Keeping my enthusiasm

What I know now is that the pack of cigarettes is empty. I press it with my index finger and realize the problem that occurred during my morning coffee. Then I sit on the coach thinking about the present and try to sort out this incident. Furthermore I take a sip from the cup and the black liquid goes down my throat cold as ice. I don’t remember how much time passed since the sound of boiling water stopped. It all went away too fast. The cigarettes, my cup of coffee, days, weeks, this year, all together rolled in one big smoking paper that burned in a blink.

Should I look back now and analyze my past? Should I use a magnifier and reflect on everything that happened throughout this year in Denmark?  What’s the use of all of this when I survived without the people I love and miss? I’ve found new people now. Some of them went directly to my heart some of them went with me in bars and pubs, some smoked my words and sang my songs and some ignored my sayings. But I don’t blame anyone. This year I was the foreigner, the udlænding. Sometimes it felt weird being the only one that doesn’t know what the fuck is the conversation about. But as time passed I’ve learned to tolerate it and then actually to understand 30-40%. We learn.

Now I sit here on the fjord and listen to Danish bands and eat Danish food and drink Danish beer. I’ve adapted. In my first six-seven months even though I haven’t showed it, I was missing my Stejar, my ăîâșț, my Bucharest, my Roman, my Romania, the mountains, the Black Sea, my life. But I’ve learned not to miss anymore. I blocked the images from the past that were coming in the most depressing moments. Substitutes were required in the beginning. I saw my friends in people that I’ve meet. On the verge of collapsing in motionless afternoons and crying moods, I stepped outside of my apartment. And there it was the sky. The beautiful Danish sky saved me.           

Don’t get me wrong I miss all of them. All the people I cared for but it’s hard to miss someone continuously. That’s why I have a special place for them. It’s like a treasure chest waiting to be opened on my return home.

One year has passed and I’m still here. Almost one year of changing moods like socks. Danish weather suited my spirit. As it rained I sat down by the window with my cigarettes and my coffee. I ate some cake also. Yes, now I eat sweets sometimes. I walk through parks when the sun warms my body and relaxes my spirit. I’ve learned to enjoy the simple things. I don’t have that feeling of “I don’t have time” anymore. When I was in Bucharest I was in a hurry. Didn’t smell the roses as I supposed to, didn’t have time. But now I have it. And it’s the same time only with a different fragrance.

The summer came around the place unnoticed. One day Mihai arrived. He was on foot. The first friend to visit me and he walked from England doing that. At first I was quiet. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. The memories of a hot summer in Bucharest popped in my head. 2 liters Stejar and discussions in the late night, Argentin, Răzvan with his wounded knee, all gushed in my mind. Everything was so real, so real that for a couple of weeks I floated between past and present. Sometimes I stopped to touch reality with my trembling fingers just to make sure that it wasn’t a dream. We were here, me and Mihai. We danced, we laughed and we sang beautiful songs.  I knew then that it will end. That he had to go and I had to stay. June ended with my arms around people. June ended with my arms stuck in an embrace. For that I’m used to hug pillows lately, not people. I remained like that until now. With my arms opened for another friend’s embrace.

One day he walked away, continuing his journey on theworld photo tour. I thought I’ll never see him for a couple of years. But I did. Then it started to rain again.

The following weeks nature taught me a lesson. As I woke up in the morning rain poured down on the empty streets. I ride my bike daily at five O’clock. I felt frustrated at first. But as the day continued the weather got better until a beautiful sunset took place over the heavy grey clouds. I said to myself that this is life. It’s hard in the beginning, cloudy and rainy but until the end sun will shine. And then my father’s words popped from the back of my head. Keep the enthusiasm. Whatever happens try to be enthusiastic. It’s hard to do this on an empty stomach, an empty pack of cigarettes and cold coffee. Hard but not impossible. So I try to smile, even though my face is washed by rain drops and my clothes are wet and my mind is drifting for a couple of minutes to sunny Romania. I smile. I smile for my father; I smile because I know everyone I love is safely kept inside my soul and mind.

I hear stories about people back home. Some of them seem unrealistic. Some of them got married; some of them found a meaning to their existence. But should I believe it? That’s why I prefer to know nothing about no one. My imagination is my ally and my enemy. That’s why I prefer to know nothing.

I enjoy reality. And this is my reality now. I am an exile on a foreign land because I wanted that. I ran without looking back from all of the dirt that surrounded me in the mighty capital of Romania. I ran from fake and corrupt politicians, I ran from the rotten system. A lot of people judged. As if I betrayed my country. Regardless to what they say I had to keep my sanity. I still love Romania but Romania still loves me? Pointless to ask.