bleak-eastern-plains

[bleak-eastern-plains]

I remember the times when the internet was a bunch of people exploring their ideas , not a market place for garbage and monétisable extremism

I can’t even really maintain my addiction because it’s not even enjoyable anymore

[bleak-eastern-plains]

I get depressed if I don’t scroll

[bleak-eastern-plains]

[bleak-eastern-plains]

[bleak-eastern-plains]

1995

My story starts in 1995 in post-communist Romania, six years after the collapse of the Berlin Wall, four years after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

1st of January. Prices skyrocket 20 fold compared to 1994. People can barely afford basic necessities; defaults on credit become common place. The shock is too heavy. People die.

Factories close down, machines break down, the symbols of glory past are sold for scraps.

In 2023, 1 US dollar = 4.45 RON. In 1995; 1 US dollar = 2500 RON; (sevenfold rise since 1992)

One of the last symbols of communist resistance, Corneliu Coposu passes away. 100.000 people attend his funeral.

On June 22nd, Romania officially applied for EU candidacy. It would take another 12 years until Romania would be accepted in the European community. Even then, countries like the UK impose discriminatory treatments on the movement of people. Food for thought regarding Ukraine's ascension to the EU, a country destroyed by war and plagued by political corruption. The European Community was harshly skeptical of the non-soviet countries to begin with, even during times of peace and complete agreement.

Close to year end, I am born.

In the United States Ebay becomes public. The first DVD is released. In Romania, my parents count coins, trying to figure out whether to pay the loan for the TV or not. Prices for baby formula almost drive them to bankruptcy.

My mother takes one year off university to take care of newborn me. We are a one income household. My father is a junior working in the police force, a job he never wanted, but all the factories were being sold for scraps back then. Jobs are scarce. My father is a pragmatic man with a newborn baby.

My mother told me that at first we stayed at her parent's place. She couldn't get along with my grandmother about how to raise me. We moved to my aunt's apartment. I don't remember it well. I have memories of a nice Saint Nicholas' where I received a huge bag of toys from my aunt. It was full of Kinder Surprise chocolate eggs toys. For me it was heaven. I don't remember when this happened, but it would be impossible to have happened the year I was born.

Eventually we move to our own place. We live in an inter-war era bourgeois little house. We have a beautiful garden that my mom tends to. For her it's therapy. For me, it's a fairy tale. The house was split between family members. The room that connects the rest of the house to the bathroom is owned by a spiteful elderly woman. We live in the house for 10 years. She never agrees to lease the room to us. No reason is given. It doesn't matter. Everyone is feral. Freezing winter or scorching summer, we have to walk around the house to reach the bathroom. For me it's normality.

I was lucky somehow. I was the first born granddaughter in a huge family. Everyone had love to give me. Nobody had much, but they gave me everything they had. I was the symbol of the new generation. I didn't have to compete for resources, there were no other cousins. For 10 years, I was the only child. In 2005, my first cousin was born, then another, then another, then another. In total, we are five cousins. I don't have siblings. My parents couldn't afford a second child.

The collapse of the Soviet Union is a shock for the whole communist block. The inflation destroys the lives of those already impovrished. Ceaușescu's decades long crusade to pay all the external debt, although successful, meant the rise of poverty. You couldn't get your hands on enough of anything: food, clothing, light, heat; everything was rationed. Society became ferral; stealing was justified since there was no other way to support yourself and your family. This habit stayed with the people even after 1989. By 1995 people are desensitised to pain, poverty or destruction. Kindness or charity are dead. Baby me is clueless.

These times stay with me to this day. I don't understand my cousins who grew up after Romania became a part of the EU. They say it's not that bad. We live in two different countries. I became a chest preserving the trauma. I am writing to let the people know what happened, why I am the way I am, to explain to the younger generation why we left and discarded the Romanian identity. Maybe this will make space for new emotions in my heart. Maybe this will heal it, and I will forget it. Maybe one day I will not feel guilty for splurging on something I don't need for survival.