A travelling tale
- Wha’cha wanna do outside?, my mother asked me, holding her head in her palm, with her wrist leaned on the kitchen table.
I watch her nervously. Romanians always use the expression”outside” when referring to any place outside their country.
Going out?
At the age of 5, I made pretend, wearing my mother’s high heel shoes – imagining that I was going on a long trip – far, far away from home. Every evening I packed my suitcase, put all my small clothes in it and drag it for long hours around the house.
My older brother would play along, helping me to get on the imaginary train, pushing the buttons of the elevators and feeling always tired from all the walking.
I’ve grown in Ploiesti – a highly industrial town of the communist Romania – maybe I had a good reason for trying to get away.
I’m 26 this year, still dreaming of that childish magical trip.
I’ve gone as far as I could from the horrible smell of burned petrol. I’ve moved 7 years ago from my hometown in the opposite part of the country, traveled with every opportunity all over Europe and lived for almost a year in the sunny island of Mallorca. But still, something doesn't feel right.
I long to be lost, lost in every way, in a sea of faces that share only the joy of being on the move.
To be happy for the lack of roots and rules - a quality that defines the road.
My ideas may seem obsolete.
But so are the ideas of total acceptance between different nationalities and the equality of rights between EU citizens.
For the time being I have can work legaly only in a few countries of Europe.
My „fame” precedeed me – my nationality is equal to some to robery and prostitution.
I try to explain: I don’t travel for hunger, nor for artifices or for an easy way out.
The answers are polite, aparently no one belives a word.
It’s raining outside. A monotone, cold rain; this forgotten town of Romania is covered by a grey heavy sky.
So I wait endelssly.
Maybe as the weather gets better, my dream trip can come true.
I watch her nervously. Romanians always use the expression”outside” when referring to any place outside their country.
Going out?
At the age of 5, I made pretend, wearing my mother’s high heel shoes – imagining that I was going on a long trip – far, far away from home. Every evening I packed my suitcase, put all my small clothes in it and drag it for long hours around the house.
My older brother would play along, helping me to get on the imaginary train, pushing the buttons of the elevators and feeling always tired from all the walking.
I’ve grown in Ploiesti – a highly industrial town of the communist Romania – maybe I had a good reason for trying to get away.
I’m 26 this year, still dreaming of that childish magical trip.
I’ve gone as far as I could from the horrible smell of burned petrol. I’ve moved 7 years ago from my hometown in the opposite part of the country, traveled with every opportunity all over Europe and lived for almost a year in the sunny island of Mallorca. But still, something doesn't feel right.
I long to be lost, lost in every way, in a sea of faces that share only the joy of being on the move.
To be happy for the lack of roots and rules - a quality that defines the road.
My ideas may seem obsolete.
But so are the ideas of total acceptance between different nationalities and the equality of rights between EU citizens.
For the time being I have can work legaly only in a few countries of Europe.
My „fame” precedeed me – my nationality is equal to some to robery and prostitution.
I try to explain: I don’t travel for hunger, nor for artifices or for an easy way out.
The answers are polite, aparently no one belives a word.
It’s raining outside. A monotone, cold rain; this forgotten town of Romania is covered by a grey heavy sky.
So I wait endelssly.
Maybe as the weather gets better, my dream trip can come true.
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