How infiltrated is the diaspora? I could care less about this question (I have other things on my mind) if a former classmate who knew me since 1986 wasn’t absolutely sure I was a bodyguard and if he hadn’t reminded me about it or how many times we see each other, “How , I? How to stay in Brussels without working? Who at your age has seen this? Run away, don’t say… you are from them! Come on, how much do you need a month just to be at work? Pre-premiere show? Three thousand? Four thousand, five? Tell me, everyone knows anyway!”. I tried to explain it nicely, but to no avail. The man is convinced, his conviction is concrete. Bronze!

So I decided to write an article on the subject: well, I don’t, but there are others and many more. But how much? I don’t have an answer to that question, and in the absence of one, I can only engage in the discussion with three small incidents in mind. I hope you like it!

The first is the one with Mary. After I came to Belgium, I got some recommendations from Romania (I don’t know how else to say it), about mutual acquaintances who had come here before, and the “recommendations” were, in general, to try to contact them, so that I do not forge like a cuckoo. Among the other recommended people (some of whom later became my friends and girlfriends) was Mary, a former colleague from the SNSPA “kennel” where we both studied in the early 2000s, I remembered her very well: a beauty. Blue eyes, curly black hair, a wasp waist, a body worked in the gym… I gave her a little spin (collegiately, of course!), but she gently told me: “Micha, no. Sorry. You know, I have a destiny.” I left her to her own devices and occupied myself with other interests, not understanding what she meant; only now, in Belgium, I understood (vingt ans après). I got her address from Romania, but not her phone number, so I went there unannounced, on a friendly visit. He was speechless when he saw me at the gate (he lives in a very rural area). Just as beautiful, only slightly curvier, with dyed blond hair and three children; the husband was not at home. She was very concise in her conversation with me. He didn’t even let me into the yard, let alone the house. She told me that she had not spoken to anyone, that she was very busy and that she did not want any trouble; but her eyes were full of fear of losing her position, I could clearly see that she was screaming at me with every cell in her body, “What are you doing here? You are crazy? Do you want me kicked out? Go away and never come again!”. I, the salon boy, said goodbye and left without delay, although I laughed to myself; good job what can i say! Living day to day with such fear in my bones… no thanks!

The second case is with Nelaya. Unlike Mary, who nevertheless remained a lady (or froze in the role of a lady, finally), Nelya chose a different approach – however, he is a generation younger: a sensitive drunkard. In the environment of doctors, where I met him, Nelya announced to everyone that he was a guard, that we should be careful what we talk about, but especially that he has an “alcohol problem”, then he behaved accordingly: pilit, he played a special music (“I ascended to my throne on the mountain”, song Tzancă Uraganu), etc. In short, he played a fool, waiting for the doctors to take him for granted and start saying what he wants and what he doesn’t want (at one point he stopped drinking, switched to the “listening” mode). I wanted to laugh at it all, but I held back until the end, until the party broke up, when I thought aloud, “What a country, such a diaspora; such a diaspora, such security!”. No one heard me, except for Neli, who was staring at me with wide-open eyes of hatred. I replied with a honey-sweet smile. Keep learning, kid!

The third incident happened at a holiday event where I was invited to speak with others about the integration of immigrant women. The idea was that women have a harder time than men: they go to work, integrate into work, make friends, etc., while women stay at home, raise children, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t learn the host country’s language. , so it’s much harder. Unfortunately, the social event I’m talking about proved the exact opposite: first, the women we were supposed to “integrate” had been integrated for a long time, spoke the language, had full independence, drove their own cars, some were entrepreneurs, others earned very well as state employees (ie in the host country), there was no question that they would need our “integration”. Moreover: the event was dedicated to women, but there were four men in the presidium (this is what eternal Romania looks like, whether “outside” or “inside”); Father Sylvian (1.98 m, a former forest worker in Canada before feeling called to the priesthood) rose from the hall during the discussion. No, it’s an evil hour. Word for word, my father and I began to discuss the qualities of chainsaws: he is a Husqvarna fanatic, I am a Stihl maniac. You can imagine how much fun the women in the hall had listening to this dialogue, interesting to both of us, but completely absurd in this context! On the other hand (in all modesty), I believe that our moment was one of the most successful of the entire evening: such an event has the gift of being excessively boring.

The official photographer managed to get a very good shot, immortalized the moment: the presidium somehow got into the front right, the father was caught from the profile on the left, the facial expression is expressive – what is there, a portfolio. – Read the entire article and comment on Contributors.ro