Her body was floating downwards, slipping deeper and deeper and deeper underwater. All the air inside of her lungs had gone out, leaving in only the dirty water in the lake. Her brain was close to shutting down. She was aware of the fact that she was drowning. But she was at ease with this information.
It was a huge paradox going on in there. She was afraid of depths, and that included, of course, deep water. Yet here she was, floating down, down, down…
She’s always been scared to go swimming into that lake. But now, she simply got tired of staying near the shore. So she dived in.
She often associated that lake with her anxiety about life. She wanted to face it. But she was too scared to. But only now did she realise that it was actually quite simple.
All you had to do was just dive in.
Nothing to worry about.
Just go with the flow.
I don’t know how to swim.
See? It’s easy. Nothing else to worry about.
These were the thoughts that spun and swirled in her mind, during the last few moments of her life. She was trying to block out the train of memories that wanted to pass behind her eyes. She didn’t want to see it again, to live it again, to feel it again.
It was enough.
They say it’s ok not to be ok. So why wouldn’t it be ok to die? Everyone is “not ok” in their own way. Some people are “not ok” by eating too much. Others are “not ok” by crying too much, faking their happiness too much, sleeping too much, avoiding everyone else too much.
Too much. It means more than enough. It sounds like abusing of all these things. But dying? It’s never too much.
Plângea, în timp ce stătea ghemuită în cel mai întunecat colț al camerei. Nu era prima dată când se găsea în situația asta. Era obișnuită cu acest sentiment. Era obișnuită chiar și cu sentimentul că nu era singură în locul acela, chiar dacă, teoretic, ea locuia singură. Simți o adiere de vânt venind dinspre fereastră. Nu-și amintea s-o fi deschis. Știa că era aproape… mai aproape ca niciodată… mult prea aproape pentru ca nervii ei să nu cedeze; însă nu putea fi sigură că nu au făcut-o deja.
Simțise ziua aceasta venind încă de când cumpărase casa aia blestemată. Se întreba de ce fusese atât de fraieră încât să nu ia în considerare spusele vecinilor ei… dar îi plăcuseră prea mult oglinzile care erau vizibile aproape peste tot prin casă. Nu le putuse rezista. Și nu era prima care picase în capcana asta… Cu siguranță n-avea să fie nici ultima.
Era speriată de moarte și se întreba dacă ăsta o fi jocul lor prostesc… s-o țină în suspansul ăsta, iar apoi să atace când ea se aștepta mai puțin.
Avea un bine-cunoscut sentiment de dèja-vu, care se accentuă în momentul în care privi în oglinda de pe peretele din fața ei. Acolo văzu ușa camerei întredeschizându-se și o mână acoperită de o mănușă neagră, din piele, ținând ceva ce avea, în lumina lunii pline ce se revărsa pe fereastră, o strălucire metalică.
Ea își închise ochii și începu să se roage să fie rapid. Se uită la ceasul ei digital. Ora 01:20. Șapte minute nu păruseră niciodată o eternitate, până atunci.
Îi simți respirația rece din ce în ce mai aproape de ea. Un fior i se târî pe șira spinării asemenea unui șarpe. Asta avea să fie. Așa avea să se termine.
Brusc, deschise ochii. Visase. Dar se afla în același loc, ascunzându-se. Se uită la ceas. Ora 01:13. Se apropia. Iar de data asta, nu mai era un vis… Avu din nou sentimentul de dèja–vu, mai ales atunci când se uită în oglinda fixată pe peretele din fața ei și văzu bine-cunoscuta mână acoperită de o mănușă neagră, din piele, împreună cu obiectul cu o strălucire metalică ce avea să-i fie fatal.
Se gândea să se roage, însă făcuse asta de atâtea ori în visele ei, încât acum nu mai simțea nevoia. Pentru ea, era ca și cum urma să se întâlnească cu un vechi prieten. Se uită din nou la ceas. Ora 01:20. Șapte minute nu mai păruseră de mult o eternitate.
Îi simți respirația rece apropiindu-se de ea, simți fiorul pe șira spinării… și nu-si dorea decât să se termine repede.
— Ți-a fost dor de mine?, a întrebat-o o voce pițigăiată, ce parcă venea direct din oglindă.
A încercat să-i spună că nu-l mai văzuse doar de 14 minute, însă vocea i-a fost sugrumată de lacrimi, iar mai apoi de o mână acoperită cu o mănușă neagră, ce încă purta amintirea obiectului cu strălucire metalică, ce urma de altfel să-i distrugă trupul…
A knife. A trembling hand. A sweet-scented candle. Vanilla, I think it was. Or was it tropical flowers? Whatever… details. I can’t recall that scent. I feel it, but I can’t quite place my finger on the name of the aroma.
Anyway… where was I? Oh, telling you about my day, dear Diary. So it went just like a normal day.
How I love it! Writing with invisible ink! I keep my secrets so well-hidden in here! Not even I myself can understand. So if I were to make a plan about hiding a dead body, this would be the best place. No one would bother to read an empty, old notebook, right?
The problem is that I remember I started writing something here yesterday… but I don’t remember what it was.. Was it…? No, it couldn’t have been that. I swore to myself to never speak about it with anyone. Not even to you, dear Diary. I’m sorry, old friend. This secret I shall keep away from your rusty pages. I can’t bring myself to do it. I really hope I didn’t begin to tell you about that.
I started writing between your yellow pages years ago, dear Diary. When you were new. And had white pages. And a nice, colourful cover. And you know me better than anyone. Do you know what I wrote yesterday? Or the other day? Of course you do. I, on the other hand, don’t. Do you remember what I wrote last week? Last month? Last year? I do, but only vaguely. I can’t help laughing when I think that I remember that only because I have been far more mentally sane than I am now.
I’m wondering if I’ve lost my mind. It might have happened. Because of the tragic event that occurred on the 10th of August. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Well, sadly, guess what: nor will you ever know, old friend. Everything that happened that night will be clearly known only by me. I will go into the grave without having told this to anyone.
Where the hell is my mind??? I even forgot about you. You were lucky that I saw you while unpacking my things. And lucky I was, too, for finding my pen with invisible ink. I couldn’t write here without it. Why was I unpacking, you may ask. Obviously, I had to pack first, right? I did. I moved out of the old house. They almost caught me.
Those guys… they were ugly as hell, let me tell you that. None of them were worth even a please-don’t-let-the-Police-catch-me fuck. I have my own standards.
Lucky enough, I didn’t need to fuck with any of them. They didn’t see me. I was as invisible as this ink, I guess.
But I ran away. They almost caught me. Thank God they didn’t. I wonder if they know who to search for.
It seems like I did something bad, dear Diary. But I don’t know what.
I promised not to tell you something. But I don’t remember what it was… the chocolate that I stole from my mom before I moved out? I should call her and let her know that I took it. I don’t want her to get scared at the thought that a stranger broke into the house.
I don’t like it in here, dear Diary. It’s too much light. Here, the sun shines too strongly every day. Funny how I sound like a vampire. Funny how I even drank blood. What do you mean, whose blood? I don’t even know.
Wait… I am having a fit of laughter right now. I simply confused it, my dear friend. I- I literally thought it was apple-juice. Or Cranberry juice?
I love cranberries. I’m going to buy some, actually. I’m leaving for the market.
Dear Diary… I’m bombed. Literally drunk as fuck. I’m having fit after fit of laughter out of nothing. You know why? Cause I figured it would be good to make myself a smoothie with cranberries and Vodka. Turns out it tastes better than I expected. But it killed me. I’ve no idea how I can still write. But behold, a wonder! I can!
What was I saying? Oh yeah. Cranberries. Have I ever told you, dear Diary, why I love them? They have the same colour as blood. And who doesn’t love a good drink? I figure cranberries can do a good drink, regardless of what you mix them with. And blood does, too.
Have I told you that I drank her blood? I don’t think I did. My hands were shaking. I remember I told you that. The knife did some strange twist in my hand… and guess where it landed! Can you guess? Wait, I have to stop laughing. Why the fuck am I laughing so hard at my own jokes? I’m crazy, dear Diary. Let me tell you that. I know it for sure. Bat shit. Maniac. Lo-co!!
Blood tastes good. It’s soft, you know? Sweet but salty. It’s got a smooth texture. Slips down your throat easier than any shot of alcohol. I indulge myself in a nice little drink from time to time. I allow myself a minute or two of pampering. I deserve to feel good. Don’t therapists say it, too? My therapist used to say that.
Before I killed her, that is.
And did I do anything wrong, dear friend? It was purely therapeutic. It helped me cope with my emotions. I got to understand them better. I got to understand my needs and fulfill them, as she used to say.
Where did the knife come from? That’s something I don’t recall. A detail, I suppose.
I’m screwed. I’m fucking screwed. They’re here! I mean, at the door. They’re bangin’ on it. I locked all the doors in the apartment. I’m in the bathroom. I know they’ll find me, eventually, but I don’t want them to take me away. I am a free soul. They can’t take my freedom away. I won’t allow them to.
My hands are bleeding as I write this. The blood makes a bit of the invisible ink become rather visible. But only in some places. Just a couple of letters are showing.
Dear Diary, with my last powers, I want to share with you and only you my secret. Before I die, I want you to know, old friend. You ought to. You’ve been here for me when no one was. You will continue to be, long after I’m gone. Please keep our confidentiality the way my therapist couldn’t.
Coming to think about it, dear Diary, I didn’t kill her because she broke the patient-therapist confidentiality, or because she was not helping me. Oh, she did help me a lot! She did help me realise who I am, what I am and why it is so hard for people to stick around with me. I’m a born killer.
I always loved the taste of my own blood (and of others, when I got the occasion). I enjoyed going hunting with my dad when I was a kid. I enjoyed seeing the cowards and those inferior to me suffer. I guess that’s the animalistic part in human behaviour that hasn’t– nor will ever– change. I always…
But that’s another story. Where was I? Oh, therapy and therapists. And dead therapists.
You see, she was helping me a lot, this woman. She was so kind to me. So sweet, so polite. Too kind, too sweet, too polite, if you asked me. Ah fuck! I can’t feel my hands! They’re just… numb. And I think they’re in… I must be quiet and finish my story.
My nervous, dying handwriting must be looking hideous. Luckily, no one will see it. So now she’s dead. Somehow, I decided to follow her advice and meet my needs, accept and embrace them. And my biggest need was the need of blood. After slicing her up like a baker would slice bread, I made a canvas out of the walls of her office. Everything was so quiet… I enjoyed the serenity that Death brings to the table. After all, everyone needs to bring something to the table, right?
I brought Miss Evanna. Death brought me peace. But not for long. Anyways… I remember having unleashed my art… Oh, how clearly I see it now, as my whole life passes in front of my blurry, unfocused eyes. I made a canvas out of the office walls. Yes, I did that. I painted rivers of blood, and smiley faces, and bleeding hearts and… oh, that’s how they caught me…
Like every artist, I left my signature in the bottom right of my work…. I wrote my name… how stupid I was!
Uhh… I hate myself for being so stupid! But it’s okay. Death will embrace me even though I’m stupid. Why is everything getting dark? I’m scared of the dark… I also hate the light, but that’s another story. I wish I could write in your blood-stained pages until my last moment, dear Diary. But I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ll try. But I don’t…
I hear their footsteps. They’re close… Fuck it! I don’t want to be saved… she tried to save me. But she failed. Actually. She was my salvation. Jesus! I don’t remember when was the last time the Voices were so quiet… the last time my thoughts were so clear… Wait. I do. When I cut her throat. Yes, that was it.
She saved me. She might have died not knowing it. But she saved me. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be breaking free from here right now.
I’m going to faint. I struggle to stay some more, write something… I have to write this. I have to leave with a joke. Like my favourite actors. I ought to leave people feeling good when the curtain closes. What people?
Moral of the story: get yourselves a therapist, fuckers! You all need one! You think you’re mentally sane???? Bitch, you can’t be! You’re not as mad as me. But you fuckin are!
Shit, I gotta put the pen down. If I don’t, I’ll stay around longer than I planned. They’ll find me. I’m laughing too hard at my own fucking joke! I’m nuts! I’m…
“DEAD! SHE’S FUCKING DEAD!”
“Wait, what? Did you check her pulse?”
“Of course I did!”
“Yo… what the fuck is this mess?”
“The bitch killed herself…”
“Hudson, take your phone out and record me.”
“Yes, sir. Speak!”
“We have arrived at the killer’s house and she’s swimming in a pool of blood! She was a fucking maniac! We heard her laughter mere moments ago. She’s cut her wrists open, from the articulation of the hand, to the one of the elbow, on both arms. There’s an old, colourless notebook thrown into the bathtub and it’s all full of blood. There’s a once white but now dark red pen blocked in the sink. This whole place looks like the Red Room and it makes me shiver. She was definitely a schizophrenic but was not given the help she needed. I feel sorry for her. We’ll call for a team of criminologists to see if they can identify any information about her, apart from what we know now. Hudson, let’s get outta here. Mission accomplished… kind of. You’ll write the report!”
From my standpoint, the answer would be yes, especially if you want to get a serious, corporate job or even start your own business. You need a certain level of education in order to start your own business and make it be successful.
However, there is the possibility of self-educating through reading and leading a balanced, productive life. But of course, not every high-school graduate who doesn’t want to go to university will choose to self-educate. Which is why the companies almost always will require completed higher education forms, especially for better paid positions.
On the other hand, we all know rich people who didn’t bother too much with studying. They are famous singers, actors, innovative business owners. Or, why avoid the truth, they are drug dealers, hackers, paid assassins, prostitutes, night-club or casino owners and so on. Additionally, if you have ever considered one of these paths, you must also consider that the “success” and fame are not available to everyone who dreams about it.
The sad reality is that the fame of an artist isn’t even achievable by the ones that work the hardest or are the most talented. How many singers do you know who sound so good in the studio session but in live shows, they sound like crap? How many artist do you know that aren’t even making art, yet they dare call themselves artists and the people love them, just because “everyone does” and so they “sell” and get to be famous overnight. We all know writers who write complete shit, yet people are buying their books. This is the world in which we live: a world which does not appreciate art, yet it appreciates the meaningless words some bastards write, or “sing” or “rap”. A bad habit, which I personally find quite disrespectful for the people who make real art.
I am not trying to pull you back from making art. I’m just advising you to have a plan B just in case you don’t manage to succeed with music, or acting, or anything like that. You will need a job in order to survive if this dream of yours doesn’t become reality. So don’t abandon it. Keep working hard for it, but keep in mind that there is a great possibility to fail.
Oh, and I’m not even going to begin to tell you how risky and stressful an illegal worker’s life could get. I bet you can find that out for yourself, right? Yeah, it’s all fun and games in the Hollywood movie industry, but in real life, things are way much darker than they seem.
So, in my opinion, the best opportunity that you get is a solid education. After you finish university, your horizons are going to be so much more broadened, your network is going to be so much more solid and full of people with interests close to your own and your money is going to come almost by itself. (No, I’m just kidding with the part about money, you’ll still have to work hard for that lol.) :))
To sum everything up, my belief is that without education, your whole potential is going to waste, so you should see how you could make the best out of it, and how to make it reach its biggest value.
„A-ți cunoaște neștiința este partea cea mai bună a cunoașterii.” (Confucius)
Așa cum susținea și marele Confucius, știința joacă un rol crucial în viața noastră. Psihologia (din limba greacă, psyche – suflet, logos – știință) era o ramură a filosofiei și a fost numită știință abia în secolul XIX, iar în urmă cu două-trei decenii s-a ridicat problema comportamentului prosocial.
Comportamentul prosocial este definit în multiple moduri: „comportament caracterizat prin orientarea spre valorile sociale”, „comportament care constă în ajutarea semenilor fără a aștepta recompense exterioare”, „comportament care aduce beneficii doar celui care este ajutat” și multe alte definiții. Toate au în comun însă, două condiții (specificate în mod clar de către Hans Werner Bierhoff în 1987): intenția de a ajuta alte persoane și de a avea libertatea alegerii, adică ajutorul să fie voluntar. Mai târziu, a fost adăugată o a treia condiție: ajutorul acordat să nu fie acordat pentru a primi o recompensă exterioară.
Circumstanțele sunt esențiale în cadrul comportamentului prosocial. Un om fericit este mai sensibil la nevoile celuilalt și are o predispoziție de a ajuta mult mai ridicată decât o persoană care este sugrumată de lanțul greu al suferinței. O astfel de persoană este mult prea preocupată de problemele sale pentru a mai fi sensibilizată de necazurile altora. Un om fericit, în schimb, își dorește să împrăștie lumină pretutindeni.
Important este, totodată, modul în care cineva cere ajutorul și relația cost-beneficiu pe care o presupune acordarea acestuia. Cu cât cerem mai insistent ajutorul, cu atât scad șansele de a fi ajutați. Aici intervine reactanța psihică, care presupune că insistența agresivă ne limitează libertatea de a alege și de aceea tindem să ne autoprotejăm. Mână în mână cu reactanța psihică este relația cost-beneficiu. Adesea, îi vom ajuta pe ceilalți atâta timp cât nu suntem siliți să ieșim din zona de confort. Mult mai repede vom răspunde cuiva cât e ceasul, decât dacă ne cere să-l ghidăm pentru a găsi o adresă, care implică un efort mult mai ridicat.
În piesa de teatru Eu, Moștenitorul, de Eduardo de Filippo, comportamentul prosocial ia forma unui act de manipulare. Louis, fiul lui Prospero, încearcă să obțină cu forța beneficiile pe care tatăl său le-a primit de la familia Selciano, susținând că unica moștenire pe care i-a lăsat-o părintele său este protecția familiei Selciano, ceea ce ar fi presupus ca familia să aibă grijă de Louis așa cum a avut și de Prospero. Camil Petrescu, de asemenea, aduce în discuție în Ultima noapte de dragoste, întâia noapte de război ideea de pseudobunătate, și anume că ajutăm doar pentru a spulbera senzația tulburătoare ce o simțim când vedem pe cineva suferind sau îi ajutăm doar pe cei de care depindem/ ne pasă. Când comportamentului prosocial îi este smulsă aureola, acesta se transformă într-un comportament antisocial în care se încadrează violul, vandalismul, hărțuirea, abuzul verbal și multe alte astfel de acte.
Leagănul comportamentului prosocial este situația de criză. Criza este o stare de dezechilibru intern declanșată în urma unor evenimente neașteptate care au un puternic efect negativ asupra noastră, distrugându-ne mecanismele de coping (autoapărare). Crizele se clasifică în crize maturațională (de dezvoltare), situațională (de situație) și catastrofală( dezastrele). În 1964, Caplan a descris modelul crizei în trei stadii: răspunsulimediat, reacția propriu-zisă și rezoluția. În primul stadiu, se declanșează starea de uluire care poate conduce la negarea realității. În cea de a doua etapă, odată cu acceptarea realității, intervin emoțiile( furie, anxietate, depresie). În ultimă instanță, individul încearcă să-și înăbușe emoțiile și să găsească o soluție. Toate acestea conduc la comportamentul prosocial, deoarece nimeni nu are nevoie de o umbrelă când afară e soare. Odată cu sufocarea cerului de către norii negri, persoana se uită disperată după un adăpost- după comportamentul prosocial.
În viziunea mea, comportamentul prosocial este însăși definiția bunătății. Prin bunătate, se înțelege o gamă vastă de calități: dorința de a ajuta, de a sprijini, de a fi umărul pe care se plânge. Cum un om bun nu îi ajută pe alții pentru a primi o recompensă exterioară, se pune problema recompensei interioare/spirituale: fericire lăuntrică și daruri de la Dumnezeu care vor fi adunate în cer, conducând astfel la îndeplinirea scopului sacru pentru care ne naștem: mântuirea sufletului.
În concluzie, comportamentul prosocial este definiția științifică a bunătății, respectând totodată perfect legea Yin Yang: în orice întuneric (criză) există o fărâmă de lumină( comportamentul prosocial).
Psihologie socială: aspecte contemporane, volum coordonat de Adrian Neculau, POLIROM 1996, capitolul intitulat Comportamentul prosocial;
Manual de psihologie socială, volum coordonat de Adrian Neculau, POLIROM, 2010, capitolul intitulat Comportamentul prosocial;
Psihologie medicală- Doina Cosman, POLIROM, 2010
Ultima noapte de dragoste, întâia noapte de război, Camil Petrescu, Jurnalul Național, 2009;
Her freshly manicured, colourful nails were full of dirt. But that did not seem to bother her. She kept on digging into the ground, not caring about her designer clothes getting dirty. Not caring that her perfect hair, wrapped up in a bun, was beginning to loosen up and a few strands were messily falling onto her face.
‘Hell! Who would have thought that my happily ever after was going to be like this?’, she asked herself out loud, with an ironical voice, laughing hysterically.
However she didn’t allow herself the luxury of wasting precious seconds by laughing. Breathing heavily, she kept on digging, wishing she had some tools. Of course, that would have required time to ho shopping for them. So her hands were working totally fine: it was a time saving method.
Unable to continue anymore, as her body was drained of all its energy, she was forced to stop and take a little break. She tried to keep her breath even and under control, but failed. Her lungs didn’t seem to be very willing in listening to her brain. Speaking of which… that precious organ had to help her. And she needed it to be fully functioning. So she had to let it recover a little, not push it farther than its limits.
Standing on her knees, she turned her head to look at her husband. Well… at what used to be her husband. Because right now it was a mess of splintered flesh, blood, bones and occasional protuberances. Then she moved her calm gaze to the hole she was digging into the ground.
‘Big enough to hide him until I get to leave’, she thought. And she got up, shook the dirt off her elegant dress and dragged the whole pile of chopped flesh and bones into the hole. Then she used her hands again, to put the dirt back, in order to cover the grotesque pile as best as she could. Then she ran home.
She got undressed in a split second, threw her hands into the washing machine and filled her bathtub with a lot of differently scented bath bombs.
She let herself relax as the warm water was surrounding her body, thinking about how one second could change the course of her entire life… whatever was now left of her life.
She knew it from the start. He married her just to get her inherited money from her mother. After his mother in law had passed away and the money was legally his wife’s, the hell emerged. She was watching out for every step she took– inside her own house– knowing that he was constantly trying to kill her. And getting bored of ducking death traps and never eating or drinking anything he brought her, she started her own game.
She simply plunged a knife into his Adam’s apple and slashed his throat, all around the neck, without even blinking as showers of blood escaped his body and covered hers, and the grass in their yard, near the pool. He dropped to his knees, making disturbing, gushing sounds and while he was dying, she hurried to chop off as much as she could of his body, knowing her stomach wouldn’t allow her to finish her job if he was dead and cold. She started with his heart: cut his chest open and removed it (he was a heartless fucker anyway) then threw it into the pool. Went on to his penis: he was no man anyway, he never had any balls, or sex appeal whatsoever. Continued with his lungs– he did nothing but spoil her breathable air while they were living underneath the same roof. His liver came out next– no significant reason for this one except her wild enjoyment.
All of his other organs followed his heart into the pool. She enjoyed seeing them float– slowly sinking under the water or simply floating above it. Then she dragged the dead but still warm body into the garden. And she started as hurriedly to dig the hole in which the bastard was now resting in peace.
She’s been in a rush, yes. But not out of fear of getting caught. Rather out of fear of not dying until the job was done. Yes, he managed it after all. He had ordered a Pizza from his best friend’s restaurant. And arranged that it got poisoned. And it had been. So she was dying now, too.
The difference is, she would die because a coward has ordered her death. She had more balls than that idiot. She killed him with her own hands. She was feeling proud of herself. Now she only had to await for her own end.
And when it came, she was still in the bathtub, the water around her becoming red and dirty, due to the blood and mud she had on herself. And she was smiling.
She was smiling, yes… because her last thought was ‘Funny how I get away with it clean.’ And chuckled…while choking.
Before I get into Ed’s review, let me explain to you what’s going on here. So. Every Saturday I am planning to have guest posts here on my nlog and hopefully guest post on other blogs. The articles will be in Romanian or English, depending on the language in which the blogger decides to write. The guest posts will be reviews of any book or movie. If you want to have a guest post on my blog, don’t hesitate to reach out to me! Now, without any further introductions, let’s see what my friend from Mexico, Edgar de Leon, has to say about “The Green Mile” movie.
“The Green Mile”- movie review
This is my review of the movie “The Green Mile”, based on the 1996 novel with the same name written by the well known Stephen King. The Green Mile is a 1999 American fantasy drama film.
Personally, I love this movie. I’m not a person that watches a movie over and over again. When I watch a movie twice I get bored and can’t watch it again but this movie is so good that I could watch it over and over again without any problem.
At first when I noticed the movie was 3 hours long I was having second thoughts about watching it. I mean, who’s got 3 hours to watch a movie? You actually have to plan this out. A two hour movie sometimes seems long, let alone three!
The Green Mile turns out to be worth watching for 3 hours; even after it’s over, you can’t help wanting to keep watching it. There are so many things going on that you wouldn’t even feel like time has passed by you on fast forward. You just don’t notice how it flies away.
It has really good actors; Tom Hanks, Davis Morse, Micheal Jeter, Sam Rockwell, just to name a few. Sadly, Michael Clarke Duncan passed away. I couldn’t believe it when I found out through social media.
But let me tell you a little bit about this great movie. Don’t be expecting me to tell you everything because I don’t wanna give yu spoilers, though.
It all starts when John is sentenced to death by the electrical chair, after being found guilty of raping and murdering two little girls. He joins two other convicts on the block.
The block is a facility where they keep all the convicts that are sentenced to death row. Paul supervises the block along with other guards.
While being there, the guards notice John has some type of powers and even though he looks scary, he has a big heart and he is humble.
Amazing things happen in the block where Paul is convinced that John could heal somebody else outside the facility. But it will be challenging.
Finally realizing that John is innocent, Paul is distraught at the thought of executing him, and offers to let him go free. John, however, tells Paul that he wishes to die, as he views the world as a cruel place, and is in constant pain from the suffering people inflict upon each other.
This is my review of the Green Mile. I hope you will enjoy this movie and come back and tell us what you think about this incredible story by Stephen King.
Today, my dear Bookaholics, we will run with all our speed, head-first, into the tip of the “Psychology tricks” iceberg, whose depths are still unknown to human kind.
A little disclaimer first: I’m not trying to teach you how to manipulate someone but just how to convince them with less effort to do what you want them to. 😉 Please note that these terms are not exactly synonymous.
And let me give you a little explanation first. Manipulation means making someone do anything you want them to, however forcing them into it. Convincing someone to do anything you want, means that you have their full consent to help you.
Why did I say that today we are going to explore nothing but the tip of the iceberg and that its depths are not completely known? Well, there are almost 8 billion people residing on this planet. Obviously, each one of us has their own, personal and signature way of convincing other people. Ever since Psychology started being thought of as a Science, people took into consideration the fact that other people were trying (and mostly succeeding) in manipulating them, or convincing them. So the scientists have started to analyse the methods that they used. Just as animals are constantly improving their methods of hunting, humans are constantly improving their methods of becoming more and more persuasive. Therefore it’s pretty hard keeping up with a good couple decades of evolution, even for scientists. Which means all they could find and record were a few methods that were used by most psychopaths, directors of huge companies, lawyers, cops etc (notice how much these guys actually do have in common).
Now that we got these things clarified, let’s dive straight into it.
I am going to mention here 10 such tricks of how to make someone do what you wish them to (without them feeling attacked by your proposal).
The best example that I can come up with, is training a dog. You have to reward it, in order to make it do the tricks you want. The same is available for people. If you want to convince them easily, reward them. If the financial reward is out of question – due to a thousand different reasons – then you can reward them emotionally. Make them feel appreciated for their help. Let them know how much it would mean to you if they did you a favour, how much it would definitely change positively the course of your life, how you’ll always remember their help and so on and so forth. In a few, simple words, just use your vast vocabulary of terms related to gratefulness and compliments of any kind.
2. From small to big
One of the methods that has scientifically proven to be working, but to be honest, it didn’t quite prove too helpful for me, personally: asking someone to do you a small favour. If you’re lucky enough to come across a people’s pleaser and they’ll agree to do that, then go ahead and ask them for the real, big favour you needed. They’ll feel bound to you and also feel like it’s their responsibility to help you again. So they will.
3. From big to small
There are higher chances of success if you apply this method, rather than the second. Ask someone for a big favour. If they say yes, then tell them you actually wanted something smaller but don’t forget to thank them for their help. If they say no, it’s all the better. Because you can go ahead and ask them for the real, small one. No doubt they’ll say something along the lines of ‘Oh, of course I can lend you $200. But Jesus, $1000? Where do you think money grows?’
4. Reverse psychology
Yeah, I know, a classic one. But I think it’s worth mentioning. Just tell someone (preferably someone ambitious) that they can’t get a thing done. They’ll do it right away just to make you learn your lesson and never underestimate them again. If your challenge is nothing but a pain in the ass for them (since they may not be so determined) then you should try to change your technique.
5. Make them laugh
No, but seriously. Research has shown that a proposal made to someone who just had a fit of laughter because of you is going to be up to 90% more successful than a proposal made in a serious, tight, stressful environment. The next time you need to borrow money from a friend make sure you crack a damn good joke about how broke you are. They might be more willing to help you out.
6. Positive body language
Body language plays an extremely important part in the process of convincing people. I’ll give dogs as an example again. You know how they’ll come to you, all puppy-eyed, tail swinging, looking at you expectedly. Well, it’s the same with humans. You have to maintain eye contact with the person while you tell them what you need and why you need it. Make sure that your voice tone matches the request. And while asking the definitive question, nod your head (but subtly). And also, make sure that you at least seem steady and confident, don’t use negative sentences, only positive ones. Depending on the greatness of the request, this little trick can definitely make your person to subconsciously need to be as positive as you about the matter at hand.
7. People love talking about themselves
Always keep this in your mind, no matter if you’re trying to convince someone of something, meeting a new person, wanting to get someone’s attention. Before you ask a classmate to give you their homework to copy, try to ask them a couple of random questions first, such as “How was your day?” Or, something funnier, such as “Have you ever forgotten /didn’t have enough time to do all your homework? Yeah? Well, me too. Can you give an example? Oh, you want my example? Umm… today’s Maths homework is a good enough example?” And you’ll get the damned homework. Believe me. It works even with the biggest nerds out there.
8. Say “Thank you!” and “because”
You didn’t expect that to be of such a big importance, right? But studies have shown that thanking someone (sincerely) for their help or behaviour, they are very likely to act like that towards you in the future as well, even if they were too nice. While giving a strong, well-defined reason why you should be needing something from someone doesn’t appear so radical regarding their response… well, it looks like it is. It gives them the feeling that you are in serious need of their help, so your request, no matter how realistically big, will certainly not pass unnoticed.
9. Pause throughout your reasoning
Okay, you just used the word “because”, now what? Now, you are just very careful about the way you are talking. You have to leave a pause at the right time, to increase the chances of the other person to understand and empathise with you. Of course, pauses alone aren’t enough. If your proposal is made to your boss, or in a serious environment, it’s pretty obvious you can’t expect them to help you if you insert humour in your speech. Instead, use a confident, calm and even tone. But not tense. Just naturally calm. Save the wide body-language gestures and smiles for your friends and use small gestures. I also recommend mirroring your interlocutor’s body-language, with a delay of 30 to 60 seconds. Then, they will more than certain help you with whatever you need.
10. Be the first or the last
Psychology says we tend to remember more clearly the beginning and ending of an event. So, if you want your request to be remembered, you have to be the first or the last one to ask for something from a speflcific person. They are more likely to keep your proposal in mind and come back later with a favourable response.
I hope you found this article useful and took some notes. If you know any other method that works for you, let me know in the comments. If you are consciously using one or more of these methods, also let me know. Let’s chat a little about how different people have different ways of convincing others.
‘Anthony…’, she whispered his name in the dark. It startled him to hear her say his name like that. It’s been seven years since his wife last called his name so sweetly, so gently… and so husky.
He smiled while turning around in bed, being more asleep than awake, to face her side of the bed. After a moment, he managed to convince his arms to move in her direction. But he wasn’t able to hug her, as his arms would not move. He then tried to shift his body closer to her, only he found it impossible to even twitch a muscle. Something was wrong, and he could tell it by the chillness in the air, even though the windows were closed.
‘Anthony…’, his wife whispered his name again, only this time he heard it clearer and coming closer. What happened after this was too hard for him to comprehend. So he classified it as a dream and let it stay that way. Of course, in reality, it was more than just a dream.
Out of the blue, five nails as long and sharp as knife blades have made their way through his flesh, penetrating his throat. He gasped for air, but couldn’t feel it surrounding him. His vision faded into a blur, and right there, above his face, was his wife’s one. His dead wife’s face. Whiter than snow; and the blood still wet around her neck. That’s just how she looked when he burried her, seven years ago, after he had stabbed her three times in the throat.
He was afraid for his life, true enough. But he was frightened for his son’s life. The face above him was making visible efforts to speak, given both the limited strength spirits usually have and her torn neck.
‘I’ll… kill… him’, she said to him, although the high blood pressure in his body was preventing his ears from hearing anything. He wanted to scream and shout at her, in spite of his paralysis, so he was trying his hardest to move, or open his mouth.
As suddenly as it all began, everything ended and went back to normal. Anthony got off his bed, not caring about his bleeding neck. He ran to his son’s room and checked up on the kid. Dominic was safe and sound, sleeping in his peaceful, blue crib. The man swooped the little one into his arms and took him to his bedroom, to protect him. Little did Anthony know that he was indeed going to die from the wound that Dominique had left on him as her form of revenge. The man was crying in regret for the mistake that he committed 7 years before, meaning the murdering of his ex-wife, Dominique. He thought that she would find her peace after he named his first child after her and re-married a woman who looked similar to her. But apparently this has only enraged her enough to gain the necessary power to come and kill them herself.
He was waiting silently for his death, when the bleeding suddenly stopped. So Dominique has forgotten something. Something that she needed Anthony to see before he oh-so-peacefully passed away. And suddenly, the child stopped breathing.
‘I was easy on him’, he heard Dominique cackle. ‘Oh, so gentle I was. The little one didn’t feel a thing. But wait, please wait, for the bigger show.’
Already feeling dreadful, Anthony felt that he did not even have enough tears to shed for his dead baby. Dead because of his mistake that came haunting him after 7 years…
It was 2:30 a.m. which meant his actual wife, Diana, was about to come home from her night shift at the hospital. Anthony tried to go pick up his phone and tell her not to come home. But out of the blue, the phone caught fire. And just after that, the apartment’s front door opened. A bushy haired, brunette woman entered rapidly in the bedroom where the party was going on, holding her hands tight around her bleeding throat.
‘Impossible’, Anthony thought while his wife was dying right in front of him. He shrieked, yelling that he was never again going to regret killing Dominique. He heard a high-pitched laughter and then complete darkness surrounded him.
By the morning, all three dead bodies have miraculously vanished, all the blood and mess in the bedroom included. So the whole Jonas family had simply disappeared with no trace.
Just a few moments after Anthony’s death, a hole opened happily in a deserted hill’s ground, allowing a beautiful, bushy-haired woman to step out of it into the clear moonlight; as a form of reward for keeping the deal she had made with the Devil, or rather for accomplishing the mission He had given her.
Six months of hard work had finally paid off. She held back her smirk, even though it required much effort. The rain was falling around her and everybody else at the ceremony, as if the sky was crying instead of her for her lost lover.
People who were making visible efforts to hold back their tears in front of her were patting her on the shoulder, or hugging her and telling her how sorry they felt for her boyfriend, how much of a nice guy he was and so on and so forth. It was so pathetic in her view, that she started spilling her own tears, but not out of the need to seem in pain.
The priest came to her after the burial ceremony had ended.
‘I’m sure he’s in a better place right now, child. I’m so sorry for your loss!’
‘Thank you, father!’, she said, softly and innocently.
‘I heard you two were going to get married, is it true?’
‘Yes, father!’ “But he was a goddamned cheater, father!”, crawled to the tip of her tongue, but was held inside by whatever holy power stops all the free criminals from confessing in public to what they have done.
‘I’m sorry that it had to be this way. All that I can say is that it was God’s will.’
“For all I care right now, father, God himself can marry him!”, she thought and a little smile made its way to her face, without her being aware of this. The priest believed that he was the one who made her smile, by talking about God and his will, so he returned her the smile and then simply walked away, leaving her all alone in the graveyard.
She looked towards her ex-boyfriend’a tombstone, with loathe shining in her eyes. As images of the explosion at his workplace were flashing behind her now closed eyes, she started feeling more and more content and proud of her great plan. It didn’t even have one single leak, to make anyone point at her.
With a last glare thrown his way, she touched her pocket. There it was. The last step she had to take in order to live her own happily-ever-after. A one-way plane ticket to Milan, Italy, bought with the deceased’s ID documents.
‘I told you I don’t like sharing’, she shrugged and then left for the airport, feeling no remorse or regret for what she did.