Monthly Archives: August 2018

Aug11

Noi suntem poporul

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Noi suntem poporul

Pe 7 august 2016 m-am intors acasa dupa ce plecasem pe 31 ianuarie 2015 in cautarea unui nou sens in Marea Britanie.

Imi amintesc ca si cum ar fi fost ieri ca dupa ce mi-am recuperat bagajele si m-am strans in brate cu ai mei, drumul spre casa parinteasca mi s-a parut cum nu se poate mai firesc.

Era ca si cum plecasem cateva zile si ma intorsesem, nu mai bine de 6 luni. Eram plina de bube, semne ale frustrarii care imi iesea prin piele la propriu, dar aveam si convingerea ca se vor domoli si ca incetul cu incetul ne vom regasi linistea.

Omului meu i-au mai trebuit 7 luni pana cand sa mi se alature. Luni de tranzitie si cumpatare a dorului.

Plecasem cu gandul sa incercam sa traim inafara si sa vedem ce iese. Ne interesasem, ne sfatuisem si ne facusem o imagine care sa ne propulseze fix in directia dorita.

Noi am facut parte din diaspora.
Noi am ras ori de cate ori am vorbit pe Skype cu cei dragi.
Noi am plans de dor si jale cand totul ni se parea prea strain si stingher.
Noi am facut haz de necaz si ne-am ridicat moralul reciproc spunandu-ne ca o sa fie mai bine.
Noi am decis sa ne intoarcem acasa sa ne facem cuib, luand exemplul porumbeilor care facusera fix asta cat timp ‘nu a fost nimeni acasa’.

Aseara Piata s-a umplut de romani veniti din toate colturile Europei, sa isi spuna of-ul. Romani care au trecut si trec inca prin aceleasi stari de migrant pe care il mistuie dorul de casa la fel de mult cum il macina indignarea in raport cu mersul lucrurilor in Romania.

Ordinul a maturat cu noi toti pe jos intr-un fel sau altul. Fie ca a fost vorba de tunuri de apa, bastoane pe spinare sau gaze lacrimogene.

Am plecat din Piata fix cu 5’ inainte ca jandarmii sa ia cu asalt protestatarii de langa girafa, loc unde statusem si noi. Fierbeam de furie si neputinta in timp ce imi simteam ochii iritati si gatul ragusit de la cat strigasem.

Dupa ce am ajuns acasa nu am putut sa ma culc asa ca am citit tot ce se postase pe tema protestului. Pe masura ce citeam imi era din ce in ce mai clar ca daca nu continuam sa iesim in Piata o sa ne fie luate toate drepturile rand pe rand.

Astazi de dimineata cand m-am spalat pe fata ochii inca ma usturau. Mi-am facut o cafea si am verificat din nou media pentru update-uri. Asa am dat peste documentarul celor de la Recorder, ‘Nu e nimeni acasa’, care spune povestea unei familii care s-a hotarat acum sa plece in Marea Britanie.

Asa cum hotarasem si noi. Si am trait fiecare moment din documentar pentru ca traisem de fapt fiecare moment pe propria piele.

Am plans in hohote de furie, de tristete si de neputinta. In oamenii aia plecati din tara s-a dat cu lacrimogene. Am fost tratati ca niste infractori. Batuti si gazati.

Am spus ca am plecat din Romania ca sa ma intorc. Cu alti ochi, cu alta minte si cu alte stari. Am plecat din Piata, dar ma voi intoarce.

Nu plecam!
Nu plecam!
Nu plecam!
Nu plecam!
Noi suntem poporul!

Aug10

Mie imi face bine…

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Mie imi face bine…

… sa ascult pe repeat muzica preferata.

… sa spun ce gandesc ori de cate ori am ocazia.

… sa imi impodobesc casa cu vorbe care ma indeamna la mai mult.

… sa ma pisicesc cu pisicile noastre dimineata inainte de plecare si seara la sosire.

… sa scriu cat e in luna si in stele despre verzi si uscate.

… sa visez cu ochii deschisi la unde ne vor duce pasii.

… sa stau pe banca in parculetul din fata blocului si sa vorbesc la telefon cu oameni dragi.

… sa imi beau cafeaua pe indelete.

… sa scormon dimineata prin cutiile de bijuterii in cautarea combinatiei potrivite de cercei-inele-gatlegau.

… sa ma uit la documentare cat mai dubioase pe tema carora sa ruminez mai apoi timp de cateva ceasuri bune.

… sa ma iau in brate cu omul drag.

… sa rad scotand sunete porcine atunci cand ceva este mult prea amuzant sau am dat-o-n isterie de oboseala.

… sa merg pasager pe doua roti si sa numar norii.

… sa cant in casca.

… sa vorbesc cu oamenii despre nimic-uri, mult-uri si cateva-uri.

… sa ma dau de-a dura pe dealuri verzi cu soarele in par.

… sa zbor.

… sa imi nascocesc proiecte faine care sa ma cuprinda cu totul.

… sa tip si sa plang atunci cand ceva ma doare tare.

… sa uit cele ce au fost daca nu imi mai sunt de folos in suflet.

… sa dansez in plina strada pe muzica din capul meu.

… sa am alaturi oameni simpli si cinstiti.

… sa ma gandesc la copiii nostri nenascuti si sa mi-i imaginez umpland casa.

… sa imi iau inca o pereche de pantofi.

(lista in curs de finalizare)

Aug1

Freeway

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Freeway

I feel like this should be written in English, so I’m going to go for it, without attempting to be pretentious. Have I mentioned how much I like stories? Real-life stories… That’s one of the main reasons I watch documentaries… because they tell real-life stories. Of places, of people and of events.

This afternoon I stumbled upon ‘Freeway: Crack in the System’. 10′ into the film I thought to myself: ‘This would be a great class assignment for secondary and high school students’. What was the educational topic being discussed, you ask? Drugs! Cocaine and crack cocaine to be more precise.

How is this educational? Well, it actually is. Moreso than a theoretical lesson on the risks adolescents take, as part of their natural process of growth and development. Apart from the drugs, the video material tells the story of a man who wanted to succeed against all odds.

It brings to the table issues such as dysfunctional families, early childhood trauma, poverty, the influence of entourage, personal talents, the power of education, street smarts and determination to be the best one can be. Are you familiar with this motivational quote?

Well, this is exactly what Ricky Freeway Ross did! And he ended up making history in quite a peculiar way: as the kingpin who overflooded the streets of South Central L.A. with cocaine and crack cocaine. Now, don’t get me wrong. This is not meant to be a pro-drugs argument. I still stand by what’s written on a wall in my neighbourhood:

Ricky Freeway Ross did not do drugs. He bought. He sold. He traded. He cooked. But he did not do drugs. Call it drug dealer ethics or common sense self-preservation. All in all, he is what I call the anti-hero who makes the perfectly human role-model. He’s far from being perfect and he admits it. He’s had highs and lows in his life. He spent 20 years in and out of prisons. The thing that struck me the most was his learning process.

You hear all the time that ‘you live, you learn’. Well, Ricky is the impersonation of this saying. He was born in Texas and grew up together with his olded brother being cared for by their mother. He moved to L.A. when he was about 4-5 years old and right about that time witnessed one of the toughest things in his life: his mother shooting dead her brother in self-defense. His friends say that Ricky doesn’t like any type of violence. Funny for a drug dealer, right?

As any child, he sought comfort in something and that something was tennis. A white-folk sport. He loved to play and he played it excellent. He even wanted to apply to college on a sports scholarship. There was one slight problem: Ricky was illiterate! He could not read or write and so, even if he was extremely skilled at playing tennis, the college turned him down.

He wanted to do great things in his life, make a name for himself and take care for his mother. In the midst of Reagonomics (the economic fall brought about by the Reagan administration), the young Rick did what he had to do to make ends meet and succeed in something. Out of school, one of his friends introduced him to cocaine and told him that ‘this is the best thing since sliced bread’. So Ricky went for it. Bought some. Sold it really fast. Hooked up with the right people from the right circles and turned in no-time in the most notorious drug dealer in South Central L.A.

He worked day and night, came up with all sorts of ideas that would improve ‘the process’ and became a billionaire. A pure success story! His clients were addicted to cocaine and crack cocaine. Rick was addicted to succeeding, being strong, being respected and making a reputation for himself. After his ‘period of glory’ came the demise. He was incarcerated at 28, still illiterate.

There’s one quote that I particularly liked: ‘When I went to prison at 28 I was illiterate. When I came out, I wasn’t!’. He used his incarceration to learn. Learn to read, write, think critically and study law. After learning his ABCs, reading all that he could, Ricky was able to overturn his ‘life in prison without parole’ sentence by pleading his own case and got out on federal parole.

His life was not easy and it still isn’t. He continues to struggle with poverty and the challenges of an ex-convict, but he does not give up. What he did give up was the drug dealing business and now has a T-shirt shop. What’s the silver-lining of his story? I see a multitude of silver-linings:

– find the thing you like the most and pursue it, because chance is it will save you from darkest demons;

– educate yourself, formally or informally, because the educated are the truly powerful ones;

– get up everytime you find yourself hitting rock bottom, because only this way you will give yourself the chance to try again;

– keep your family close and let them help you in times of trouble;

– redemption is not going back to being innocent and without fault, but overcoming challenges and learning from them;

– the environment can make or break you, so the people who are around you become your main external motivators;

– if today you feel like shit and think you are shit, have another go tomorrow.

I think we need more real role-models, without the aura of perfection, great upbringing and shining stars.