Made of

Sometimes I feel like this angry teenager who is ready to crash it all, to rebel against everything, to screw all the rules and run away... then this very old and matured lady comes within me and calms me down because anger won't lead me anywhere. Who should I be angry at anyway? At life? At my parents? At me? Or at G-d? It is all so relative.
I mean they are all related to each other - life, parents, me and G-d. That is all I am made of, ain't I? And I am not talking about specific anger or anything, no it is just things that I wish I could do but I cannot. I feel like a stranger in my own body walking and talking. Perhaps it is the mission I have come to this world for - to be against the system, looking for truth and thinking my brains out.

I am afraid of life. I think I don't understand it at all.

To teenagers and old people

I love waking up when everyone else is asleep. Then I can come downstairs, drink my milk coffee and look out the window.
So quiet and dark.
5:56 am.

My teenage friend Rebekka saw the movie "Into The Wild" and was full of emotions, impressions yesterday. She asked me if it's true that "Happiness is only real when shared"? I suddenly realized that yes, that's what it is actually.
I've been asked what is the stable character trait I've got, I hesitated a little and answered, that it is optimism that I never lose.
Not only optimism.
Empathy.
And now Rebekka actually made me think that I am only happy if my friends, my fellow Jews are happy. Not only Jews really. How can I be happy if my old Kurdish neighbour in Georgia is miserable? Or how can I rejoice if I knew my Georgian childhood friend was unhappy?

Man is not an island, is it?

I am so influenced by the media even though I try to resist.
Yesterday I was thinking how I hate fur and diamonds. So many animals and children are killed because of those luxurious things. Once I told this to my eldest cousin and she looked at me worried: "Sophie, you cannot feed the whole world. Don't think so much."
I can't. Compassion is in my blood.
Remember, I have often said that I wish I was shallower and little stupid girl for my life would have been much easier? I never really meant it. Because it would have never been real me if I were happy-go-lucky with the world vanity.

Thank you, Rebekka Averbach, for that. Now when my mum asks me why do teenagers and old people love me so much, I know what to answer: Ma, it's because I share their happiness as well as their misery.