My father always wanted a boy. He made me feel this fully, so, for his sake I learned how to walk on every fence, no matter how narrow, how to play football and climb trees. My feet and elbows were covered with bruises. One day, when I could not stop the blood from coming out of the wound I had made under my knee, my grandmother told me, hoping to make a respectable young lady out of me:
– One day, you will drain all your blood and maybe that’s when you will stop.
My vision went white, thinking about how my behavior put my life in danger. I wanted to live as much as possible, I had a wish to do everything, but my life expectancy dropped from how much blood I had already lost. I needed more time to make my father proud of me (before I realized he loved me, in his own way, even if he did not show it, years had passed, he was no more and I already started suffering by seeking approval from other men in my life). I was almost cured from acting boyishly, when I heared mom reading from a women’s magazine that blackcurrant is the only fruit that helps regenerate one’s blood. That was the secret:
– If I eat blackcurrant, I won’t die anymore!
In Ceausescu’s time, at a mental hospital they would squeeze in handicapped people as well, people in wheelchairs. My aunt took me with her to visit a friend that worked there. Because she wore a skirt, we were followed the whole time by a crazy person shouting:
– She got feet! Two of ‘em!
– I remember my father used to drink beer during long roadtrips. And I, too scared to tell him ‘Daddy, please let that one go’, I would drink it myself. I would get sick, because I was little, but this is how I would make him drink less. Still, he never had one accident. They did not have so many cars, like they do today.
^ The picture is from Mihaela Nitulescu’s portfolio, see more on her facebook.