When Dreams are Calling Read Online Free

joked.
    “Not sure, but I have a headache already,” I
answered, joining the “happily
involved” women club, the ones whose answer is always a headache.
    Our sexuality, instead of being a dream taking
us to highs of deep
pleasures, was bringing us to lows of deep sadness. Far from an
empowering
experience, it was humiliating and stressful.  We were great
friends, but
impossible lovers.
    When all this physical intimacy became a
burden, causing grief and
threatening to break my otherwise perfect relationship, not knowing
what to do,
I mustered all my courage and asked my mom about it:
    “Mom, why do I always get a headache when he
wants to touch me? Is
there anything wrong with me?”
    “In life, my dear, there are two kinds of men:
one who give you a
headache and other who make all the headaches go away. Headaches are a
good
sign to know which one you’ll choose.”
    “What do you mean? Should I leave him because
he’s a bust in bed?
Will I ever find another sweet soul to be there when no one else is, to
love my
mistakes just because they are mine, and on top of that, be a skilled
perfect
lover?”
    “Who knows? But should you let fears to rule
your world?”
    “I wish there would be a way to stop thinking
about it, to stop
wanting to feel how it is to make passionate love. He’s such a
wonderful guy.”
    “Just remember, no amount of food will ever
replace a drop of
water.”
    And right she was. Like a flame, my strong
sexual desires were
burning everything in their way waiting for that moment when weak,
tired, or
maybe just wise, I would stop fighting them.
    While our friendship got stronger every year,
our romance never
blossomed.
----
    Dora’s
Journal Notes
Only by being
faithful to love, not to
your lover, you will find happiness.
Sexuality is a
gift that should never
be denied.
----

4
A Career: Between Passion
and Chore
    Picking
a career, one might say,
    Can
be tricky all the way.
    But
if others pick for you,
    Tell
them straight to do it too!

On your first
birthday in Romania, there is a custom where the elder ones put
different
objects on a table and let you grab any three of them. Then, depending
on your
choice, they make suppositions on what you’ll become in life. I chose
books,
money, and books again. My parents’ verdict was simple: I was to be
either a
lawyer or a doctor. No more and no less. The perfect careers, which
marry books
and money.
    “Think about the financial security, the
respect that being a doctor
or a lawyer commands, and the position in the society it offers! Your
life will
be easy and happy,” my parents declared when I had to choose what
university I
would attend.
    “I don’t know about that. It doesn’t feel
right.”
    “And what do you think it will?”
    “I want to be a writer, a gardener, or even a
chef and travel the
world. Nothing would make me happier than that. I want to spend my days
with my
hands in the soil, sing along with the wind and the birds, wish for
rain and
pray for sun, write about the beauty and mystery of life. If I could do
all
that, I think I’ll be happy and proud.”
    “Writers die poor, you travel after you already
have enough money to
live forever after, you plant veggies in your retirement, and you won’t
need to
cook once you have the money to go to a restaurant. Take that nonsense
out of your
mind.  You’ll do as you’re told. One day you’ll thank us for
it,” my dad
proclaimed.
    “Then, if I must, I’ll be a lawyer!” I replied
furiously.
    “Why did you pick law?” my dad asked, curiously.
    “Because of the prestige, the charisma that
seems to go with it, the
supposed smartness that accompanies each and every lawyer on their way
to the
court. Because this is what you want!”
    “Why not a doctor?” my mom jumped in, hoping I
would step into her
shoes.
    “Doctors neither let you live free nor die in
peace. They come up
with a long list of must dos and then, you die doing them while others
live ignoring
them. They invent a