Ruxandra writes – aggresive, raw and well documented. Ruxandra cuts and slashes, cracks marrows and the “Jingle Bells” sound of people’s “I’m right!” thirst: “I don’t like to comfort with ‘words of wisdom’, to pat somebody on the shoulder and then open my bag of chips and watch a TV series. It’s not in my nature and I simply can’t – when something revolts me I can’t be at peace.”
I was surprised by her surgical way of undressing subjects from her own spider-web of ideas – creating stories or fighting in a bohemian way for a revolution: “Every time when I write I’m disappointed(…), I feel that people will ask themselves certain things” but this rarely happens “and still, I keep writing, I keep opening my shit-proof umbrela being conscious of the consequences. So yes, I think I’m trying to change something. If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have said that I also believe I can change things – now I don’t know, but after all, words are the only power I’ve got.“
She stands on high heels made of courage which often makes me fall deep into thought, to continue my own maze of ideas. It is why I would rather ask her and listen, to understand the psychology behind her words. Ruxandra’s somewhat anarchist spirit and the weapon she chose (words), make me wonder if 2016 “soldiers” should replace guns with free thinking. With suspicion, with a little ‘detective’ questioning – the march for battle changed in a wave of sorting the remains left for us by older generations.
During our discussion, we also talked about what she thinks is necessary for this sorting to take place: “Usually, when we read or see something we don’t agree with, (…) we shoot first and ask later. For someone to be able to truly accept somebody else’s contrary arguments (…) some sort of thinking maturity is required. (…) To be ready to abandon [is needed], when you realize that your convictions no longer serve your growth and limit you to that little cage of comfort and to be ready to defend them when they help you evolve. Generally we have this self-degrading habit of attaching ourselves to our ideas in a very narcissistic way. (…) Often, they become onanist fetishes and we are capable of breaking anyone who dares to question.
I don’t know if there is an universal solution. I do, however think that there can be a solution on an individual, personal level. (…) Ask yourself why you protest on the street and throw rocks at people who have a different sexual orientation (…) when we begin to observe how our principles reflect in our actions and then ask ourselves why – that is the time when we begin to learn, to understand.“
There was also another curiosity which roamed around my brain, about her creation. Somewhere close to two years ago, I had the pleasure of reading one of Ruxandra’s short stories which took gracefully my hand and pushed me in a rollercoaster of emotions. In my opinion, a writer is more tangled within reality than a painter (for example) because the “images” writers create appear only in a subjective manner at the level of each reader’s imagination. This also has an other shade of colour – which we find in every creator’s work, the alternate reality conceived from the internal lives lived by each artist. If a writer finds himself somewhere between those two worlds I felt the need to ask Ruxandra, why for the moment has she not contributed more to the phantasmagorical side of literature?
“I started smoking a cigarette just to answer this question. How can I explain this… it’s as if I received a very expensive and powerful car for my 18th birthday (…) if I would have driven it, probably it would have ended up like my dad’s car; ‘parked’ between two lanes and with another car stuck in it. (…) The more profound you love something, the more you want to protect it. Literature is my religion, so I will erase many lines and throw tons of papers in the virtual trashcan, until I am sure that my product won’t harm literature.”
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