Don’t know how many of you come from ex-communist countries and, even if you do, don’t know if you were not too young to remember how it was.

But, if you’re interested in this subject and in good literature I warmly recommend you a great German author born in Romania (just like me, but a billion times more talented) and awarded with the 2009 Nobel Prize for Literature – Herta Müller.

Her books picture the atmosphere of those times, focusing on everyday life. The stories are mostly narrated from the viewpoint of the German minority in Romania. Whether the action happens in a small provincial town (Even back then, the fox was the hunter) or in a concentration camp (Everything I own I carry with me), she presents those everyday little things able to drive you crazy. Because it’s not the shocking events that shock, but the incredible nothingness present everywhere.

The novels have no intense action, but every chapter adds one more piece to the final puzzle of the grey communist feeling. Because, if I would have to give a color to her stories, that would definitely be gray – not the happy bright white, nor the black of terror – just a grey floating heavily in the air. The air that her characters breath until they become grey too.

Indeed, her novels are a bit depressive, but only because, as she said in an interview, she wrote what she saw. And, considering the fact she received death threats for refusing to become an informant for the Securitate (President Nicolae Ceausescu’s department of state security) and her mother was deported to the Soviet Gulag for forced labor, she has good reasons to picture those times in grey.

Don’t know if I made you curious about her novels, but you should try. They are definitely not Sunday books.

Nu stiu altii cum sunt, dar eu, cand ma gandesc la locul nasterii mele, care, ca sa evitam confuziile, nu e Humulesti, imi amintesc ca, deseori, desi era frig de-ti ingheta inima in piept, era totusi soare. Si numai la gandul ca e soare, frigul devenea patetic.

Nu intentionez sa scriu un post inutil despre vreme si nici o cariera de meteorolog nu vreau, dar nu inteleg…cum se descurca oamenii din Berlin saptamani in sir fara soare pe cer? Fara lumina? Doar cu ploaie marunta “made in reumatism” si cu un cer de culoarea gulerului murdar.

Da, stiu ca soarele e undeva acolo in spatiu si ca ne vegheaza de dincolo de nori, dar mie, personal, daca nu mi se arata clar, pe fata, mi se infunda toate corabiile. Iata de ce, de cateva zile, corabiile mele sunt sub un strat adanc de mal si nu reusesc sa fac nimic constructiv.

Ba ieri, culmea penibilului, conducandu-mi o prietena la aeroport, tresar pret de o secunda vazand o raza de lumina proiectata pe fereastra trenului. Dintr-o data durerea de cap ma lasa si inceput sa rad in sinea mea de gandurile negre si pacatoase care-mi invadau capul.

Si, ca momentul penibil sa fie desavarsit, constat in milisecunda urmatoare, ca asa zisa raza de soare nu era altceva decat lumina neonului din interiorul trenului, reflectata pe geam.  Inutil sa mentionez ca durerea de cap a revenit si nu m-a lasat pana la Pankow, desi raza m-a condus constiincios tot drumul, neabatandu-se niciun milimetru.

Ei, in astfel de momente abia astept sa vina seara. Macar atunci nu e soare pentru ca asa e in firea lucrurilor. Si, desi la inceput imi parea cumva rau ca fac modulul de seara la Deutsch Akademie, acum mi se pare super pentru ca zau daca nu seara e cea mai fresh parte a zilei!