January 19, 2025

My favorite grandma, my second mom, my ‘maia’ loved the beach. It was her happy place and she didn’t stop going to it every year till she got really, really sick, right before she died. Romania doesn’t have palm trees though, but she lived for almost 75 years dreaming about seeing one, one day. I remember her buying fabric with palm tree patterns for summer dresses. 

When I landed in America, 27 years ago today, life or fate, or some happenstance brought me to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. This is not where you dream of migrating when you dream about moving to America. You usually are told America is New York and Miami and Los Angeles, and anyone you know who moves here shoots for one of these places. Well, my story brought me to Myrtle Beach. My first home was on the beach - I thought I literally won the lottery. 

Every day, I would look at nothing but palm trees and think of ‘maia’. It kept me going, knowing she would never say ‘no’ to living on this new planet where it was so easy to take every tree for granted. 

Then (1998) and today (2025). A lifetime and the same shore at the same time. 

I had nothing but a head full of dreams and absolutely no idea how I would make them come true. Those who know my story know by now that dad had one dream for us: to make America our home. I went out into the world on his specific promise that America is the only place where our character, our education, our upbringing, our talents will not go to waste. This was our pie-in-the-sky. The possibility of failure was never factored in. That was not a chance in the world that would happen.  

Over the years, I have looked back, and realized every time that I did make those dreams come true. I was lucky enough to learn how, and I was even luckier to know people who helped me out to facilitate them. Those who did all that know who they are and they also know (I hope) that I will forever be grateful to them. 

This immigrant girl didn’t know how to put gas in a car, or how to write a check, much less how to get and pay for a mortgage or a car loan. I didn’t know how to pay taxes or how to navigate the complex and disorderly, a-logical dark alleys of health insurance companies. I learned everything from scratch, at the age of 23: how to get and keep a job with no credentials or history in one of the most competitive places on the planet, how to survive an abusive marriage, how to keep a household, how to make friends who had no cultural common ground with me, and so much more ... 

When I look back and think of the past 27 years, I literally shiver. It’s more than half my life! Where has it all gone and who am I today?! 

People have asked me over the years if I ever regretted coming here - if I ever got scared when I landed here, amongst strangers, in a foreign land, and wanted to run back. Are you freakin’ kidding me? Look where I landed! Palm trees, pools, and the roaring Atlantic Ocean in my backyard. I was 23! Do you think any 23 year old would say no to that? I knew I had to work hard to make all that my own (and I learned over the years that the beach is really not my jam), but I wanted nothing but to make this land my true home. 

America held such promise in 1998! Back then, I never even thought about the politics in America because its reputation preceded it. I knew politics-wise, America’s got it figured out. They would always offer the best place to live anywhere in the world, I was sure of it. From my small Romanian town, it was heaven on earth and things just “worked” here because everyone is responsible and everyone pulls together. Someone reaching out a hand to give you help to move here, in this blessed land was the type of fortune that movies are made of. That’s how you know what a dreamer I was ... 

I was a literature and music buff and America offered a never-ending playground for both. 

I came to walk in Jim Morrison’s steps on Venice Beach, California, and breathe in the chilly, piney breezes of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks magnificent Douglas firs in the Pacific Northwest. For me, New York and Los Angeles presented no pull. But I wanted more than anything to live in the desert of Arizona or the mountains of Montana. I wanted to live in and to understand the complicated South which I grew to love after reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Gone With the Wind, among other things.

I came here to drive on Route 66 and chase Elvis’s Tennessee-born music; I came here to be “on the road again” like Willie Nelson promised and take the vastness of this land in, to learn it like the back of my hand; I came here to see if the stories told by Mark Twain and the criticism of Henry James towards Americans bear any truth. I came here to see Hemingway’s hangouts, homes and learn where his kitties spent their days. I came here to hear the blues in Chicago and the zydeco in New Orleans. I came to make the land of original blue jeans and bandanas (some of my favorite pieces of clothing growing up) my own. 

More than anything in the world, I came here for freedom. True, unbridled freedom, the kind of which no nation under the sun promised to know how to make. As I found out later through knowing the work and activism of Martin Luther King, Jr. "the goal of America is freedom." I thought that and to some extent still do, to my core. I figured then as I figure it now, 27 years later, America't got what I am after, and I have what she needs to give her, too. How could it go wrong?!

In the past 27 years, I did all these and so much more. In the process of slowly making America my home, I have learned that there are few things in the world as decadently delicious as hushpuppies, or fresh backyard bar-b-que. I also learned that the worst thing you can ever put in your mouth is without a doubt a peanut butter sandwich. Now, this one is one of the things that America got wrong. 

It was not until recently that I doubted the freedom part, but that is now the saddest realization yet. As Bill Clinton was saying in an interview "no victory is ever eternal" (or something similar).

Happiness is a basket full of crispy fresh hushpuppies at Sea Captain's House

I lived in Myrtle Beach only for about 10 months after I came over. Life and my new family moved me around to North Carolina, to Utah and back to North Carolina. While I was living close still, I used to go to Myrtle Beach every year after 1998 on my “off the boat” anniversary, which is today - January 19. After moving away for some time and during the pandemic the tradition went stale, but I felt the strong pull to start it again today. 

We went to some new places that I had never visited before (who would have known that after visiting my first American home for almost 12 years after I came here, every year, there would be any “new” places to see?), and I recreated the journey from my first home to my old beach and further to my office back when I made it here, and to one of my favorite places for food - a little old place called Sea Captain’s House that is still there and still offers delicious food and quirky Southern hospitality. Walking around my old neighborhood felt so familiar and welcoming. Like time never washed over anything ... Just like the waves washing on the same shore - the wave, always different, the shore permanent and steadfast ... 

In front of my former home. Look at all the those palm trees.

We booked an ocean-front room when we got here. I woke up this morning yearning for a gorgeous sunrise. But it was so overcast I did not even see one ray of sunshine. It was so windy that all the birds were flying backwards. I thought to myself: what an interesting coincidence that the weather, and the general mood of the beach matches the world of today, January 19, 2025: not a ray of hope is left for so many of us today, on this day; and just like the birds going backwards, some of us want to go back for better times, some of us are taking all of us back from ignorance. But we’re all looking back, for one reason or another.

When they pushed me out of my home country and into America, they told me that this is the land of opportunity; that there is nothing you cannot achieve here if you set your mind to it and work hard. The one thing they didn’t mention is that the land of all opportunity also includes the opportunity to fail. The opportunity to lose sense of who you are and what right and wrong is and how to tell the difference. 

I didn’t fail, or at least I didn’t fail me, but at times this country that held so much promise and that I cherished, has failed me. 

But if I were given the opportunity to come here again, knowing what I know now, I would do it again in a heart-beat! Even if one day, I can say that I came to witness the fall of the greatest empire of my generation, that, too, is a (strange) privilege and a chance of a lifetime. So, I would do it again. 

I used to sit like the picture shows on my patio and look at the ocean in front of our condo, thinking that at the other end of all that water are the people I love but that I am here, in this safe boat and if I steer it right, I could make my own and their lives better, fuller, more meaningful.

Nowadays, I don’t feel like I’m on that safe boat anymore. I feel like not just me, the whole country is on The Titanic. The people who see the iceberg have no power, nor authority to steer the boat away and avoid hitting it. The people who have the authority and the power cannot see the iceberg and are heading straight for it, and they are so ignorant or controlling they are not listening to the people on the same boat to go around it. 

In the end, I feel like we’re all headed for peril. But only one half will know why and that it could have been avoided. The other half will blame the iceberg. 

As we were walking out of Barefoot Landing in North Myrtle Beach, the speakers were shouting as a sad reminder: "Bye, bye, Miss American pie ...".

23 American Years

23 years ago today I came to America. Every year, this day is very special to me. More than any other year, today is also special because 23 years marks my mid-life. Today, I lived in my mother country, Romania, just as many years as I have lived in America – 23. Trying to figure out whether I am Romanian or American is another story for another day.

Today is also the day before one of the most historic presidential inaugurations in American history. I feel like I have come full circle and not in a good way. I ran away from a murky political system, full of self-interest and hatred, chaotic and lost. I ran away towards decency  and freedom. I was happy. My heart full of hope.

I knew America would give me everything I ever wanted since I was a little girl – respect, a decent job that would allow me and my family a decent life. But more than that – it would give me a status in the world that I would be proud of. That would open doors to other countries without asking for visas and other legalities. A status that would make me proud to say I come from America, no matter where I was going.

America did give me a decent job and a decent life. It did open doors for a while and gave me possibilities I had never ever dreamed of. But recently, it broke my heart and shadowed my pride. Nowadays, I question why I ever left my country. But with no regrets, I tread forward and hope that we can figure a way out of this. I am still a believer in American possibilities. Still believe in the good fight. Still believe in the goodness of this people who built the country of all possibilities. All the people who have fought for justice and decency.

I am grateful to all the people that have crossed my path over these 23 miraculous years. People who taught me everything from how to fill a tank of gas to how to balance a check book. How to eat shrimp and how to roast a turkey. People who have loved me and shared their lives with me. I am also grateful for the hard lessons, and the losses, too. They only made me stronger and make me believe even more in my resilience and resolve. Made me believe that it’s possible to come out stronger even from the lowest places.  People who did the impossible: taught optimism to a cynical, fatalist Romanian.

America is truly a melting pot. This was one of the things I was looking the most forward to when I crossed over. I am grateful for all the people that I have been fortunate to meet who are different than me and who shared their lives and perspectives with me. I am richer because of all of you.

There are so many things I could say about my journey here I would need to write several volumes to do it all justice. Maybe one day I will. You all who know me know this well. When I look back on my American life, I recall this conversation that could easily apply to the past 23 years of my life: President Clinton was told in an interview that his book, My Life, was a “great book.” And he chuckled and said: “Well, I don’t know if it’s a good book. But I tell you what: it’s a hell of a good story.”

Be well, America. Get healthy. And above all: thank you.

A Strange Year

As years of our lives go, this has been a weird one. Peppered with everything you can think of, good and bad, it leaves a more bitter than sweet taste in my mouth than many others before it.

We have known a lot of trials and pain this year. More than any other years, we have known pain, suffering, and unhealth in our own lives and the the lives of those close to us. Even in the lives of remote relatives and friends, for some reason, we have seen more sickness than health. Our loved ones have been through some close calls, and we have, too.

Our friends and family have lost pets and aunts and uncles, some of them parents and brothers. There should really be no ranking for pain. Pain is pain – however close or remote it is from you. It's been a great year of loss for many of us and around us.

And then, there was our house, a brand new one poorly built, and our efforts to keep it from falling apart. We weathered two hurricanes in one month while fixing leaks everywhere. We think we're OK now, but the stress of all that just about moved us to a rental place. We would have been grateful that we could have done that!

Stressful trips of planes and luggage lost or delayed started off a year of travels.

As we age, we look closely at our friendships. We're more choosy and selective and this year we have felt the bitter-sweet taste of lost friends we once cherished. But you know what they say: “ A friend you lose is not worth keeping, in the first place.” So, we learn, we mourn, and we move on, grateful for the lessons.

All this personal stuff happened on a backdrop of more chaos in the country and in the world. My heart cries every day for the status of things in the world, but especially in this country. A country that so many of us gave up so much for, only to come here and bleed disappointment. We are now the perpetrators, the cruel and heartless inhumane power, we are now the illogical, anti-everything-reason monsters we were trying to fight a while ago. I wish there would be something someone can do drastically. I wish we would stop hiding behind lame and cheesy political excuses and would truly take action that would help people. Hungry, homeless, abused, defenseless people. Children, even.

I wish we would stop speaking in double standards: I wish we would stop saying in this country that 'no man is above the law' in the same sentence with 'you cannot indict a sitting president.' I wish we would stop saying we are the greatest democracy in the world when our simple, most fundamental right as a citizen, the right to vote, is not a democratic one. I wish we would really stop lying to ourselves in false patriotism and truly understand what we see in the mirror.

And I wish we truly remember who we truly are: I wish we would remember that if it were not for the thousands of 'illegals from sh*thole countries' most of us would not be here today. I wish we remembered who we were and how we and ours have started.

The talk of this wall recently is making me double over with stomach sickness. Besides being grossly unreasonable and downright laughable (a stupid dream concoction of an old and sick mind), it is not what the world is and wants today. And let me tell you some reasons why: I have a bowl of oranges in the kitchen; the bowl was given to me by my sister's Romanian mother-in-law who has been living in Germany for close to 20 years; I got a message right before Christmas from a high school (Romanian) friend who is now a doctor who lives in Denmark: she wanted my American recipe of turkey and stuffing so she can cook it for her family this year. I work from home. Before 10 AM every morning I am in anywhere between 1 and 4 meetings with Armenia every day. If you look at my Facebook page, I have friends from four continents and this is the norm for most of us, not the exception. You see, the world is already border-less, in people's minds. No wall, and I don't believe no law, could stop that now. Dreaming of it is dystopian and a huge waste of energy and time to say the very least.

I never started my days with news first, like I have this year. Because I am always very afraid there might not be a world we could go back to any day now … Some days truly feel hopeless. I have read more about hope and gratitude this year than any other year. I think we all could use some of this reading nowadays.

There have been happy times, too. Seeing my ever weakening and feeble elders in Romania this past spring was a bright spot, however painful. Getting to hold them and hug them was a treat that I will savor for many months, possibly years to come. Taking a trip with my sister to New York City and welcoming her into her fourth decade was another blessful gift.

My husband and I took trips to know our new state, and we visited The Grand Canyon for the first time together. Taking my nephews to the Ocean together for the first time and seeing them jump waves was one of the highlights of this year.

We loved, we gave, we spent time with dear and true friends and family whether in our new and not-so-perfect house or their open homes. We have been grateful for jobs, the one we got and the one we kept this year, for the stress of not having them is a true and scary burden.

When I started this year I committed to collecting a picture every day of the year. Just to remind myself how much beauty truly is in the world and to document how much one could travel and grow and enrich oneself even in sad times.

Click the picture below to see the pictures from the last month of the year, as well as all the other 300+ ones. I am grateful for every glimpse of this. Enjoy!

It's been a year with ups and downs, framed by sickness and pain. A social media meme showed this message this morning and this is my only wish for all of us for 2019: “I don't want 2019 to bring me anything. I just don't want it to take anything away.” Amen to that and a happier, more hopeful new year to all!

Depression

I remember when being an American was a cool thing. Not long ago, in fact, it was a thing to be desired, and lied for, and proud to snatch! I remember when immigrating to America was the highest of dreams one can achieve .

But is it anymore??!!

People close all sorts of doors to Americans all over the world - more so than they open them in fact. Americans are scorned upon in Europe and in the Middle East. In Asia and Canada. In Latin America, too ... I guess Americans have gotten used to that kind of scorn. Hatred is better than ignorance, right?! At least everyone minds them. Until now!
Until recently, they still had the economic power to not worry too much about a couple of oh just so random little feelings some of the rest of the world out there held towards them.
Until now, I say ...

Nowadays, not many people go to Europe for vacations. For a while now, the middle class (all ranks), and not only them, has not been able to afford it... What's even sadder now: Canada is even more expensive than here, as well! Canada is too overpriced for America now!!! No trips to Canada?! Our "poor sister"?? Depressing...

No matter what their fist-cliched-over-heart patriotism will try to tell you, Americans do not hold their heads up high out there in the world anymore. They still have big patriotic hearts, and big mouths, here, but they cannot do that abroad. And they know it. If they still do, stubbornly, they look ridiculous and they should know it! Americans - humble?! That's a dimension I am still waiting to see ...

It's also depressing to see my Eastern European parents begging me to come back home, because, "honey, let's face it: it's better here! More safe!". I didn't think I'd live the day when the job market would look better in Romania than here!

When I was growing up, during Communism, America was the Heaven on Earth where people had everything they wanted, without rationing, and without standing in lines! Everything was plenty and available around the clock. All you had to do was get a job!

Not anymore... I went to WalMart tonight, and not only were the lines for gas unbelievable, but they had police forces to regulate the traffic in and out of the parking lot. They were also out of two of of three kinds of gas! And the gallon is not all that cheap, there, either, at $3.75 - but much cheaper than my neighborhood, where it's $3.98! Other parts of town display prices over $4.00 even.

America was supposed to have plenty of gas, and we were supposed to use our cars whenever we wanted, to go wherever we wanted, and to always fill up the tank, every time we pull up for gas! Not just get "just enough to make it". Not anymore. Not when there are stations that ration how much you can buy, or even ones that are closed down. Americans have to become mindful of spending, just like the rest of the world, anymore, it seems.

The Land of Plenty has all of a sudden become The Land of Plenty to Worry About!

Also during Communism, Romania's dictator, Nicolae Ceausescu, was asked by the starving and freezing people, one winter, to give them more heat in their apartments (heat was centralized by the State, just like everything else). Ceausescu's answer was: "Put on another sweater! And if you have two on already, put a coat on! You'll be warm!".

My dad used to tell me then that I needed to move to America, where heat is plenty and affordable and I'll never be cold again!
Given the past few nights of chilly weather, I am trying really hard not to turn on the heat!! I am not sure I'll go through the winter if I start the heat in September, money-wise!! I am worried about losing my job every day, and I am not sure how I am going to pay my bills if that happens. I am trying to save and not splurge right about now. So, I'll give turning on the heat another thought, and in the meantime, I'll put on another sweater, and another blanket on, too, at night! Natural gas, too, as we all know, is so high as well!

When I was growing up, with the dreams of the Promised Land, I tell you: I have never thought it would look like this.
All around us, we see people saving, afraid for their jobs, laid off, companies shut down, people losing homes. Every morning, another huge corporation goes bust ... I know I am not saying anything new to anyone.

The only point I was trying to make here was that, on a personal level, this hurts! This is a chipped dream, and I don't do well with disappointments. I cannot look my parents in the eye and admit that I have failed in my choices! It's not the natural path of an (over)achiever!

I guess it is true what they say about big empires: they have their rise, and they have their fall. I hope this is just a temporary hiccup for this empire, though. I hope history has taught many lessons and illuminated minds can fix this. It's definitely, I think, important enough to make a spot in the history books.

Sure, America still has her freedom, which will lure millions still, decade after decade. But increased want for basic needs (and I don't even want to go anywhere near healthcare talks here - I'd need a book), total disregard of the Government for those needs , while fighting wars for sport and just to prove an empty principle instead, will make being an American being more and more un-cool!

I am not going back to Romania, but let me tell you: Canada has sounded sweeter and sweeter every time I have looked at it lately.

"Leave us our broken dreams
We'll give them time to mend" ... or break even worse.
How sad?!
I guess they call it "Depression" for a reason.
This ain't fun!

Belonging ... - An Identity Blog?!

Let me just begin by saying that I love being where I am from. And I would not trade it for the world! I think the complexity and absolute puzzlement of my personality which I love comes from where I am from, and I will never deny my home country, nor ever forget my roots. My roots are the one true, solid thread that I hold dear and gets me through hardships, every day! I would be literally dead without them!

But even so … this came to be written …

I have tried to write this piece for years, probably for as long as I have lived. And there are no words to describe this experience… Sure, you’ve “heard” me talk about my trips, my friends, my family, my cats, and my peeves in traffic and at WalMart … You know I can write about almost anything out there.

But this one’s tough! This one’s on my tough list. Along with the day when I decided my mom was cooler than dad (what a life change!) and the day I knew I was surely heading for a divorce … It’s a tough one …

But I’ll attempt just the tip of the iceberg here – because I know it’ll take several lifetimes to get to the bottom of it!

It’s about never feeling like I really belong to “Romanians” at all … It is strange to say that the culture you grew up into, the only one you experienced and knew until you were 23 … has never felt like home to you. To admit it is one thing. To explain it – is a whole different matter altogether and entirely …

I am not sure I felt “at home” in any culture. Mom was sad when at 16 I started speaking in my sleep … in English. I was in Romania then, with no sure plan of moving to an English speaking country … but somehow my subconscious decided to speak English instead of Romanian …

I guess that was the first time when I realized, “wait up, world! I don’t feel Romanian”?! Who knows … I was definitely escaping something. Or my innermost self was, for sure.

Nowadays, removed from my home culture for over 10 years, I do not seek it. I don’t miss it. And when I am exposed to it, I cringe! The cheap and fake familiarity, the macho-ism, the continual “I am better than you”-isms drain me … I have nothing to show off for them. Actually: I would not show off! Not give “them” the satisfaction!

I never speak of what I have made, and what I have accomplished, and that’s all my ‘Romanian friends’ want to know: how much money, what kind of car, how long I have been here and how much I have gained, why the American last name. One compatriot even said once: “Oh, you’re that kind that slept around for a visa”. I didn’t deny it. All I said was: “What?! You’re jealous?!”. This kind of cheap familiarity is just not my taste. This kind of "the guy gets away with murder and the woman is killed or worse: shamed" is so far from mu cup of soup!

I don’t miss the pettiness. I don’t miss the small world victim show: “Oh, Americans have all the McDonald’s but we have all the history” – makes me puke! Yeah, and what did you do with all the history- I wanna ask?! You moved to America! “History” alone will not keep you fed, and clad, and free, and happy, will it, now?!

They snarl at the American culture. They bite the hand that’s feeding them, and I cannot stop that low.

I don’t miss the fake melancholy: “Oh, when we were back home, the sausages tasted like real meat, and the wine was sweet, not like these prefab ones. Yuck”. Oh, yeah, I want to say: so, move the hell back!

It’s like you’re shipwrecked on this deserted island and the people on that ship speak the same language as you, and you know them all – so there is a certain familiarity there - but at the same time you can’t trust them: because they want your peril, so they can survive! So, the sameness instead of bonding becomes a weapon you can use against them, to survive. And it all becomes … painful, petty, painful … and just troublesome in night, when you’re alone with your thoughts.

I don’t miss the fake patriotism, either: they bring tricolored balloons (red-yellow-blue) to Romanian gatherings, or flowers, or even the flag. I can’t relate to it. That is a country that has hurt me (and all of us) so! A country whose lack of political wisdom, corruption, breaking all the laws and violating all human rights forced all of us to move far, far away and live with no family, and no real bonds. Amongst strangers. Why crave it? Why wish for it? Why cherish it here?!? Why re-live it?! Just to be martyrs? Or victims? That’s so lame. Shallow. Lame and boring.

I bring with me the Romanian things my family gave me; the personal things I want not to share with anyone but my family: the foods, the Saints’ feasts, the customs, the personal touches in the home; the china and art on the walls; the hand painted eggs, and ceramics; the language.

But I cannot get together and wishfully lust for a land and a culture that has raped me of everything sacred that I had, from my home, my family, myself, as I knew me at 23. A culture that has forced me to pack one suitcase full of clothes and run! And never look behind! A culture that still tortures and demeans my family. My flash and blood.

The Romanian culture for me was more like a dura mater rather than an alma mater…

It forced me into an American exile even after my love and marriage had long been dead. There was no way back. Only forward. There are volumes to be written about my American experience and immigration in general. But this was not an easy choice.

So, to get together and celebrate our Romanianism has always just felt a bit masochistic and rude. Rude to our parents left behind. Rude to ourselves and our true feelings.

At least to me. If I cannot have my parents here, the fake love of strangers, I seek note.

It’s part of the whole immigration … odyssey, and it’s very, very hard to explain.

I do not regret my choice. Ever. And I see that some of the things that are Romanian encouraged this culture that pushed me (and us) away: the corruption springs from the jealousy of wanting what the neighbor has and bringing it to the rank of law! Lying, jealousy, and melancholy of the past are basis of Romanian “patriotism”!

Like I have said before: I think of myself as not placed in the world yet, but I love the Romanian in me: the caution, and ingenuity, the ability to not waste as much as my American fellows; the understanding for immigrants and oppression; the respect for everyone around me, and the “small country” frame of mind, of knowing that we’re not alone in the world, and we have to be mindful of all . But I am still uneasy to congregate with my fellow people.

It will be even harder, I know, 20 years from now. A woman without a country you can say I am. I still see myself sitting on the sidewalk in Margate, England, and crying that I don’t want to go back to Romania, because I had found my home. That was 1997. And I guess even earlier than that, at 16, in 1991, I have been looking for home, in my sleep talk.

I guess my roots did get planted firmly in Romanian soil. Forever. But my trunk, and branches, and leaves and blooms chose to belong to other realms. To America? Canada? Europe in general? The world?! They still look bend towards the roots, back towards where they started and to what feeds them, and see the starting point … But just like a graceful willow, they bend towards it, but they’ll never touch it again.

Final note: if this is totally confusing – it’s OK!

June 7, 2006

“Give us your tired, your weak
And we will make them strong
Bring us your far off song
And we will sing along
Leave us your broken dreams
We’ll give them time to mend
There’s still a lot of love
Living in the Promiseland

(…)

So they came with such a sad eye
Nameless woman, faceless child
Like a bad dream
Till there was no room at all
No place no place to run
And no place to fall

Give us your daily bread
We have no shoes to wear
No place to call our home
Only this cross to bear
We are the multitudes
Lend us a helping hand
Is there no love anymore
Living in the Promiseland

(…)
There is a winding road
Across the shifting sand
And room for everyone
Living in the Promiseland”

What do you say when you manage to see your life long dream with your own eyes?! Do you cry? Scream? Yell? Party? Are matter of fact, because you’ve kind of expected it?! Or you’re humble and so amazed (and paranoid) that you don’t want your luck to turn and be miserable from now on?! It’s definitely breathless and speechless is how you feel. You’d like to say thank you and kiss someone’s hand, and you’re not sure who that person is? People that you’ve come across along the way? Your parents for having you? God? The American Government? Your own government? And these questions are still unanswered…

On June 7th, I was sworn in as an American citizen. I was told that “I have met all the conditions to have every right that an American born citizen has… but ONE…”. I would not be able to ever be the President of this country…And thus my dream of 31 years, and my family’s life-long dream was to become reality…

While waiting for the oath, a million things crossed my mind, some of which I wanted to make a record of … So, here they are …

Long winters in Romania, with icy windows, ice so thick you could not see through the windows into the streets; cold sheets at night, so cold you felt a layer of your skin peeled right off when you slept into the bed… Maia warming the sheets up with the blow dryer… Secret police knocking on your door at 2 AM, taking your dad away… He returns later the next day with two black eyes, and mom tells you some people in the street attacked him… Dad hiding dead chickens from work in the spare wheel compartment in the trunk of the family car, so he can feed us … other children at school telling you their families can only afford meat for Christmas… The feeling of guilt … The shame when you were fortunate enough to know the taste of oranges one day a year, and others didn’t know what that fruit felt like … Indoctrination class, memorizing the Congress’s laws, which were unchanged, always; the fear of death if you missed one… a 25 W bulb in every room…Secret police confiscating the occasional 40 W bulb… “Stealing from the people”… No hot water in the winter… No running water during the day in the summer …”stealing from the people”…

Summer breaks in the mountains…untouched by communism…wild, and free…But hungry and dirty. No running water at all… Trips to the stream to bring buckets of water…
Shhtt…Don’t tell anyone you celebrate Christmas, or Easter! Oh, Easter is the worst! You tell people you never go to church. Ever. Although the communion tastes soo good! Shhht…Whisper… Even the walls can turn you in… Can they hear your heart beat? Is that a sin against the people, too?!

Mom telling you the “teachers are right”… Dad telling you “America is the answer”… Bicu telling you, when you’re 10: “Run, A! Run away… Learn to swim, cross the Danube and go to America. This country doesn’t deserve you. Do WHATEVER comes your way… Steal, lie, kill if you have to… but LEAVE. Be an American one day! You’re too good for this country “…Confusion… But what about mom and dad? What about Andy and Maia?!

Learning to live with no feelings, and cold… Mindful of what you say, to whom you’re saying it…Living in your head … 2 Hrs of TV a day… 4 on Sundays and Saturdays…Half of an hour movies once a week on TV… 6 day working week… Driving your cars only two weekends a month… No more coupons for gas, none for flour, or oil…We’ll wait till next month…One pair of new pants a year… One pair of shoes … Feeling guilty of outgrowing the clothes…No money…
You learn about Scarlet O’Hara and you hear yourself saying: “If I have to steal, lie, cheat, kill…I swear… I’ll do anything, but I will never be hungry again”… - paraphrase…

The Revolution…More confusion…but freedom too…Too old to let go of the dream…Too young to make any decisions on your own… Still keeping the dream … when the cold winter strikes and the heat fails to come; and the hot water … When you have to bribe for bread and water, again… No more communism…Just the side effects…More lying, and cheating, and hurtful people…
Corruption…No more stealing from the people; just from one another …

And then, the LIGHT! The chance you’re given. Passion for the English language, and the one thing you hold dear to your heart: you know this passion WILL set you free! The end is near… Then you get a letter from quite a stranger at that time … You know nothing of him, but he holds a hand out; you grab hold to it, with all your might. You fall in love with the man who rescues you from this all… He abuses you. You still love him! Nothing is worse, nothing can ever be worse that what’s behind you… Lost childhood; and teenage-hood… Maybe you have a better chance as a 20-some year old! Maybe … Hoping …Loving…Giving … Giving up… But the bridge was crossed, so now, you wait, and pray. Pray that this strange land that has been so welcoming and fortunate for so many millions of people, over so many hundreds of years will accept yet ONE more person. JUST one. YOU! And you hope…Every prayer every night, every candle you light up in church; you pray! And the smoke goes up to Heaven, you hope, with your prayer …
You visit Ellis Island in New York, and you’re numb! You hear the steps of confused millions like you, opening their hungry but oh, so hopeful eyes, onto the New World. You can smell their dirt, their sweat; you can hear their hearts speeding up…it’s your heart too. You know…you KNOW how THAT felt! Visitors around you have no clue…And you’re so emotion stricken you can’t speak to tell them… You cry when you see the Statue of Liberty and you have no clue what to tell your husband why you’re crying …

You eat your first Thanksgiving meal, and you hope one day you’ll eat it as “one of them”; “one of the true Americans”, that is …Turkey tastes different in America. For immigrants like me, it will always taste like freedom!

And above it all, you see your dad! Scared and panicked: panicked that he might not feed you tomorrow, if the cops find the chicken in the trunk, and put him away; scared he might not come back from the 2AM rendezvous’s , one day… Your mom is silent. “Better believe the teachers”… And you see your parents, again, at the airport, 8 years ago, bidding good bye to their first born, and they know it’s for good! She didn’t have to learn how to swim. This generous man has sent a letter, and another generous man gave her a visa, and she’s legally flying towards freedom… And they know they raised her to do whatever it takes to fight for her dream…and she will not disappoint… They will age and they will cry every day, but she will have a better life…No more lies…. Bribes… no more cold winters… no more no running water days for their child… or their grandchildren… They bid her good bye, and they cry…Their eyes empty…Their love gone … All their work of a lifetime, gone, on a KLM flight to Amsterdam, en route to Atlanta, Georgia, the United Stated of America; Atlanta-home of Scarlet O’Hara… And I ran with that hope! And that dream, and the love for my parents, and for freedom got me to the INS office in Charlotte on June 7, 2006 … And I said my oath with determination and fear…and awe … and trembling … It felt good like a sin… Should freedom be a sin?!

Like many millions out there, throughout the centuries, I grew up to think that America is the end of all pain and suffering; the end of a poor and unjust life. And I tell you, this dream might have been real for the people of the 17th and 18th and 19th centuries, and it is still alive today! America has done the job it’s been doing for centuries, of sheltering the lost wanderers of the world that are running from their countries like from a burning building! It can’t get any worse than that! So, you jump!

And you leave your loved ones behind, and you hope for the best! For them and for you… And when they don’t follow, you still hope for the best for them…And you cry … and you hope they jump too…one day…A part of your heart stays behind… But what’s left of you has escaped, and will be looking for a new life … Incomplete and scarred, you try to start over; and America gives you the balm, to mend your wounds… And you smile through tears again…

I have a picture I took on Ellis Island, that I will want to be buried with, I hope. It reads: “Island of hope/ Island of Tears”…This year, on July 4th, my first Independence Day as an official citizen of the free world, I will think of this picture and of what America has been for me… A true island of hope and tears …

“I have a dream, a fantasy
To help me through reality
And my destination makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness still another mile”