A lonely soul
This is my grandmother, a divided soul between two worlds, torn by her two sons who left to find purpose in their lives. My uncle was the first to leave the family nest. Back then, he was rebellious and couldn’t bear the communist regime—it was too much of a burden for him. After several unsuccessful attempts, he finally managed to cross the Danube into the former Yugoslavia in 1978, and from there, he went straight to Australia.
My father remained in the parental home for a while, but after he got to know my mother, he moved to Timisoara, a city in the west of Romania. A big part of my childhood was spent in my grandmother’s village, Susca, there I had the freedom to explore a free playground, wild, untouched by the struggle of a confused society that tried desperately to find its identity. Sometimes I helped my grandma in the field work, this didn’t bring me any joy, but it was a big bonus for me, as I realized much later. This is how I am remembered by my grandma and probably this is why my relationship with her became so special, I’ve always felt her close to my soul. She is 90 years old now and barely moves around, but I’m thankful that her clear mind is still there. When I’m able to visit her, we speak about her past, about the people that influenced her life and I always try to keep her updated with the news from the political world. The thing that caught my attention was the way she succeeded in managing the pain of parting with her children, living with the hope that she would see them one day together. Her dream was fulfilled in 1990, right after the Romanian revolution in 1989. It was a touching moment, I was too little, only 9 years old, and I couldn’t realize the importance of that instant. Lately, I’ve started to gather more and more photographic material about my grandmother’s universe, whose silence and simplicity continue to follow me.