Costel Hantu – Dulce si Amar
dulce si amar
mi-ai facut viata
eu plang dupa tine
ziua si noaptea
of nu te pot uita
<x2>
amar amar este veninul
tu bagi in mine veninul
as vrea sa pot sa uit
cat de mult eu te-am iubit
<x2>
stiu ca tin la tine
nu fugi de mine
ca doar tu esti viata mea
de aia nu te pot uita
<x2>
te rog nu pleca
mi-ai rupt inima
stii ca te iubesc
si ma chinuiesc
of o sa te gasesc
<x2>
amar amar este veninul
tu bagi in mine veninul
as vrea sa pot sa uit
cat de mult eu te-am iubit
<x2>
stiu ca te iubesc
si ma chinuiesc
tu esti viata mea
nu te pot uita
tu esti fericirea mea
<x4>
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
While we were both seated on her bed, I asked her about her dog, the one I used to play with 10 years ago. She doesn't remember much of all that, but it's still a fresh memory for me. One of the few.
She used to own a schnauzer. A female, named Ilona. I loved that dog. She was huge!
She loved it too. But the dog was old, 14, and was soon going to die soon. One day, Rucsandra took Ilona out for poopy time in the morning, at 5 am. Later that day, Ilona was tired, resting under the table. Rucsandra wanted to kiss her on the nose before leaving for school, but didn't. When she came back that night, Ilona was no longer there.
The next day I went shopping, looking for a radio for my grandmother, but I couldn't find what I was looking for.
I bought Manchuria Caviar, lots of oranges, carrots and apples. My grandmother was happy. I told her I would spend Christmas with her and we decided to have salmon for dinner on the 24th and carp on the 25th. Today I cooked seafood and she tasted it for the first time in her life. She really enjoyed it. I was drunk, boy, and every time she said something joyfully, I had tears in my eyes. She really enjoyed seafood.
I think of those people I met, to whom I explained that I always have to be home by 9, who told me that they had similar problems with their parents. Who said that they couldn't take it anymore and moved out and did what they wanted to do.. But at a certain moment in time, you don't care for these things that much.
I remember my father telling me.." So....? So what? " I used to complain about people hurting my feelings. That's how he'd reply. He meant... who cares for all these things as long as you are OK with yourself..?
She's old, and we're gonna have the best Christmas ever, the first one, too. Probably the last, boy..
Every time I see her laughing at those stories she's been telling me dozens of times I laugh and cry at the same time. They are so not funny anymore. But she is so happy telling them on and on. And her laughter is so authentic..Father, I wish you could do something to be here with your mother. She misses you so much..
She used to own a schnauzer. A female, named Ilona. I loved that dog. She was huge!
She loved it too. But the dog was old, 14, and was soon going to die soon. One day, Rucsandra took Ilona out for poopy time in the morning, at 5 am. Later that day, Ilona was tired, resting under the table. Rucsandra wanted to kiss her on the nose before leaving for school, but didn't. When she came back that night, Ilona was no longer there.
The next day I went shopping, looking for a radio for my grandmother, but I couldn't find what I was looking for.
I bought Manchuria Caviar, lots of oranges, carrots and apples. My grandmother was happy. I told her I would spend Christmas with her and we decided to have salmon for dinner on the 24th and carp on the 25th. Today I cooked seafood and she tasted it for the first time in her life. She really enjoyed it. I was drunk, boy, and every time she said something joyfully, I had tears in my eyes. She really enjoyed seafood.
I think of those people I met, to whom I explained that I always have to be home by 9, who told me that they had similar problems with their parents. Who said that they couldn't take it anymore and moved out and did what they wanted to do.. But at a certain moment in time, you don't care for these things that much.
I remember my father telling me.." So....? So what? " I used to complain about people hurting my feelings. That's how he'd reply. He meant... who cares for all these things as long as you are OK with yourself..?
She's old, and we're gonna have the best Christmas ever, the first one, too. Probably the last, boy..
Every time I see her laughing at those stories she's been telling me dozens of times I laugh and cry at the same time. They are so not funny anymore. But she is so happy telling them on and on. And her laughter is so authentic..Father, I wish you could do something to be here with your mother. She misses you so much..
Dear actors,
I have been spending the last few days feeling.
It started with a girl, how else, and now with a bit of rum an Pepsi.
Rucsandra is two years older than me. We met, for the first time in 8 years in Carrefour. I was buying celery and tomato juice with Oana. She recognized me right away, even though I had been growing this long beard and, I believe, changed a lot. She was friendly, as always. A month later I sent her a message, and the next day we met. As always, she was friendly. We had hot chocolate and we talked about penises and vagina, amongst others. We both new this was going somewhere but it was interesting that things were moving fast. The next day she invited me over and proposed that I spend the night at her place. The next Friday night, that is..
I accepted, though, two nights before that Friday, I told her that I cannot sleep with her in the same bad, or in the same apartment. I told her that we're obviously physically attracted to each other and that I don't think it would be appropriate to have sex. I still don't know why I decided not to sleep with her. Now that I think about, it must be the fact that she is taller than me, and older, and has slept with many guys and the fact that I still care about Alexandra, and she wouldn't raise to my expectations. That kind of mix. Plus, I know my penis wouldn't raise to her expectations.
Besides that, I was doing pretty well. She likes me, and does something I love women for: she acts like a woman. She knows I'm the one with the penis and not her age, or her height. She acts like a spoiled kid, and us men, love that. I do. More than others.
One night, before going home, I stopped by her place to say good night. She waited for me down stairs, dressed in what I think it was he pajamas. I kissed her on the cheek while holding her waist with my right hand. I could feel her skin. She was wearing lipstick, freshly applied. We were both acting like 14 year olds, and our hearts were beating fast. I spent 5 minutes at her place.
The next day I went back. It was Friday afternoon. I met her room mate, and we talked, then we went to her room where we talked and laughed. The whole romance was gone.
I wondered why.
The next day I told her I wanted to visit this store, and she offered to join. We had fun in the store, and then we bought wine, and we went to her place, again. She had one glass, and I had 2. Merlot.
We got dizzy and I kissed her neck and then her shoulders. I had 3 minutes left till departure. It ended like that. I left at 8:35. She was meeting a guy I happened to know...at 10PM. A date.
I haven't spoken to her ever since.
I thought about this "relationship". I guess we were both lacking the same thing: affection. She has always been appreciated for her body and guys have tried to take advantage of her, and I have been away for 6 months... Holding a woman in my arms, smelling her skin, those animal like games we play....I missed all that.
While seeing her, I thought of an interesting project. I started it and tried to upload it on the blog but things didn't work out.
It's a video of me, eating. It lasts for about 5 minutes. I want to make a series of videos of me, eating, in different states of mind.
While I was dizzy one night, I came up with another idea.. I want to make sculptures of frames coming out of the wall, covered with canvases... It would all be about form... I have this image in my head. I will try to make it visual.. soon...
In the end, I share with you 2 portraits I took last week of these two florists that let me take photos of them.
I don't know the first one's name but I know the second's: Mirel. His yahoo id is passiondemirel. His name must be Mirel, right? Don't laugh. I really tried to get what's human out of these portraits, and not the irony.
A plus.
I have been spending the last few days feeling.
It started with a girl, how else, and now with a bit of rum an Pepsi.
Rucsandra is two years older than me. We met, for the first time in 8 years in Carrefour. I was buying celery and tomato juice with Oana. She recognized me right away, even though I had been growing this long beard and, I believe, changed a lot. She was friendly, as always. A month later I sent her a message, and the next day we met. As always, she was friendly. We had hot chocolate and we talked about penises and vagina, amongst others. We both new this was going somewhere but it was interesting that things were moving fast. The next day she invited me over and proposed that I spend the night at her place. The next Friday night, that is..
I accepted, though, two nights before that Friday, I told her that I cannot sleep with her in the same bad, or in the same apartment. I told her that we're obviously physically attracted to each other and that I don't think it would be appropriate to have sex. I still don't know why I decided not to sleep with her. Now that I think about, it must be the fact that she is taller than me, and older, and has slept with many guys and the fact that I still care about Alexandra, and she wouldn't raise to my expectations. That kind of mix. Plus, I know my penis wouldn't raise to her expectations.
Besides that, I was doing pretty well. She likes me, and does something I love women for: she acts like a woman. She knows I'm the one with the penis and not her age, or her height. She acts like a spoiled kid, and us men, love that. I do. More than others.
One night, before going home, I stopped by her place to say good night. She waited for me down stairs, dressed in what I think it was he pajamas. I kissed her on the cheek while holding her waist with my right hand. I could feel her skin. She was wearing lipstick, freshly applied. We were both acting like 14 year olds, and our hearts were beating fast. I spent 5 minutes at her place.
The next day I went back. It was Friday afternoon. I met her room mate, and we talked, then we went to her room where we talked and laughed. The whole romance was gone.
I wondered why.
The next day I told her I wanted to visit this store, and she offered to join. We had fun in the store, and then we bought wine, and we went to her place, again. She had one glass, and I had 2. Merlot.
We got dizzy and I kissed her neck and then her shoulders. I had 3 minutes left till departure. It ended like that. I left at 8:35. She was meeting a guy I happened to know...at 10PM. A date.
I haven't spoken to her ever since.
I thought about this "relationship". I guess we were both lacking the same thing: affection. She has always been appreciated for her body and guys have tried to take advantage of her, and I have been away for 6 months... Holding a woman in my arms, smelling her skin, those animal like games we play....I missed all that.
While seeing her, I thought of an interesting project. I started it and tried to upload it on the blog but things didn't work out.
It's a video of me, eating. It lasts for about 5 minutes. I want to make a series of videos of me, eating, in different states of mind.
While I was dizzy one night, I came up with another idea.. I want to make sculptures of frames coming out of the wall, covered with canvases... It would all be about form... I have this image in my head. I will try to make it visual.. soon...
In the end, I share with you 2 portraits I took last week of these two florists that let me take photos of them.
I don't know the first one's name but I know the second's: Mirel. His yahoo id is passiondemirel. His name must be Mirel, right? Don't laugh. I really tried to get what's human out of these portraits, and not the irony.
A plus.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Reply for Oana's post
Great stuff, Oana.
I must tell you, the three languages thing is a bit overwhelming for me...because I know you don't really use three languages when you speak. But I can see why Eric would tell you to write in 3 languages. He knows you in another way. And I'll stop here.
Gabrielle. Ayyy. So...now you like her less? :D
And I'll stop here. (Fuck her shoes - sorry that had to be said)
Photography.
Here's one thing about Romania. I noticed that ALL Romanians who become famous artists deal with the notion of "identity". What do you know... have we seen that elsewhere too?
The difference is that they deal with a Macro notion of Identity, as I like to call it. You, for example have dealt wit Micro Identity. That is, with your own personality and character. You have somehow presented the world the story from a given point, not mentioning the past. It is there however included, otherwise you - the way you are, would not be.
Famous Romanian artists mention the past. In fact, they mention it so much, that the notion of Micro Identity no longer exists.
Their work is all about communism.
Their work is not a subtle reference to it.
It is about "Understanding communism".
My favorite gypsy, Giani, a guy that used to post video clips on Youtube, called himself "Mondialu". In his stupidity, he subconsciously understood that after being part of different cultures and assimilating bits and parts of cultures, one becomes universal.
I will soon apply for a second passport. We both have double citizenship, Oana. But what will I be, holding two passports, one mentioning that I am Canadian, the other - Romanian.
What is marriage? Do you love a woman more when you hold a certificate? When you get married?
And still, I wait to get married one day..I want her to know that I am her property and that she is mine.
With citizenship it's different. I don't desire any of them as long as I can live in Canada.(funny?) In fact, I just want to live in a civilized country. I don't care if it's Canada or a European country. I don't care if Canadians consider me a foreigner. I don't care if Romanians consider me a foreigner.
Identity is not about where you live. Yes this influences you and your frame of thought.
But trying to find a definition for being Canadian or Romanian makes me think that once you step out of that definition you no longer are.
This is why, I believe, you don't feel you are Quebecois, and you might not feel Romanian, and are looking for what would make you feel Canadian. But you won't fit that definition. And I really wonder who does, and if they do, what the definition is.
It is the problem of Macro Identity.
Your studio project was about you. It obviously included elements of the culture you live in but they were subtly included in the project. It was a good concept.
At the same time, taking photos of other people, in a commercial way, sort of references again that idea of "macro" - because it generalizes, or objectifies. When a photographer takes a photo of someone and creates that perfect environment where the communication between the two results into a photograph that really talks about the person portrayed - then, we are again dealing with "micro". Meaning no other photograph will express the same thing.
I'm not sure why I'm mentioning these, to be honest. Maybe to raise questions?
The thing you mention about shapes and colors is interesting. However, I do not entirely agree with you on certain aspects.
Your last project was not about "blotches of colors", unless everything that surrounds us and all art is about blotches of colors. Otherwise your project was not about that. And if it became that, then there either was an error on the way, or your project is really complex and perfect. Both might be accurate, though I believe that the best projects have one interpretation.
Oana, I am not sure you are that blind to make a project about shapes. And if you want to make a project about shapes and patterns, then it is not because of your sight, but because emotionally, you get more from blurry patterns and blotches of colors.
Here's the thing. Vytautas can make a project about being blind. That is because he has no choice. But you do. You can use the glasses you rarely wear and make a project that a different focus. You, however, choose never to wear them. You might enjoy the world that way. It's like me, wearing glasses to distort my sight. If I choose to do so, the decision is emotional. Vytautas' aesthetic would be imposed by his disability and not by his emotions.
Again, I don't know why I'm telling you all these since you are probably aware of them.
Here's one suggestion I also got from a teacher a few years ago. Stop thinking and shoot whatever you feel and however you feel.
You can also shoot with a project in mind, but don't neglect your emotions. YOU are not the one to do so.
I loved it when you called her WHORE. :D
I must tell you, the three languages thing is a bit overwhelming for me...because I know you don't really use three languages when you speak. But I can see why Eric would tell you to write in 3 languages. He knows you in another way. And I'll stop here.
Gabrielle. Ayyy. So...now you like her less? :D
And I'll stop here. (Fuck her shoes - sorry that had to be said)
Photography.
Here's one thing about Romania. I noticed that ALL Romanians who become famous artists deal with the notion of "identity". What do you know... have we seen that elsewhere too?
The difference is that they deal with a Macro notion of Identity, as I like to call it. You, for example have dealt wit Micro Identity. That is, with your own personality and character. You have somehow presented the world the story from a given point, not mentioning the past. It is there however included, otherwise you - the way you are, would not be.
Famous Romanian artists mention the past. In fact, they mention it so much, that the notion of Micro Identity no longer exists.
Their work is all about communism.
Their work is not a subtle reference to it.
It is about "Understanding communism".
My favorite gypsy, Giani, a guy that used to post video clips on Youtube, called himself "Mondialu". In his stupidity, he subconsciously understood that after being part of different cultures and assimilating bits and parts of cultures, one becomes universal.
I will soon apply for a second passport. We both have double citizenship, Oana. But what will I be, holding two passports, one mentioning that I am Canadian, the other - Romanian.
What is marriage? Do you love a woman more when you hold a certificate? When you get married?
And still, I wait to get married one day..I want her to know that I am her property and that she is mine.
With citizenship it's different. I don't desire any of them as long as I can live in Canada.(funny?) In fact, I just want to live in a civilized country. I don't care if it's Canada or a European country. I don't care if Canadians consider me a foreigner. I don't care if Romanians consider me a foreigner.
Identity is not about where you live. Yes this influences you and your frame of thought.
But trying to find a definition for being Canadian or Romanian makes me think that once you step out of that definition you no longer are.
This is why, I believe, you don't feel you are Quebecois, and you might not feel Romanian, and are looking for what would make you feel Canadian. But you won't fit that definition. And I really wonder who does, and if they do, what the definition is.
It is the problem of Macro Identity.
Your studio project was about you. It obviously included elements of the culture you live in but they were subtly included in the project. It was a good concept.
At the same time, taking photos of other people, in a commercial way, sort of references again that idea of "macro" - because it generalizes, or objectifies. When a photographer takes a photo of someone and creates that perfect environment where the communication between the two results into a photograph that really talks about the person portrayed - then, we are again dealing with "micro". Meaning no other photograph will express the same thing.
I'm not sure why I'm mentioning these, to be honest. Maybe to raise questions?
The thing you mention about shapes and colors is interesting. However, I do not entirely agree with you on certain aspects.
Your last project was not about "blotches of colors", unless everything that surrounds us and all art is about blotches of colors. Otherwise your project was not about that. And if it became that, then there either was an error on the way, or your project is really complex and perfect. Both might be accurate, though I believe that the best projects have one interpretation.
Oana, I am not sure you are that blind to make a project about shapes. And if you want to make a project about shapes and patterns, then it is not because of your sight, but because emotionally, you get more from blurry patterns and blotches of colors.
Here's the thing. Vytautas can make a project about being blind. That is because he has no choice. But you do. You can use the glasses you rarely wear and make a project that a different focus. You, however, choose never to wear them. You might enjoy the world that way. It's like me, wearing glasses to distort my sight. If I choose to do so, the decision is emotional. Vytautas' aesthetic would be imposed by his disability and not by his emotions.
Again, I don't know why I'm telling you all these since you are probably aware of them.
Here's one suggestion I also got from a teacher a few years ago. Stop thinking and shoot whatever you feel and however you feel.
You can also shoot with a project in mind, but don't neglect your emotions. YOU are not the one to do so.
I loved it when you called her WHORE. :D
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
I had been thinking of donating blood for some time, but I didn't feel the necessary empathy towards those who really need it, and so, I never donated blood.
Something made me do it this time, and no, it wasn't generosity nor empathy, nor anything noble.
I had unprotected sex with one of my best friends. And I know she is perfectly healthy but we don't know anything about me. When you donate blood, they take 40ml of the whole quantity and do blood tests. In one week, you find out if everything is fine or not. I did it because I did not want to pay for blood tests. Yes, that low.
Oana donates blood every year, and so, she took me to this place where I could do it too. She also does it to get checked, although, I believe she wouldn't pay if she only wanted to do blood tests.
The hospital is an old building constructed - well - during the communist era and you have the feeling that you enter the past.
Remember those commercials in Montreal, where middle to upper middle class people invite you to donate blood?
In Romania to poorer ones are the only ones. Why? because you get $20 every time you donate. I didn't know that until I got to the hospital and saw a long waiting line. Oana told me they also get a day off from work and discount on public transportation.
The majority of people were poor. Many were gypsies and none were upper middle class. They weren't treated with much respect. There were entire families waiting in line. Some were stressed and were making jokes about it. There were people from the country side, or so they looked, with scarfs of their faces, not knowing who to talk to and what to ask for. Being ditched around as if their blood wasn't as valuable.
I had to present an identity card, and I gave them my passport. They were nice to me. They called me "sir". I spoke to a doctor and ask her for permission to take photographs. She told me she would call me in a week's time and gave me her business card. I told her I would call back. She was gentle with me.
The place is beautiful. Doctors keep many dusty plants in their offices. No window blinds, and the sun bursts into the rooms. It is quiet. The employees complain, whispering to one another. The trash bins are full of cotton filled with blood.
'Next'
Here's a peaceful video
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Despre Lucian
Te auzeam spunand, draga prietene, cand vorbeam de filmul pe care ma chinui sa mi-l inteleg, "ce are Lucian ...de facem un film despre el..?"
Spun "te auzeam spunand", pentru ca nu reuseam cu adevarat sa inteleg ce vroiai sa spui. Si a ramas in mintea mea intrebarea asta f mult timp.
Uneori gaseam argumente... Pe unele le-am scris... Pe zi ce trecea imi dadeam seama ca ma indepartam mai mult de intrebarea ta..
Intr-o zi m-a lovit: Nu, nu am gasit raspunsul, ci am inteles intrebarea.
Uitandu-ma si cautand sa vad si sa inteleg arta romanilor, mi-am dat seama ca majoritatea se lupta cu problemele identitatii. Chiar si cand am vorbit cu Dan Popescu, am observat ca fotografiile care lui i se pareau cele mai bune, erau de fapt unele pe care in Canada le consideram, impreuna cu profesorii, slabute. De ce il interesau pe el? Pentru ca erau intr-un fel legate de identitatea romaneasca. Canadienii au trecut de mult, ca si Americanii, de identitatea nationala. Ei au ajuns la a studiul identitatii personale. Noi inca nu am reusit sa ne desprindem de nationalism. La fel ca si chinezii, de altfel, a caror arta este similara cu a noastra, dupa parerea mea. Arta contemporana a vestului reuseste sa se apropie mai mult de om. Fara sa imi dau seama, Lucian al meu era inca un personaj cu o macro-identitate. Vedeam un roman in el, si nu un om.
De cand am ajuns in Romania incerc sa ma apropii din ce in ce mai mult de oameni, sa vad ce au bun in ei, si nu ceea ce e romanesc.
Spun "te auzeam spunand", pentru ca nu reuseam cu adevarat sa inteleg ce vroiai sa spui. Si a ramas in mintea mea intrebarea asta f mult timp.
Uneori gaseam argumente... Pe unele le-am scris... Pe zi ce trecea imi dadeam seama ca ma indepartam mai mult de intrebarea ta..
Intr-o zi m-a lovit: Nu, nu am gasit raspunsul, ci am inteles intrebarea.
Uitandu-ma si cautand sa vad si sa inteleg arta romanilor, mi-am dat seama ca majoritatea se lupta cu problemele identitatii. Chiar si cand am vorbit cu Dan Popescu, am observat ca fotografiile care lui i se pareau cele mai bune, erau de fapt unele pe care in Canada le consideram, impreuna cu profesorii, slabute. De ce il interesau pe el? Pentru ca erau intr-un fel legate de identitatea romaneasca. Canadienii au trecut de mult, ca si Americanii, de identitatea nationala. Ei au ajuns la a studiul identitatii personale. Noi inca nu am reusit sa ne desprindem de nationalism. La fel ca si chinezii, de altfel, a caror arta este similara cu a noastra, dupa parerea mea. Arta contemporana a vestului reuseste sa se apropie mai mult de om. Fara sa imi dau seama, Lucian al meu era inca un personaj cu o macro-identitate. Vedeam un roman in el, si nu un om.
De cand am ajuns in Romania incerc sa ma apropii din ce in ce mai mult de oameni, sa vad ce au bun in ei, si nu ceea ce e romanesc.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
My cousin is one of my favorite models. He can easily disconnect when I point the camera towards him. I like to think that it's our relationship that makes this possible. He can switch from laughing to being genuine in a second. I like him a lot. He is honest and humble. We don't keep in contact when I'm in Canada, but every time I come back, we act as if we haven't seen each other in a few days. He never asked me why I haven't written or called.
He is happy to see me. He knows I love him. And I know he loves me too. When this happens, people don't need words to reinforce their feelings.
When I think of Pascani I feel something warm in my heart. For a second, I asked myself how I'd feel if my cousin and my grandmother weren't there. Boy, would I ever go there anymore?
I always say: "I will visit Pascani." But what I actually mean is I will visit my cousin and my grandmother.
So the question is, am I associating Pascani with these two special people, or is it the other way around?
It might not even be important. I guess that what I'm trying to say is that, the same way a photograph communicates something different when juxtaposed to another image or object, our feelings for people depend on what we connect them with.
Monday, December 6, 2010
First Day in Pascani
I took grandma by surprise with my arrival. I had told her that I'd arrive the next day. But I showed up at about 3pm at her door. I rang the bell. No answer. I rang the second bell (she has two bells). No answer. There were two possible scenarios: either she was away, either she wouldn't answer.
She was at home. But since she wasn't expecting any guests, she wouldn't open. After ringing the bells a few times, I put my year by the door to see if she was home or not. Complete silence. I guess she was doing the same thing. After ringing a few more times I gave up and let her know who it was. She opened right away.
The first thing she told me was that she couldn't recognize my face due to my beard.
It is very difficult to find Bunata off guard. Due to her professional background, she is always ready and prepared for anything. I have tried, in the past, to gather genuine information from her. About her past, about the communist era, about people... Not once has she removed that patriotic mask. It has always created a sort of distance between us.
That day though, things seemed a bit different. It wasn't much, but it meant a lot to me:
On the stove, there was a cup of milk covered with a tin cap. Saved for later.
On the table there were two different coffee plates. One of them was filled with half a tomato, two slices of red pepper, one small piece of marinated fish, and one cooked mushroom. On the second plate there were two sarmale. She had probably just finished cooking them. The air was hot and humid and the windows were steamy. It was warm and it smelled really good. Her plates were all set up in the corner of the table, as if the rest of the table was reserved for someone else.
Although she's very energetic, there has always been a sense of peacefulness and silence in her household. I felt it more this time, the moment I entered her apartment.
As always, first things first: I was served food. As always, more than needed.
"Take another stuffed cabbage! Please! Take two! Please! You have to take an even number for good luck!" I take two. "Take four!" She laughs disappointed.
Later in the evening, I looked at old photographs of my family. I found the same photographs I always look at when I visit. Always hoping to discover something new. That day, I did. Or, I might have seen it in the past but had not paid attention to it. It struck me this time:
*drawing made by my sister. Flowers, house, bird, sun. On the back, the following message:
"My dearest Bunatica [granny], I miss you very much. I'd need your help. Dad and mom are fighting again. I am really sad. Dear granny, I made this drawing for you because Sunday is Martisor [holiday]. I dedicate this letter to you. All the best,
Ioana."
She was less than seven when she wrote this. My parents probably did not notice the message when they sent the letter to grandma.
I was also young when I wrote the following message:
"Mom, I thank you for giving birth to me. I'll be a good boy. Cheers to all! Bogdan"
She was at home. But since she wasn't expecting any guests, she wouldn't open. After ringing the bells a few times, I put my year by the door to see if she was home or not. Complete silence. I guess she was doing the same thing. After ringing a few more times I gave up and let her know who it was. She opened right away.
The first thing she told me was that she couldn't recognize my face due to my beard.
It is very difficult to find Bunata off guard. Due to her professional background, she is always ready and prepared for anything. I have tried, in the past, to gather genuine information from her. About her past, about the communist era, about people... Not once has she removed that patriotic mask. It has always created a sort of distance between us.
That day though, things seemed a bit different. It wasn't much, but it meant a lot to me:
On the stove, there was a cup of milk covered with a tin cap. Saved for later.
On the table there were two different coffee plates. One of them was filled with half a tomato, two slices of red pepper, one small piece of marinated fish, and one cooked mushroom. On the second plate there were two sarmale. She had probably just finished cooking them. The air was hot and humid and the windows were steamy. It was warm and it smelled really good. Her plates were all set up in the corner of the table, as if the rest of the table was reserved for someone else.
Although she's very energetic, there has always been a sense of peacefulness and silence in her household. I felt it more this time, the moment I entered her apartment.
As always, first things first: I was served food. As always, more than needed.
"Take another stuffed cabbage! Please! Take two! Please! You have to take an even number for good luck!" I take two. "Take four!" She laughs disappointed.
Later in the evening, I looked at old photographs of my family. I found the same photographs I always look at when I visit. Always hoping to discover something new. That day, I did. Or, I might have seen it in the past but had not paid attention to it. It struck me this time:
*drawing made by my sister. Flowers, house, bird, sun. On the back, the following message:
"My dearest Bunatica [granny], I miss you very much. I'd need your help. Dad and mom are fighting again. I am really sad. Dear granny, I made this drawing for you because Sunday is Martisor [holiday]. I dedicate this letter to you. All the best,
Ioana."
She was less than seven when she wrote this. My parents probably did not notice the message when they sent the letter to grandma.
I was also young when I wrote the following message:
"Mom, I thank you for giving birth to me. I'll be a good boy. Cheers to all! Bogdan"
Short Journey
on November 30th i took the bus to Roman. From there, I took another bus to Pascani.
It's a 394km journey.
Bucharest-Roman
6 people in the bus. Met older man who did not agree with the fact that Romanians should be like Europeans. Men should beat their kids and wives if they wish so. Those who desire different laws should go to other countries. Nothing more to say about that.
I went to the restroom when we stopped for a break. when I tried to wash my hands I could not understand how to use the tap water. Behind me, a tall chubby thriller-looking man pressed on a pedal underneath the sink. I felt really stupid. He smiled at me arrogantly. Outside there were many people. Most of which were Romanian Roma. The old man soon explained that they were heading for Greece or Italy. He then started talking to these 2 young kids. One of them was less than 4 and the girl was about 6. The girl look really intelligent despite the family she was part of. Her father was very severe with her mother, and also threatened to slap her if she didn't obey. They kept changing seats and kids during the journey. They were coming from a small town in Moldavia and seemed really scared in the bus. The man was mentioning how mean and sneaky people from Bucharest were. He had been working there for a long time, on small contracts probably. It is very humbling and sad to see people being scared in the big city.
The little girl was looking at me through the seats, very curious and with a sort of dignity. Each time I would look at her, she would look elsewhere. After a while, she'd look back. My beard looks quite strange, I immagine?
Roman Pascani
In the bus stop there were kids returning from school (about 17ish and younger), waiting for their rides. They were heading back to their villages. They were all dirty. They were wearing cheap clothes that looked cool. Smoking. Everybody was asking everybody else for cigarettes. Guys were only giving cigarettes to girls.
Girls looked strange. I wondered what made them look that way. I was looking for the beautiful girl and couldn't find her.
After waiting for an hour, a man told me that the bus I was looking for departs from a different station. I went looking for my ride, but he came running after me telling me that my bus had actually arrived, and that I was actually waiting in the right spot. It impressed me that he came to me. That he had not shouted. He had ran to me.
The bus ride was interesting. Two old men were talking about agriculture. One of them was talking most of the time and he seemed very bright. Despite the age, he did not seem to reject capitalism. He was criticizing certain aspects, but not referencing communism. He was proposing better ways, which actually made sense. He mentioned something that interested me: Even today, after 20 years, people have not yet received their soils back from the government. Most of the Romanian land is unused. I'd like to photograph landscape. a first?
It's a 394km journey.
Bucharest-Roman
6 people in the bus. Met older man who did not agree with the fact that Romanians should be like Europeans. Men should beat their kids and wives if they wish so. Those who desire different laws should go to other countries. Nothing more to say about that.
I went to the restroom when we stopped for a break. when I tried to wash my hands I could not understand how to use the tap water. Behind me, a tall chubby thriller-looking man pressed on a pedal underneath the sink. I felt really stupid. He smiled at me arrogantly. Outside there were many people. Most of which were Romanian Roma. The old man soon explained that they were heading for Greece or Italy. He then started talking to these 2 young kids. One of them was less than 4 and the girl was about 6. The girl look really intelligent despite the family she was part of. Her father was very severe with her mother, and also threatened to slap her if she didn't obey. They kept changing seats and kids during the journey. They were coming from a small town in Moldavia and seemed really scared in the bus. The man was mentioning how mean and sneaky people from Bucharest were. He had been working there for a long time, on small contracts probably. It is very humbling and sad to see people being scared in the big city.
The little girl was looking at me through the seats, very curious and with a sort of dignity. Each time I would look at her, she would look elsewhere. After a while, she'd look back. My beard looks quite strange, I immagine?
Roman Pascani
In the bus stop there were kids returning from school (about 17ish and younger), waiting for their rides. They were heading back to their villages. They were all dirty. They were wearing cheap clothes that looked cool. Smoking. Everybody was asking everybody else for cigarettes. Guys were only giving cigarettes to girls.
Girls looked strange. I wondered what made them look that way. I was looking for the beautiful girl and couldn't find her.
After waiting for an hour, a man told me that the bus I was looking for departs from a different station. I went looking for my ride, but he came running after me telling me that my bus had actually arrived, and that I was actually waiting in the right spot. It impressed me that he came to me. That he had not shouted. He had ran to me.
The bus ride was interesting. Two old men were talking about agriculture. One of them was talking most of the time and he seemed very bright. Despite the age, he did not seem to reject capitalism. He was criticizing certain aspects, but not referencing communism. He was proposing better ways, which actually made sense. He mentioned something that interested me: Even today, after 20 years, people have not yet received their soils back from the government. Most of the Romanian land is unused. I'd like to photograph landscape. a first?
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