Frica

Frica

De ziua mea mi-am dorit ca prietenele sa imi ia cadou o sedinta de tras cu pistolul in poligon. Nu a fost un cadou-supriza, ci ceva ce eu le-am cerut, o experienta pe care voiam sa o traiesc. Doar ca in loc sa ma simt ca o Tomb Raider girl, mi-a fost… frica.

 

EN: For my birthday I wanted my friends to gift me a session of firing a gun in a polygon. It wasn’t a surprise gift, but rather something I asked for, an experience I wanted to go through. But instead of feeling la a Tomb Raider girls, I was…scared.

Credeam ca o sa ma simt puternica,  ca o sa imi placa senzatia de a detine controlul… dar de unde control?! Am intrat impreuna cu Radu si cu un tip care iti explica foarte atent ce ai voie si mai ales ce nu ai voie sa faci. Si pe masura ce vorbea, imi dadeam seama cam ce urmeaza sa tin in mana: un pistol. O arma, care – intr-un moment de neatentie sau de infantilitate, de inconștienta, ar putea produce o tragedie. Drept urmare, cand l-am simtit rece si greu in maini, mi s-a facut frica. Nu am aratat-o, dar o simteam foarte clar. Am tras. M-a suprins reculul, dar si mai mult zgomotul. Cu casti cu tot. Si cel mai mult m-a surprins frica. Frica de un obiect atat de puternic si, in esenta, frica de mine. Nu era o senzatie placuta neaparat, ci mai degraba as trece-o la categoria “experiente interesante”.

Nu mi-e frica sa ma dau in montagne-russe. Dar daca mi-ar spune ca la un moment dat, in coborare, eu trebuie sa apas pe un buton, sa ma tin de ceva anume, sa fac o miscare de care depinde siguranța mea sau a altcuiva in montange-russe, atunci mi-ar fi frica. Si aici la fel. Nu imi era frica sa il vad pe omul respectiv tragand langa mine. Nici pe Radu. Mi-era frica de mine cu arma in mana.  Ciudat, nu?

EN: I thought I would feel strong, that I’ll enjoy the feeling of being in control…but what control?! I went in with Radu and a guy who explained to me very attentively what you are allowed and especially what you’re not allowed to do. And as he talked, I realized that I was going to hold a gun in my hand. A weapon, which – in a moment of carelessness or foolishness, unawareness, could produce a tragedy. Therefore, when I felt in my hands cold and heavy, I got scared. I didn’t show it, but I felt it very clearly. I fired the gun. I was surprised by the recoil, but mostly by the sound. And I had headphones on. And I was mostly surprised by the fear. The fear of an object so powerful and, basically, fear of myself. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, I would rather put in the “interesting experiences” category.

I’m not afraid to ride a rollercoaster. But if someone would tell me that at some point I would have to push a button, hold on to something, make a move which might influence my own safety or that of others on that ride, then I would be scared. And this was the same. I wasn’t afraid to watch the person next to me firing his gun. Nor Radu. I was afraid of myself holding the gun. Weird, right?