I find myself laying in the 20 years old bed, in which all of my sisters slept in their childhood. The blue walls are there to calm the anger that every adolescent has. On the table a second hand Pentium II is playing music, the computer I asked my mother for 1 year in order to learn, but used mostly for movies, music or games. With the windows wide open I can hear the children playing outside, as I used to do 6 years before. The laughter, the screams, sometimes annoying, are part of each neighborhood life from my old town, a place where children still play in front of the building, without parents fear of cars or strangers. Laying on my back, listening to Tudor Gheorghe…

I find myself on a bench in the gorgeous church of Utrecht. Tudor Gheorghe is on the scene, talking with us, story telling about parts of Romania, singing songs from those parts. The unified country is in fact an amalgam of different opinions, different ways of life, diverse singing themes. He tries to show us how old Romanian music sounds like and we are all mute. After 30 minutes of singing about parents and children leaving home, about the solitude in which our parents are left, after 30 minutes of chills and tears, he tries to make us feel better, with songs about animals, a drunk postman, a happy bride. We are there, listening, the church offers a good acoustic and there’s no need for huge speakers as in other concerts. A trip back home in 1 hour and 30 minutes. A memory to keep close until the so far September’s home country visit.

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