It´s refreshing to be back in Bucharest, where most of my family and friends live, I let myself be dragged into its moist grip, I venture in it like in the arms of a lover.
As I do it, I´m trying to get a grasp of myself in the mirrors of the city. I sometimes catch a glimpse of my old self, familiar gestures go through me with the violence of an ambush. I go to the same places and although they smell the same, they bring me in a slight state of faint.
January is a sad month in Romania, it´s distressing to see how winter has stripped the town of its former liveliness. Although it´s not really cold, people dress as if they lived in Siberia and walk through town with their backs broken.
I am one of these people. I hold my head high and my posture is flawless, the way it´s always been. However, it feels I´m just going through the motions. I´m devoid of content.
The city´s buildings feel like they´re going to crumble down over me, they´re old and derelict and I fail to see their former beauty. Water spills over the dams of my inner self, I can feel it washing over my cripple frame, like rain over barren lands.
I´d missed the food the most and I can barely touch anything. People are so loud and they don´t have any patience. For the love of God, why are you making this much noise? Slow down!
This guy in the coffee shop is watching us closely and listening even closer, women in their 30s must be fascinating in their catching up, I suppose. He´s walking up and down, forcing us to make room for him, then fumbles with some piece of paper, I distinguish “She won´t dance/ Why won´t she?” We talk, we tell each other silly things, as we did when we were 16- “He did what?! I say.” “Indeed he did, she replies!” The guy´s eyes get bigger, we pay our check and leave. “Good luck with your poetry”, I tell him. “Oh..Thanks!” He feels exposed. He´s young and he´s too obvious.