That Turtle who's heading North

Have you ever watched a turtle moving from one point to another? I can't! I simply don't have that patience. That motion - it's too annoyingly slow.

Generally speaking, I don't like waiting and waiting, and spending ages between small distances, for accomplishing so little in such a long time. It's ineffective and a complete waste. Poor creature - I pity her!

Instead, I love the sensation of the full speed, with the wind blowing wildly in my hair while riding a new sporty motorbike on a sunny day on a straight road, without any obstacles. That's me!

Or at least that's who I was, or I always dreamt of being.

When I was born, my city, Braila, a lovely harbour of the Danube from the South-East of Romania, was celebrating a spring day with the parks wearing bright robes of tulips and hyacinths. The birds were singing joyfully, and the fragrance in the air was sweeter than an expensive French perfume. I was warmly and adequately welcomed. Noticed. I didn't seem to be much impressed, though - that supposed to be the standard protocol after all. Isn't this how it should be anyway when somebody like me comes into the world?

I've started to open my eyes widely and curiously began to explore around. It was interesting and pleasant what I saw - at the beginning.

But then, it was like: 'Is that all?' A craving for much more and something else, better and different, took hold of me and became bigger day after day. What I saw was not enough - I needed to see more.

I was only two years old, when, using the camouflage and the excitement of a wedding day, I quietly opened the house's gate and disappeared on the street. I was sick with pertussis and couldn't speak, but I didn't want to, anyway. I just wanted to go outside and find what's there. A woman met me and surprised to see a child so small unattended, asked me where I was going. I didn't bother even to look at her. I was looking straight ahead, walking fast and focused, as I would have had a precise direction, and time to be somewhere to meet somebody. Eventually, my mom noticed my absence, and they organised a rescue team to find me. They took their bikes, spread quickly on the streets, and my uncle found me with that lady's help, just before reaching the exit border of the city. I was heading towards a cornfield – a few steps more, and they wouldn't have probably found me. My father (who was not attending that wedding) never found out. The escape failed.

My discontent towards the limits of what I could see in my city grew stronger day by day. Noticing and comparing with what other kids could have and I haven’t, added even more fuel. ‘I want to see’ became, by addition ‘to see and have more.’

A few years later, at maybe 6-7 years old, I was playing with my cousins in the countryside, when I suddenly heard a big noise and saw a small plane flying over the fields, spreading chemicals for the crops. The idea popped immediately into my mind. ‘What if?’ Somehow the sparkle managed to ignite a fire, and we all, a herd of bubbling girls, found ourselves asking our uncle to take us to the plane for a ride. Surprisingly, the pilot said yes. I was over the moon and back! Well, for an hour only. After the last tour for his job, he stopped the engines and told us: 'Sorry kids, I'm out of fuel.' He never returned, and I returned to the city, bitterly disappointed. I failed again.

Was that place so bad or ugly? By all means, no. It was pretty – it is still.

Was my childhood a nightmare? Definitely not. I was loved. Especially my father, he adored me, and I adored him back. But he was too busy. He was travelling a lot, and I missed him.

Then, with years passing by, it was clearly more than just about missing him. It was about me and my thirst to get out and discover that big world waiting so friendly for me with both arms widely stretched out.

It was also about other bitter disappointments I tasted later in my city. I would have eventually remained if life had been friendlier; if it would have given me what I wanted right there. She could. She didn't want to. Now I'm so glad she didn't.

You may wonder how long did it take. Well, I was 22 years old when I left. Quitting a good job in a hospital, I had no regrets than the one that I couldn't leave earlier; I was heading with a precise goal towards the capital. I was finally out not only for a camp with the kids but for a real experience. As for the parents, of course, I loved them so much, but I thought they'll always be there, waiting for me to visit from time to time.

And so the adventure became.

Some people spend their whole lives in the same hometown or city, living more or less content, even happy with what they find there and what the place has to offer them. Nice, isn't it? But not enough for me. Others are forced to live by unfortunate circumstances, and always look back longing for a return. Nope, again, not me. Some go there in the world, find what they were looking for, and return victoriously with their trophies. Or maybe return less successful, but convinced that it's much better where they started. I hope that's not going to be my case either. The list can grow longer with many other categories. For the first stage of my journey at least, I qualified between those who left in full speed, with the hair in the wind, looking straight ahead, excited, bold and optimistic.

Years passed. Places started to pile up, one after another. Is this the one? No. Maybe this one? No. Next? Neither. And so on. Then, let's press on harder, let's push, accelerate, go faster, maybe that's the problem, the speed. No, not the speed, it was about the direction. I had to change it, dramatically, a few times. Each of them ended on a closed road. What on earth was that?

Eventually, that thirst came back again. I figured out that I needed more; I had to cross the border. Not of a city, a county, or a region anymore – I needed to get out of the country, see, have, and experiment more. Not to be, not to become. These verbs were not invented yet at that time.

I've told you about that little plane from my childhood. Since that day, that desire to fly woke up and stood there inside me, waiting in a corner. The first thing I did when the communism fell in Romania was to get a passport. My parents laughed at me: 'Where do you think you're going, and how?' I ignored that. I knew that it'd happen one day, sooner or later. And it did. Not that soon though, but when I was almost 30 years old. When I got up there in the air, and I saw those fluffy white sheep of clouds for the first time, I cried, out of happiness. All that waiting was worthy!

The first country I went to was bonny Scotland. We fell in love with each other at first sight, right there, when I first saw it, even before landing in Edinburgh. I felt that she adopted me. The small town of Crieff, near Perth, became the realm where I first tasted freedom, where I could unleash the real me. Don't imagine something too rebellious and wild, though. Maybe I arrived there too late for that – but the place completely mesmerised me.

However, nine months later, when my visa was about to expire, I had to return to Romania. I went to the British Embassy straight from the airport to extend it, confident that everything will be fine. The result: I didn’t get it. I was devastated. You might say: ‘What a big deal: reapply after a while and return.’ Not that easy, I’m afraid. How long did it take to be able to do that? Nine years - only.

In the meanwhile, I was busy to discover other places. I had and left jobs, renting and trying different accommodations and meeting various kinds of interesting people. I slept on a couch, on a mattress, on a metallic armchair; in a shed shared with a few spiders, in a crowdy dormitory, in a cute house right in the middle of a lovely park; in a room just finished, with debris still in, in an attic near the fire exit door – like any regular traveller. I've also had a bit of exciting new experiences: I felt hungry, felt poor, felt important for a day (when I borrowed a fancy coat and purse to browse in the expensive shops in Milan) and felt anonymous for the rest of the time (which was OK, too); I felt humiliated and felt cared for. But I still couldn't find The Place to call it My Home.

When I could finally return to Scotland, I was hoping to find it there. She recognised me, she still loved me, she still enchanted me with her sceneries, but she didn't encourage me to stay. She forced me to go when she didn't offer me the job I needed to. I waited, applied and applied, for months and months. Eventually, I had to leave.

I left enthusiastically though since the job of my dreams was waving me promisingly in the distance, in the pretty Watford, down in England. I was about to start a fantastic career. With that great perspective in mind, though, I ended up as a baker in a supermarket.

It took another year, and I had to hit the road again. By this time, my speed, enthusiasm, and optimism were all way much slower and lower. I became more cautious, and a bit more scared to take significant risks. However, I was heading to the beautiful London, finally to start my dreamt career: at 41 years old.

London. Huge. Full of life. Full of opportunities. I was ready to try something different.

I allowed myself for a bit to get enchanted, not by countryside sceneries; instead by

the displays of beautiful clothes (of course, still unaffordable),

by a few excellent restaurants and relaxing spas,

by great concerts in Royal Albert Hall, art exhibitions, museums and touristic sites.

I got too busy working though, after a while hardly finding time to explore around. However, one day, I was talking with my father on the phone about a musical I went to when I've suddenly got the question: 'So, is that what you're there for, Entertainment?' I paused. I didn't know what to reply to that. I hang up, but the question shocked me. No, that wasn't actually the purpose. The next inevitable question immediately arose after: 'Is it here what you're looking for?'

Well, not really. Not entirely. Some of it was, though. I’ve started to count.

Yes, the job was given me a bit of hope that I was getting there, where I wanted. Was that so? I've discovered that it's so easy to lose something that I thought I deserved to keep for years to follow. I was humbled while taught about the foolishness of betting all the cards on a career.

Then, how about friends? They left one after another. Because of Brexit, because of marriage, because of being too busy, because of reaching a different status, because of too long distances between us. I could still find some other friends, though. Unfortunately, they couldn't stay with me for long – they belonged to somebody else or lived somewhere else, too far away.

Some places where I could find beauty came up also to save the list.

Wasn’t the love in the air? Absolutely - for many others - not for me.

Instead, I was slowly and gently pushed to find refuge in solitude and get attentive to nature. To get quiet, to walk, look around, and slow down.

I was still trying to keep that motorbike alive in my dreams. It's still there, but in real life, I'm not at full speed anymore. Now, I cherish small pleasures like eating outside on the balcony on a sunny day, while looking at the firemen playing with water after an exhausting drill, or to the birds chirping when finding a piece of bread.

The list got too slim. It has become evident. The Place wasn't here; it wasn't London. I've felt like I haven't accomplished anything yet from what I wanted, something touchable and durable. What was London giving me? From what that matters - almost nothing. My hands were empty.

Above, the sky was grey during the day, and in the nights I could only see one or two stars. I've reached that point to wish 'All I want for my birthday is to go to a place where the sky is full of stars.' I was looking at the horizon for That Place, once again.

Then the pandemic came, followed by lockdowns. My father got sick. Providentially, a window opened, and I could fly back to Romania. From that plane, I was looking at my beautiful native country down there with a heavy heart. I still wasn't ready to return and stay.

When I arrived home, our cat was hissing at me – she didn't recognise me anymore – I was an unwanted stranger. The pain stroke furiously and fast, and a few weeks later, the city where I was born it has become the city where I buried my father. I couldn't leave any more in a hurry. I've lingered behind for another month to spend time with my mom. On the last night, the Siamese beast finally acknowledged me as a family member and came to sleep with me, glued to my feet. In the morning, I left the block of flats while it was still dark outside. While walking by next to my mom, I suddenly lifted my eyes: the sky was full of stars. Then, out of nowhere, a black dog came and followed us. He stood there, waiting for the bus, not barking, not asking for anything – only to silently wish me 'goodbye', until I left. For the first time in so many years, I was having doubts; I felt that the city was hugging me dearly and compassionately like I would have been his child. I was torn between my dreams, goals, and the ones I loved and left behind in it.

Back in London, no one is here now for entertainment. For me, that was clear long before. The place I'm staying, on a six-floor, it's now my Tower of London. It's tranquil up here. It used to be noisy from the planes flying above the building. For a while, it was lonely – it's not anymore. I've got a lot of pigeons now visiting me daily. They can't speak, they don't have a job, they struggle for food sometimes, too. However, they continually teach me that I still have wings to fly, even when the planes are grounded. They remind me not to worry about tomorrow, but to have trust, and go back to innocence. Slowly, that's what I'm doing.

Now I know why I'm in London. There're so many people around struggling in fear, anxiety, loneliness, poverty, pain from losing dear ones, and despair. I know a bit about these paths, from all the years I've been travelling on them all along. I know well how their tears taste, but I'm choosing every day to come back to smile and joy, for them, and for me too. Now it's time to do that. It's the moment the life has prepared me, and many of us; to stand up straight, with courage, with the wings stretched, with the will and heart strong. To continue to dream and hope, and especially to encourage and support each other for overcoming the obstacles we're facing now. We'll make it - together - and it's going to be OK.

I’m finding shelter and peace inside me, and that, in the meanwhile, will be my Home. I’ll make sure the fire is on in the fireplace, and that it’s warm, cosy, beautiful and friendly. I’m going to invite you there to tell each other stories all night long, and drink something hot, laugh and enjoy.

I know my Place is still there, waiting for me. The Celtic Thunder band sings a lovely song about that land much loved and left behind.

For me, every time I listen to it, the song it’s about That Land I’m aiming for, out there somewhere, shining in front of me. I know that somehow, a Compass, above my strength and understanding, will lead me there. So I don’t give up, and I’m ready for heading there.

Home, I’m coming, and I’ll see you soon!

https://youtu.be/pSk7bnPvlzg