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A Mother and Son's Journey
A story inspired by real events and places of a Romanian boy who takes his mother's hand and follows her on a journey from the ruins of their home in 1970s Romania to the dream of a new life in Barcelona.
Alex is ten years old when the Vrancea earthquake reduces his home to rubble, taking with it his father and his best friend. Suddenly, it is only him and his mother, Eva, left in the ruins.
With Ceaușescu tightening his grip on a fearful nation, they take refuge at his grandparents' home in the countryside. Alex struggles to adapt to rural life, while Eva, in the midst of uncertainty about their future, is secretly plotting their escape.
The things you can't pack when you leave your country
When I first set foot in London, almost twenty years ago, I didn't carry anything but a medium-sized trolley I had bought from a supermarket. I remember it well because it was made of a light fabric, it was pink with a butterfly pattern on the right side, and had a simple zipper. That's it, no lock, no secret code! I had hardly any clothes with me because I didn't own many at that time, nor as much skincare as I have now.
It was a piece of luggage I carried with me from London to Romania, several trips back and forth, from London to Italy, from Italy back to Romania, from Romania to Sweden, from Sweden to Romania and back. That was its last trip because travelling with luggage that closes only with a zipper made it easy to open and steal from. All those years, that luggage carried items that, for the most part, were nothing but replaceable.
But what about the sound of your own language that seems so familiar? We don't appreciate it until we are faced with the struggle of learning a new language, a new accent. What about the taste of food that we grew up with? The food that formed our daily life, food we crave in certain moments, food that reminds us of dear people.
There was the smell of coffee brewing in the ibric, the Romanian pot we used to prepare it, such a strong scent you could almost taste the bitter edge of it and the strength of the coffee beans themselves in the air. Like flowers pressed between the pages of a book, the soap my mother placed amongst the bedsheets gave them a certain scent for when I laid my head on the pillow at night. And the warm white bread you couldn't resist, not even making it home before biting into its corner.
I could go on and on. While my luggage changed and my wardrobe improved, I still left behind the most irreplaceable things in life: the memories, the feelings, the sensations that made me who I am today. Even now, abroad.
What are the "items" that you couldn't pack when you left your home country?
Because I have recently been studying bees and, as a matter of fact, have brought a jar of honey from my uncle back in Romania, I thought I would share a short paragraph from my book related to this with you. It was Alex, the ten-year-old boy, whose first taste of honey in Barcelona made him melancholic.
"Golden memories of my home country rushed back to me as the familiar sweetness of honey from the first spoon entered my mouth. Within an instant, I felt the urge to run through the flower-filled meadows of Izvoarele, to feel the warm sun on my skin, and to breathe the fresh air of the forests." – Everything Worth Counting
