Hej! I am surprised that this blog is still existing.
I am sure you do not care about what have I been doing during the last 18 months (or longer).
The reason for google-ing my own blog was to let you all know that I discovered something astonishing (gly dumb): humanity still exists!

There are people among us who become angels for a second. We are living surrounded by angels. Some we know, some we shall never know, but they do exist. Just stay tunned and meet them!

More details later or never...

But the good news is that humanity still exists, that we can still be there for each other and we can still share. And that should give us all hope.

I am stubborn

I am a stubborn person. I discovered that about myself late in life. I don’t give up. I won’t give up. But this stubbornness comes with a fault:  it only concerns important things- or what I consider important. I cannot be stubborn enough to make somebody else change his mind, even if all signs show that it’s all going in the wrong direction. I am not stubborn enough to prove some employer that I am worth his shitty job. I am not stubborn enough to hold on to someone friendship. People have moments when they are… lost. I am not stubborn enough to show them again and again that I am there for them. These are faults.

But, as I said, I am a stubborn person. I was stubborn enough to breastfeed my son in spite of everyone who told me that was impossible/pointless. That I was not able to do that. In spite of my son who did not how to feed himself from my breasts. I applied a simple life rule that seemed to work: suck it or die. He is very much alive and healthy.

I was also stubborn when I left Romania. It seemed impossible at the time-forgive me for not sharing all the details. But I got where I thought I should be. Only and just because I am stubborn.

I must no decide what else I should be stubborn about. End.

Of winners and survivors

I`ve always wondered what  is the difference between a winner and a survivor. Both of them are pretty much American movie concepts. Sooner or later one comes to the conclusion that any survivor is a winner just because he/she survived some unconceivable circumstances. What if the circumstances are not spectacular and the event is just another big fat heartbreak? This is a Carry Bradshaw question and I am not her, my life is not all about sex, so let`s get serious. What if the circumstances are about living your life it was given to you or live the life you managed to pile up out of various events that came across your way? What are you then? A winner, or a survivor?

This Carry pase is getting on my nerves, so I get to the point. The point is that I visited my homeland after 8 moths and I met some old friends. And they were happy to see me and sad they could and did cry when I left them-again. One of them is a very special woman, although she has no special life. She hasn`t done anything special in her entire life. She is as normal as you can get. She takes care of her husband and dog. She has no kids although she would like to have one. She has no money, but she makes her way through life with a  salary. She has a degree in History but for the last 10 years she has been working as a club administrator. She is the one who criticize you but stands by  you.

In many (American) ways, she is my hero. Because she is a survivor and a winner. Thank you for being my friend, Mari!

Kenzo

Three days ago it was Kenzo`s birthday. He is 11 now. Quite a respectable age for a big Rottweiler. Kenzo has always been looking much younger and I really hope to have him around for a few more years. It took me a while to write this post, but somehow tonight I realized what I needed to say. I was walking him and observed his innocence. He is a dog in many ways. He sniffs, he loves snow, he cries when he is left alone in an unfamiliar environment, he wants to fight with other male dogs, he is dominant, he pees on every tree, he does not understand why he should stop when he badly wants to go to great greting other dogs… He is a dog. Just a dog, some  may say. For me, he is all I want to be. I am wondering why is so offensive to people to be called `a dog`. Dogs are wonderful creatures and my intimate belief is that they are God`s gift to people. They are here to teach us commitment, trust, love, honesty and courage. Have you ever looked in a dog`s eyes? For him, a human being is everything. Dogs don`t want to be like us, just to be  around us. They don`t need us, we need them. They are just unconditionally offering their services and their souls. Can anyone refuse such an offer? Have you ever received such an offer from a human being?

Kenzo is not my dog, actually. He came to my life `by accident`, like all the good things of my life did. He is my ex-husband`s dog, but Kenzo slept by my side from the first night he came to our house. He knew we were meant for each other. He knew he was the dog I was looking for and the friend I was lucking. I have to words to express my gratitude for everything this dog did for me. If it wasn` t for him, I would have probably got into a dangerous nervous breakdown at some point. But he was there, making me laugh everyday, reminding me that it was time to go outside and meet people and other dogs, he was there for me. When I was sad, he came next to me and waited. Kenzo is not intruding in my personal life. He is noble and discreet. He just lets me know that he is there. When I was pregnant, Kenzo listened to the sounds of my womb and played with my son even before he was born. Now, Kenzo  is Joachim’s big brother in any way. He corrects him without punishing him, he loves him and plays with him.

Kenzo  is not just a dog, Kenzo  is a person. Not half-human, as people say about dogs, but a person. Kenzo  is part of my family. He is my first born and also my master. I learnt a lot from him and I am grateful for every single day I can see him running happily in the snow- because Kenzo  loves snow. If my sins are not paid  already and I`ll have  to come back in this world, I`d very much like to be a dog. I`d like to be Kenzo,  because in my soul this is what I am: a Rottweiler. And Kenzo came to me to teach me the Rottweiler way in this world. Thank you for choosing me, Kenzo,  and happy birthday to you!

The issue of the Swedish Hej!

One of the first things you learn in Swedish is the every day Hej! Everybody is hej-ing everyone, from old to young, from children to their grandparents. This looks like a very nice socialist habit at the first glance. That, until you discover the multiple colors of Hej.

There is a friendly Hej you may occasionally hear from Swedes. This is the iiiiiiiiiii Hej, when the last vowel is raised cheerfully. It`s the Hej meaning you are welcome, we like you, if you prove to be as you seem to be, maybe we can fika (aka get a coffee and a brioche) together. That`s the maximum Hej you can get.

Then there is the neighborly Hej. This one does not a cheerful I, but a long e. Sounds more like Heeeeeeeej. What can I do, I am your educated and well-raised neighbor, it wouldn`t look good for myself not so salute you in any way, so here is your Hej but don`t dare to ever bother me. It`s a kind and distant Hej, though.

You might also get a racist-xenophobic-bored-suspicious-avoiding Hej. This one does not have any raised or cheerful vowel. It`s the pure: who the hell are you, why are you looking so different, this country is clearly going to hell Hej. Depending on your language skills, you may reply to it with one of the above-described Hej-s, but I cannot guarantee that the initial Hej you get shall ever be friendlier.

Swaiting-or waiting in Sweden

Long time ago, during my restless youth, I remember studying about different  types of languages and the connection between mentality and language. I was surprised to find out that, for instance, some African ethnic groups don`t even have a word for ‘waiting’. The reason is quite obvious:  their lifestyle does not imply waiting at any moment in their lives.

I had to come to Sweden to find out were the  concept of waiting came into being. That`s right, here, in Sweden. Swedes must have invented the idea and also gave it a name ‘vänta’. Every single thing you ask for or want to do here involves a lot of waiting. People are queuing for a visit to the doctor, for talking to a bank clerk (even if there is no other client there you still need to get a queue number), at the drugstore and so on. There are waiting lists for everything.

Almost all my fellow expats seem to be frustrated about all this waiting. I am wondering how Africans can cope with it-or maybe they just belong to some ethic groups that have already accepted waiting in  their daily routine.

The most shocking thing was to hear my 2 year old son saying his first word ever: vänta ! Then I was lost for words...

Us, those behind the Iron Curtain

I happened to talk to foreigners many times about my country’s history and to discover that sadly they were interested more in the Communist Era. I talked for hours about the dull afternoons when the power was off and I had to make my homework at a candle`s light. Later we found a petroleum lamp at my grandparents and it felt better. It was the same lamp they used during the World War Two. I told “the Westerns” how we collected beer and juice aluminum cans (something exotic, terribly rare) and use them like precious pen-holders. No need to say that none of use had ever tasted the content of those cans. We were gathering  those cans at the seaside resorts, from the garbage left by the foreign tourists who could buy them from special shops where they paid with dollars or pounds. We were not allowed to talk to foreigners or even touch foreign currency. If someone disregarded this law, long years of imprisonment for ‘high treason’ followed.
Most Romanian women hadn`t seen hygienic pads until 1990. Either baby diapers, coconut powder, or other toothpaste brand than the only two Romanian ones that existed by then, contraceptive pills and single use pens. They  were all from another planet. We didn`t know that MTV existed. So hard to understand that for my foreign friends…
But I also happened to meet other fellow East-Europeans. The first one I talked about those things was a Polish woman about my age. We were stunned to discover how similar our stories were and at some point a warm feeling of sisterhood emerged. She was like me, I was like her, we could understand what the other one was saying.
Moving to Sweden I met Lenka, a Czech. She also knew it all and we instantly became friends. She was the only one I dared to ask to borrow me some money. She was the only one who travelled across the town to bring me a hot meal when I was sick. That may be because she is a noble human being, but also because she is an ‘Easterner’ like myself.
20 years have passed since the Iron Curtain ceased to exist and we are still the ones behind it, understanding one another without words and enjoying each other`s company with a discreet complicity. As children, we`ve been through things that are hard to explain to our friends from the West. There is nothing to explain about queuing for 10 hours in harsh winter just to get a frozen chicken. Probably the only one for the whole family that month. There is nothing to explain about taking off from your month the chewing gum you chewed for hours and stick it to a clean plate, to chew it again tomorrow. You see, chewing gum was rare and precious, especially when you are a child from the East.
We are running from our sad memories  but we surprise ourselves silently looking for somebody else who could understand. We are like bats, blindly avoiding and at the same time awaiting our kin. Us, behind the Iron Curtain, stuck in our sad, secret brotherhood.