V. Tapinienė: “It’s not my fault that you have no imagination” | Culture

An incredible journey home from Siberia in the arms of my mother, life without a place and hiding in occupied Lithuania, the first home, youth, family, meaningful years at school and the upbringing of many free, thinking people – V. Tapinienė tells regarding this with literary mastery in the book “Flashes of Reclaimed Time” . For your attention – an excerpt from the book.

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I’m thinking regarding my apartment. The thinking is ridiculous, of course. As if I had nothing else to think regarding. But my apartment is so beautiful. The most beautiful of all that I have ever seen. I have heard that there are women who, following seeing some very beautiful apartment or house of another, return to their fortress and lie down, and do not get out of bed for several days. They are weak, they have a fever. I read that this is what Florence syndrome means. Due to an excessive sense of beauty.

But here, you know, it’s different. When women rise, their men lie down. And for several days and nights he does not close his eyes – he looks at the ceiling. They are weak, but I think for completely different reasons.

I do not care. Although… I wouldn’t say so. I’m a little worried regarding those men – following all, they close their eyes before women…

I’m sorry. I started coughing and I can’t write. I have to drink a couple of spoonfuls of aloe vera that I mixed with honey. Then I will continue regarding my apartment. Everything is fine. Don’t get angry. LT is not upset. He watches Panorama.

Well, when we moved into a cooperative apartment in the second year following marriage, for a long, long time it seemed that the sun rises here twice every morning. And when we settled on the second floor in the first years of Independence, we felt that the sun not only rises here twice a day, but it never sets here. “Here, all the hours were good for us…” Here I already had the freedom not to listen to the voice of common sense, to listen to the unhealthy one as often as possible… I might play out all the dramas on the balcony of this apartment by myself. Without a stage, without spectators and listeners. And I really liked and still like that theater on the balcony. Which no one (except me) can close…

There are no fancy clothes in the closets (only nice ones!), no jewelry boxes, no so-called girl friends. And it’s not because you don’t have opportunities. But how many relatives spent the night here, partied… And students. Do you remember Ingrid?

The bookshelves here have never been full of books. And the bedroom didn’t smell like the North Pole. And in autumn, the air blows yellow from the birch that was once planted here, and its magical hum sneaks into the room every evening through the constantly open window.

And, the strangest thing, only now here you can get to know yourself a little, send at least some of your fears to the devil.

Maybe you are wondering why I am writing regarding my apartment? Well, because yesterday I met once more my colleague G. Vaistinėja bought cream. The one called “Filorga” that makes you glow. While the pharmacist was looking for Pampers for me, size L, I thought that my colleague would ask me the same thing later… We left, we talked regarding this and that, she asked me why I don’t buy Filorga. I say, I use cream, “Dvaro” or “Senolių”. I assure you – really. And I notice that you believe. Even though I actually use Margarita for this, I’m not going to reveal my beauty secret that easily? And to be honest, I also wrote you an injustice here.

And just suddenly I hear! Already for the third time! After all, they asked the same thing last year. And this year in July.

– Do you still live in the same old house? For that block of flats?

Can you imagine? Third time? The same? And I had all kinds of thoughts… Maybe you know some secret regarding this house?

“Oh yes,” I say, “we live there.”

– Why? – so sincerely surprised.

– We live for the heart.

– What regarding the heart? – now she stumbles.

But here, obviously, another colleague rushes in from the market and quickly blurts out: “Oh, Violetka, I’m reading you, it’s so nice, but I can’t imagine how you can do that…”

“It’s not my fault,” I say, “that you have no imagination.”

– Go ahead, but maybe it shouldn’t be, my “girlfriend” says that she would never be able to do that…

– How’s that? – I ask a little surprised.

– Well, he’s mad that you’re singing to the patient… That’s how you publicize everything…

Another woman who thinks that my everything is just that. I listen and hear:

– Go ahead, I would never write like this…

I know from experience that all the retorts “I wouldn’t write like that”, “I would never dress like that”, “I wouldn’t talk like that”, “I wouldn’t sit”, “I wouldn’t behave” only hide a simple question – why can’t you be like me?

I return home, and the apartment smells of antananarivo apples, and yellow roses are blooming shamelessly in a vase. LT, who was fine throughout his illness, says to me: “God, where did you take so long?” I think regarding that appeal of his. You won’t say “little thing, but nice” here.