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When I started this blog I was in a mood of talking to myself in a loud voice. The mood had passed away with the onset of my health issues and then my blog died.
I had so many things in my mind when I started this blog here - all those stories that needed to be glyphed in order to be re-evaluated, reassessed and and properly weighted by a later re-reading.
Memories and facts loom in our heads for years in a more or less fuzzy form. Every now and then they need reviewing - that comes in the form of trivial stories exchanged with other people at various gatherings or, they take a graphic (almost palpable) form in writing.
Through body language and dialog in the case of conversation, or through re-reading after a prescribed amount of time, our memories and facts get validation, taking shape and coming into existence from their more vague incipience in our minds.
I am reading now Herta Muller's books - I've spent quite some money on them because if before she became the Nobel Prize winner for Literature in 2009, nobody bothered really talking about her much or reading her outside of Germany - whilst now, all of a sudden they thought of making a good buck out of her recent fame and translated/edited/published her in a hurry at a very high price.
Herta Muller put me to shame - because she writes about Nesblandia and ironically she has identical memories about certain corners of that transcendental space like myself.
The similitude between our life made me remember my blog.
The coincidences go so far between Herta Muller and I, that here and there it seems like we were living each-other life at certain points in time.
I have spent some years in Nesblandian villages too as a child and felt those fears just the same. I've eaten the same foods and judged the same people. My father was some sort of a Nazi as well. I lived under a regime of terror all my best years, also. In fact, we lived our childhoods so close to each other and exactly at the same time (being born the same year) that she could be me and I could be her - minus the Nobel.
We might write and speak in different languages right now, but that is irrelevant.
Herta Muller needed to get out of her system those facts and those memories and she wrote a blog in a book because she needed to reassess and re-evaluate, and properly weight her facts and memories submitting them to further public reading.
My ambitions do not go public yet - but I need to pretend to speak through knitted letters that then flow into words - to an audience, just because speech, in its oral or graphic form has been created for the sole purpose of communication.
I might speak in a void, the same way I think, but that is irrelevant as well, as long as I am using the proper tools of communication.
Only this way I can re-evaluate, reassess and and properly weight by a later re-reading, my own/Herta's life.
.................Pe mama am revazut-o la varsta de 7 ani si jumatate, cand am inceput clasa 1, tocmai fusese eliberata. Asta a fost motivul pt care am inceput scoala atat de tarziu - din temnita maica-mea i-a scris bunicii sa nu ma dea la scoala la Vii, ci sa astepte pana o elibereaza pe ea, fiindca nu voia sa incep scoala la tzara.
ReplyDeleteTermenul mamei a fost redus pt faptul ca a muncit in puscarie la daracit lana, asa ca a fost "gratiata" "in interesul copilului minor" dupa cum scria in actul ei de eliberare.
Am continuat sa traiesc in Banat pana la 14 ani, la cativa km de Herta exact aceeasi viata ca si Herta. Si Caransebesul era un sat - doar ca mai mare...Fiindca tata era condamnat politic, mama nu a avut voie sa ocupe un serviciu dupa eliberarea ei decat daca a semnat un act de divortz - care i-a fost pus sub nas de catre autoritati cu sau fara voia/entuziasmul ei.
L-a semnat si asa a fost "reabilitata" fara drept de vot pt nu mai stiu cati ani.
In urma reabilitarii, i s-a permis sa lucreze intr-o fabrica - desi ea era contabila de meserie, nu a avut voie sa ocupe un post de functionar cred ca aproximativ 7 ani.
Cand in final a avut voie, ne-am mutat inapoi in Ardeal, unde erau toti prietenii si familia ei.
Pe mine la 9 ani, desi eram "premianta" nu m-au facut pioniera - asa ca am plans de mi-au sarit ochii - ce stiam eu la varsta aia...? Voiam sa fu pioniera, ca la scoala toti copii care invatau bine era pionieri, nu...?
Am castigat in clasa a 5-a un premiu la un festival de arta pt copii organizat la Venetia - rasplata ar fi fost sa fie 3 saptamani in tanara internationala. A fost trimisa fiica directoarei scolii in locul meu fiindca mamei i s-a spus ca eu "nu corespundeam politic".
Multe nu stii tu despre noi si a fost mai bine ca nu ai stiut. Tu aveai prietni periculosi pt noi - daca e sa fim sinceri. Ca Doina de ex, sau Festila sau...etc.
Ce crezi, ca pe timpul comunistilor astea erau chestii cu care sa te lauzi?
Le tineai sub tacere, era singurul mod in care lumea te accepta.
Maicamea n-a spus niciodata cuiva la serviciu ca a fost arestata.
Dar eu dupa ce am dat admitere la Arta si nu am intrat, am incercat la Drept.
Fantezii!!
Imi trebuia o recomandare de la UTC. M-au chemat acolo si mi-au spus sa nu uit din ce familie ma trag si m-au intrebat cum de-am avut tupeul sa si consider alternativa cu Dreptul, eu, o persona cu asemenea oi negre in familie...
Poate voi nu ati fost minoritati - noi in schimb, am fost.
Tata a fost condamnat la 15 ani de gulag - Ceausescu l-a amnestiat in 1965. Am copia documentelor aici la mine - vrei sa-ti scanez unul? Tata mi le-a dat in lagar in Austria in 1986 cand am fugit noi - cu 1 an inainte de Herta Muller...
Tata a fost arestat la Caransebes, transferat la Canal, apoi la Vacaresti, apoi la Gherla si apoi la Aiud (acolo am fost eu cu mama la el la vorbitor si am avut voie sa-i ducem struguri. Nu mancase struguri din 1957 - era acum 1964).
Eu eram inca mica si Colonelul Craciun, un tip masiv si impozant, directorul inchisorii Aiud ne-a chemat la el in birou fiindca a vrut sa ma cunoasca pe mine - asa a zis (?!!) de ce - n-aveam idee.
Mi-a cerut sa-i spun o poezie - i-am spus una foarte patriotica pe care o invatasem la scoala si cu care castigasem un concurs pe regiunea Banat. Eram in clasa a 4-a si ma dadusera astia la radio - cred ca pusesera detaliul in dosarul tatei - altfel nu cred ca acel colonel Craciun ar fi avut de unde sti ca eu am castigat acel concurs. Dar stia.
Asa ceva Pansy, nu se uita.
Nesblandia mea si Nesblandia ta sunt doua tari diferite draga...
Tu la vremea aia nici nu stiai ca Nesblandia mea exista.
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