When Dreams are Calling (4 page)

6
Family is Forever: Hazard or Blessing

Family,
we all might think

Is
a “bloody” kind of thing,

I
believe it’s more about

Love
and support

Be
it sunny or cloud’

While some
people are followers, love routine, and thrive on order, others are
leaders,
love adventure, and thrive in chaos. Irrespective on how each of us is,
one
thing is certain: no progress would be possible and the world would be
a boring
place if we were all identical.

Same as we need dark to rest and light to live,
same as events are
generated in noise and thought of in quiet, each of us has his own role
in the
world, his own mission to fulfill. For some, it will be easier to
recognize it;
others might search for it their entire life, but nobody should ever
doubt that
they are needed somewhere and worth loving by someone.

There is no other place like home, where we
feel more the need of
being accepted for what we are. All our life, we flourish on our
family’s
support and approval and we wilt on its disdain and criticism.

At home, we should be loved the way we are. Our
family should be our
refuge, our place to rest, to gather strength and courage, to feel joy
and
confidence, our sanctuary. In a family, it should never matter how
different we
are from each other. Family should be about unity, not individuality,
about
tolerance, not compatibility.

I was an explorer, of people, of places and of
myself. I was
allergic to any limitations on my freedom, fond of everything that was
new or
just a bit different, willing to take risks, unpredictable, oblivious
to the society’s
whims of fashion, and always ready to look on the bright side of
things.
Monotony tired me, adventure excited me and following others crippled
me. My
only constant was change.

My parents loved rules, making plans and
sticking to them. They were
prone to predict the worst, strived on routine and security, and had
fixed
ideas about what makes one smart, successful, and happy.

Despite loving me to bits, they could never
accept me the way I was
and tried
to mould me into someone else. Their
support was dependent on
their consent and their warmth and kindness were present as long as
obediently,
I was playing the role that was given to me. My decisions were never
respected,
but argued; my wishes were never accepted, but questioned.

Over the years, I felt trapped between my
desire to please them and the
need of being myself. I wanted to be free to choose my own way of life
without
being afraid of upsetting them. I knew one day I would break free. I
just never
knew when or how.

Now, that it was finally happening, I felt
relieved, like a huge
burden was about to be taken off my shoulders. And if leaving behind my
country
and my dear ones was the price I had to pay for it, then so be it.
Freedom
was all
I wanted and I was not willing to haggle for it.

However, for them, my departure was a shock. It
came all of a
sudden, gave them no warning and no chance to prepare. They were
confused and
hurt, betrayed and disappointed. In their eyes, my life was perfect.
After all,
I was surrounded with love. What more could I have wanted? What more
was it out
there that they could not provide me with? So, being a spoiled brat,
was their
only explanation for my depression and for my radical departure.

Maybe they were right, maybe I was a spoiled
brat, who had it all,
and as a change, wanted to see how it is to have nothing. Maybe, taking
off all
alone in the big world out there was a crazy idea. Maybe, I should have
taken a
good look around at what I had before jumping on a new adventure and
hurting
everyone who was dear to me.

Or maybe not. Maybe their pain was
self-inflicting pain. A temporary
burst vanishing away as soon as they would realize that what could be
interpreted as a crazy act of disobedience was in fact an act of
courage and
faith, an act of love, the ultimate love, the love for freedom.
Something I had
to do if I wanted to find happiness. It was not their fault, same as it
wasn’t
mine. It was no one’s fault. They had their own identity. I still had
to find
mine. Same as there’s so much a young tree can grow in the shadow of
the old
one, there is so much a youngster can learn and experience living in
the shadow
of his parents.

The truth is that no one could know for sure
what was better for me.
And maybe, just maybe, they should’ve left it at that. And above
everything
else, just love me.

Dora’s
Journal Notes

• In life, no matter
  what we are doing,
  there will always be people who like us and others who don’t. Be
  yourself and
  choose to be liked by the ones alike.
  
• When you stop
  working so hard to fulfill
  others’ dreams, you will have the energy to search for your own.
  
• Being a nobody has
  its advantages: you
  can be yourself.
  
• There is no
  absolute freedom. But when
  we are the ones choosing our confinements, then we feel free.
  

7
Leaving the Land of Dracula

Home,
sweet home, where have you been?

I
looked for you in lands far in between,

The
smell of grass, the song I sang,

The
games I played, the friends I rang,

You
are still there waiting for me,

The
same old place you used to be.

No matter
where
you live, who you marry, or how much time has passed, you will always
bear the
imprint of traditions, customs or just day to day habits of your native
land.
You will see the world and perceive the ones around you through them,
because
no matter right or wrong, funny or annoying, weird of just common, they
will
always be a part of who you are.

A few
weeks before I left Romania, I could not
stop thinking about
what I would miss the most from the land I was born in. What
memories
would I
recount sitting by the fire with my lover, three of his kids, two of my
own,
and eight of ours?

My first
thought was at Christmas.

Christmas
in Romania is a time to be with your
whole family, to
cherish your loved ones, to prepare your list for Santa, then to read
the lists
of all the others trying not to lose too much sleep over it.

People go
to church and pray for the next year
to do a better job
than the current one, as any “next one” does, at least for a while…

It’s not
so much of a happy time as of a busy
time. Everybody
becomes suddenly obsessed with cleaning their apartments thoroughly,
over and
over again, day and night. The windows have to be immaculate so you can
spy on
the neighbors, the corner behind the library free of dust to look neat
and tidy
and each and every ornament must be cleaned and then placed back in the
exact
same spot. The markets are packed with fur trees, cut more unlawfully
than
lawfully and carrying them all around trams and buses is a pain if not
necessarily for you, then for all the rest of the passengers. The men
are busy
with the grocery shopping, running from one store to the other, facing
interminable queues, and fighting over the best piece of meat in the
butchery
stores just so they can come home and find their wives still not quite
happy
with what they have got. The Romanian women are picky, and how can they
not be,
when their dishes are their pride?

The most
famous dish found in all the kitchens
around Romania is
sarmale
, followed closely by
cozonac
.
Sarmale
are pickled
cabbage leaves stuffed with a mixture of pork, rice, pepper, and other
spices.
If you never tried them, it might be a good time for you to reconsider.
They
are
delicious!

The
popular
cozonac
is a
cake filled with walnuts, cacao, and
raisins. It helps with putting on weight each time without exception
and only
the smell of it can turn you into a hungry impatient beast!

The
holidays are all about getting stuffed:
firstly, at your house
and then, at everyone else’s. You don’t eat to live, you live to keep
eating.
It is considered an insult to stop before the ambulance comes.

Where
there is food, there must be music. The
carol singers dressed
in folk costumes go from one house to another, singing till morning,
and people
compensate them with cakes, apples, nuts, and, best of all, money. Each
family
opens its door, time and time again, to lots of groups of singers, some
more
talented than others, but all bringing with them the spirit of
Christmas.

Each party
lasts until all the wine is over,
usually at dawn. People
dance and sing like demons walking on hot coal and no one goes to bed
before
the roosters wake up.

The most
popular present of all time, for kids
and adults, moms and
dads, friends and girlfriends, is pajamas. It does not matter if you do
not
need one, or you just do not want one, or you never slept in one.
Pajamas are
always on top of the list of presents.

Christmas
or no Christmas, Romanians are a
passionate nation. The
problem is that they are passionate about everything without
distinction:
passionate about what their neighbors are doing, about soccer,
politics,
fashion, and churches.

Soccer
turns friends into foes and if you ever
want to attend a big
game you must be prepared to come back home with more than your ego
bruised.
Politics is a big nebulous and the ministers come and go before even
realizing
they were nominated.

Fashion is
at its best and Romanian women,
wherever they go, from
the market to the ball on New Year, will always look carefully dressed.
Stunning
too. Like a cheeky advertising campaign pointed out: “Half of Romanian women
look like Kate. The other half, like her sister.” And this says it all.
No
blondes I’m afraid!

Besides
being gorgeous chefs, Romanian women
are pious as well. Each
Sunday they attend one of the thousands of churches found on every
corner, some
old since the seventh century, others the newest addition on the block,
to wash
away their sins, pray for some more to come, or just listen to others’
adventures.

All this
buzzing and running around keeps
Romanians young. As a
proof, Radu Beligan, a ninety-five years old Romanian actor, has
entered the
Guinness book of World Records for being the oldest actor on stage.
But, don’t worry,
even if you’re not an actor, you can still make it! Just make sure you
get the
right Romanian genes!

But sooner
or later, even a Romanian is put to
rest. Tucked away in
a tiny village of Maramures county, the Merry Cemetery
(Cimitirul
Vesel)
reminds
every visitor that even there, in the afterlife kingdom, be it heaven
or hell,
Romanians insist on being the cheerleaders. Its colorful high wooden
crosses
are painted with scenes of the deceased’s life and have written all
over witty
poems depicting the life of the person buried there. At Merry Cemetery,
death does not stop one from laughing.

One of the
most famous and funniest epitaphs is
the one addressed to
a mother-in-law:

Underneath
this heavy cross
Lies my poor mother in-law
Three more days should she have lived
I would lie, and she would read.
You, who here are passing by
Not to wake her up please try
Cause’ if she will again rise
She’ll do nothing but despise
But I will surely behave
So she’ll not return from grave.
 

The
optimistic spirit of the people is also
present in typical superstitions,
such as if you cry at your wedding or if it’s been pouring all day,
then you’ll
be happy in your marriage. I was never told what would happen if,
as some
might wish, it’s sunny. I guess, you could always compensate
for the
weather with some heavy crying.

In
Romania, old traditions such as
Martisor,
are still alive.
Martisor celebrates the beginning of spring and before, everyone used
to offer
a red and white string from which a small decoration is tied. Rumor has
it the
one wearing it will prosper in the coming year. Nowadays, only the men
offer it
to the women they fancy. No wonder the country is not prospering
anymore.

If the
Western world has Valentine’s, Romanians
have Valentine and
Dragobete.
Celebrated on the twenty-fourth of February, it’s a traditional ancient
holiday, when boys and girls pick spring flowers, kiss and sing about
the
beauty of love. It’s been said that, while dancing, the one who steps
over the
partner’s foot, will take the lead in the relationship. And, as any
Romanian man
is less of a dancer, this superstition will easily explain why, in
most
Romanian families, the women have the last say.

For all
that it is and for all that it’s not,
but most of all for what
it meant to me, I knew I will miss Romania, the land of Decebal and
Dracula, Brancusi
and Nadia Comaneci, Emil Palade and Gheorghe Zamfir. The land of my
soul.

Dora’s
Journal Notes

• Memories
  are subjective
  perceptions of an objective reality.