BBU application - response by Nima

Unpromted contribution

On the day Mark was born, the stars in the skies took positions which gave him strong physical features, but sensitive inner nature. He was brought by fiery flames into unknown depths of water. And from this first deep, mystical, but violent setting, he took his first breath of air. Unconsciously, later on, he even wanted to be the Air and to walk the Earth, as long as he could, until he disintegrates and becomes Nothing. The water was his motherly shelter, but he never felt at home here. Surely, a home cannot be a place you crave to leave? The home has to be the place you want to be, the place you want to own ! Like… the fire.

Mark wanted fire and the fire was his father. His father left. Or he was abandoned. Since he was seven years old, Mark was able to interpret this event, just like this, in two ways. ‘‘My father left me’’ or ‘‘I abandoned my dad’’. This way of thinking formed a certain duality within Mark’s own personality which he, often, mistaken for his true identity.

This very thought of his own father leaving him, started the fire within Mark himself and the more he thought this way, the more he felt the flames of his father. But what he felt was anger. For a child, especially a male child, growing up in a patriarchal surroundings, anger was often mistaken for power, and power was utterly masculinity itself. The father was present.

If Mark would think differently, if he would interpret things in the manner that he abandoned his dad, Mark would feel guilty. He would blame himself and very soon, he’d transfer this blame to his mother and everyone else. How many days or hours before blame becomes despise? And how many seconds before contempt becomes anger? The sooner it does, Mark will be at home.

Prompted contribution



It took me a few seconds to answer.

In this brief moment, where my fantasy interacted with my reality, I thought:
‘’God…talking to a bird. Can I be more pathetic?’’
(As it later turned on in life several times - I can)

My dad was calling. He said hello and he asked me how I am and what I’m doing.
Maybe its because I felt that he’s asking me questions just to buy himself some time,
most of my attention was still on this small black bird on my window.

With an interruptive voice, dad told me about my grandmother’s passing.

More than ever before, I was so focused on this bird.
Such a tiny rain drops on its feathers.

Dad was explaining. The funeral was planned for the next day.
He was ensuring me that there is no need for me to go back home.

The bird kept turning his little head, left and right
and watching me with one eye, and then the other eye.

’’Everything is organized’’ , dad said and continued how I really shouldn’t change my plans
and the plane costs …

’’ Really, granny wouldn’t mind.’’

I felt the atmosphere of the room changing by his every word.
I was trying to watch the damn bird, but it was harder and harder to keep my focus.

I am well prepared for this moment. I mean, they teach you, you learn - how to react, what to say.
A shock, which wasn’t a real shock. All the right words and questions, floating like a river.

Soon enough, this call - which just had to happen some day - ended. The bird was still there.

I had my grandmother’s face before my eyes and in my thoughts, I had flashes of two of us, talking, laughing. I was telling her about my plan to make a sculpture of a woman with a rat. She said:

‘’You know, a rat is fertility and wealth… just like rabbits. A rat is not a bad omen!’’

What about a black bird, granny?