Personal tales of a city
I always had the impression that I have something to say. I do not know the specifics, to whom, for what purpose, and under which legitimacy, however the need has always existed. As if I have some internal storyteller who sleeplessly and restlessly keeps speaking loudly in my head his opinion about everything that surrounds me and about everything that could surround me. And this ‘’could’’ is very important because it consists of an eternal well of imagination which seems impossible to run dry. Whenever I find myself in a certain situation, I embrace it with the highest intensity but at the same time, just like a natural algorithm, I start imagining all the possibilities around it. Different scenarios, reactions, feelings. As time passed by, as I grew up, this sensation intensified although shadowed by more responsibilities and routine, work life and other characteristics of adulthood. Although always present in the now, lucid and fully aware of my existence, there have been moments when I felt like an observer, playing my part within the current scene but also forever watching how I was doing and projecting other dimensions or scenarios. My friends and acquaintances were accustomed to this aspect of my personality and almost every time they knew that besides the experience that we are living in the moment, sooner or later I will come up with a story, a rhetorical question, an explanation or an alternative, always asking ‘but what if…’. They seemed to enjoy my little tales, whether they were a full result of my imagination or a narrative of an older memory, a funny story or a moment of my life, and thus, encouraged me to pursue somehow my apparent inclination for storytelling. Besides, we spend so much of our lives not saying the things we want to say, the stories we would like to share, and what comfort can be created empathising with a line read on the bus on a stressful Monday morning. Sincere conversations with a stranger, naked consciences sharing adventures, different senses of reality, perspectives and so on, these have the power to make us feel alive. So here I am: in front of my computer, starting this virtual adventure, and hoping to be able to bring some joy to you, even an inner smile.
I want to start with a sequence of some tales and current experiences of my new life in Sibiu. A cup of Sibiu refers to some moments that I want to share with you during morning tea or coffee, these could be sometimes filled with useful information about where to eat, what to visit and other activities, other times just personal stories either funny, retrospective or simply empathising. If you like my stories or have any suggestions, comments, ideas and so on feel free to share them with me.
On another note, I will soon be a certified guide, so in case you are visiting or planning to visit Sibiu, drop me a line and I can provide you some useful information or actually be your guide if needed.
P.S. Please excuse my writing. I am not a native English speaker but I want to think that I strive to avoid mistakes and in case you notice some, your feedback is the most welcomed!
Being raised in a multicultural small town in eastern Transylvania I can easily be characterised by what some authors called a cross-cultural kid, or a TCK (third culture kid). In my perspective it has been a neither/nor psychological world because I was not able to fit in in any of the categories or groups that were part of my life. But before going deeply into presenting the blessings and the curses of growing up multiculturally, I will start by describing some key elements of my childhood.
When I was three years old I had my first interaction with an unfamiliar world, at kindergarden. I was the only kid who spoke Romanian in a class of Hungarians. You can imagine that it wasn’t easy to find play buddies in such circumstances, however, I tried and my struggle has been rewarded in time. This context helped me develop a strong desire for understanding and being understood since I realised it was a key component of communication, of playing and being able to create shared experiences with the one in front of me. Before going too deeply into the description of what this meant, I should say that I followed the path of ‘understanding’, my entire existence, developing a passion for foreign languages and being fascinated by cultures. This led me to leaving my hometown in order to go to college and since then my life has consisted of a series of moving around. After the first year of college spent in Bucharest I moved to Budapest for an internship. In my second year of studies I spent a semester in the ‘eternal city’, Rome. Afterwards, two years in Gothenburg, one in Stockholm and three years ago I moved back to Bucharest. In total I have moved all my belongings back and forth approximately 13 times (lucky number) without counting the many homes that I switched. Today however, I have just arrived in Sibiu in a new apartment on a small and apparently cosy street. It has been my desire to leave Bucharest once and for all, a city with which I had a love-hate relationship since the beginning but that is another story.
“A cup of Sibiu refers to some moments that I want to share with you during morning tea or coffee, these could be sometimes filled with useful information about where to eat, what to visit and other activities, other times just personal stories either funny, retrospective or simply empathising. If you like my stories or have any suggestions, comments, ideas and so on feel free to share them with me.”
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