

And so, I made up my mind to see the writing therapy through!

I decided it was time that the notebook to become a book, with a beginning and, more importantly, an end. A book that I would then, be able to close shut and place on a shelf, in the library of my life.




What I should quickly like to rant
Is that I write not verses, nor do I chant,
Nor for the arts do I sigh,
Yet an Aquarius am I.
And so, about me it is said
That when it comes to things of culture,
A god am I, well-standing in my stead,
Over my kingdom soaring, like a vulture.

Yet how could I possess a kingdom such?
When overflowing is my spirit much
With things so dim, so petty, so faint
And even if beauty it wanted to paint,
Unfit would it feel
For that is too much and it hurts a great deal.