stranger in a strange land

14 Aug

Julian wake up ” fuck off you fuckers…..police are on there way. You think im gonna fall for that trick? Seriously they will be here in five minutes. My head is pounding from a beating i recieved last night…..cool i see two of you….. This isnt fucken funny julian….putt some decent clothing on…..whats wrong with what im wearing? your rapped up in a free Marian Price banner and your pillo is a pro FARC banner…..fuck them they want to wake me up they can go to hell…..i have a smoke and some coffe and next thing i now he is in fom of my door. My Cuban budy is ranting some shit and im like shuit up and deal with it.

The officer was sympathetic and things turned out ok, until my Cuban friend starts ranting about all the problems of the special period and such and im just like shut up…..this is a first julian not wanting to talk about politics.

I put on some music and try to get my bearings the cop is gone and he was only doing his job, but deep im my stomache is this deep dark despair, a feeling one gets from being cut off from there heritage and culture and who they really are.

Yesterday for my court date in monday I had to go through some of my moms things to find documents, a really fucke up and sad thing rushing back many memories,yet also a sense of anger.

Quite a few times im told love it or leave it eg. if your an anglo wasp you have no right to a political opinion, and you shoulkd just shut up and be happy.

I never wanted to come here, this country drenched in the blood of the disppossed crieing for justice, where freedom is another word for do whatever you wanbt and community means nothing. My mother came here to escape the economic crisis caused by the IMF imposed on the Romanian people, hoping for a better life she and my father threw away there university education to come here and wash toilets for ingreatfull assholes.

I think thomas wolfe once said you can never go home again and to me that is true most of my relatives are dead or persecuted or have this idea that since we live in north america we are rich and somehome fullfilled the american dreqam, six kids moms dad grandma aunt etc crammed into a two bedroom apartment kiving off the waste of the consumer society giving it all an for an illusion, the glorious west where we are all free to be exploited and shit on by all.

Many times i would wait for my dad to come home from work, yelling about bills, money and how we have nothing. Yet despite this we the children got everything even if the have to go without.

Here i am a foriegner caught between several world accepted by none. When my mom was alive she was my link to my heritage, telling me stories, keeping up the customs and traditions and doing the best she could, with her death and the death of several other relatives even this link is cut off.

Despite this my soul yearns to return to my native soil, to my people, there strugglles, sufferings and pain as oppossed to sitting here and finding stuff out through you tube.

Many call the diaspora a collective trauma not seeing thr roots of it. How many people died trying to escape, risking there lives and getting shot through illegal border crossing to come to this land of milk and homey where the milk quicky sours and the honey gets stuck in your throut? How many have died to pay back the IMF debt which was zero in 1989, only to be in the billions now?

What did they sacrifice there lives for both here and in the diaspora? Mcdonalds,Coca Cola big mac. This is the collective trama of a small country caught between two supper powers and spit out like a dry lemon when both used them.

Despite this my soul is not at peace here, we cam here for a better life and instead have had to sacrifice our souls to the consumer slavery migrant exploitation nof the free market and in the course of this giving up out identity and history.

Thogu going back to Romania many people will see me as an englishified ass, my soul yearns to leave this cursed place drenched in blood of the original people and all colonized to make this great nation of killing suufering and exploitation. My heart yearns to return to the soil of my forefathers, where even though there is no material comfort there is the sense that I have returned home. Till then I can dream and hope

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