Cool Family Meals images
Check out these family meals images:
marketside family meal made easy
Image by RubyDW
my relatives before their death
Image by cristinamonicamoldoveanu
(Yesterday, 29th of July was the anniversary of my father’s death. Today, 30th of July I can add a note here: I finally got my new computer after months of waiting. Except for a few things, the old photos I made or scanned are in it, and my poems too. But only after 2 days of functioning, it was hijacked-someone was moving my cursor-, then the sound broke and was no more audible, then I got scared and I installed an old version of Bit Defender 2012, a Romanian antivirus, thinking that it will protect me eventually from total collapse. That antivirus was licensed, hardly bought by me three years ago from my little money, but unused because my old computer did not meet the requirements. Then my computer was no more functional at all, none of my programs works and I cannot scan or download or edit pictures. I write this note in safe mode from this new computer, but safe mode does not allow me to see properly my photos, does not allow to scan at all and editing is almost impossible. So, until eventually the computer technician, who said he was busy, or someone else will eventually repair it, I say goodbye to flickr and I wish everyone all the best.)
This will be the last photo I post here, at least for a while, after I posted that one with my mother and the Christmas tree yesterday along with another true story about my godparents and my father. I had very few visits, I had visitors to other photos, I don’t know why. So, this will be my last story about them and me too, then I will continue maybe to write below the pictures I posted before.
Here I was not with them, my first cousin was and he appears in photos from that day, and he made this photo or my mother. My father grew beard in his last years. The photo is from their last year together maybe but I will search for the exact data(maybe). [Finally I searched among other photos and it probably is from 2002, because my godmother, very ill, is there the same day, and she died in 2002. My godfather died in 2004 and father in 2005.]
The only story about my family that is missing from my photostream is in the same time the only mysterious one, everything else was and is absolutely true and obviously could or still can be proved. This story is about them too. Some people told me that my godfather was Gypsy-like and that this was a reason for my misery. From very close he was not very Gypsy-like. And they said that my father was Jewish-like, but I know nothing about this. My father told me many times that in life I have to avoid Jews and Gypsies, this was one of his life advice a long time ago.
After my great aunt Barbara died, my cousin Francesca gave me from her photo albums all photos that were with my direct blood-related relatives: my father, my grandmother, my godfather, taken through the years, since they were children, together with their cousins and their parents and grandparents. Then someone stole that bag with old photos from my cupboard, exactly like they take photos from my computer. Then I realized that they took photos too from the collection my father left me before dying, where he placed a part of the collections of photos of my grandmother and my godfather after my godfather died. It is true, and sad, they take my things, and I don’t have now too many photos as proves about what I have to say here. When I was a child I used to look at old albums with my grandma and she explained me everything.
First certainty is that these two brothers (my father and my uncle) did not resemble with each other at all. It can still be proved through many photos and films. Another certain thing is that they did not resemble their parents, as far as I have seen. Another absolutely certain thing that I can prove (at least a few years ago I still had photos) is that my grandparents, their parents, were them through the years, since their youth until their death, they were certainly the same people. Another thing is that my father and my godfather don’t resemble the children they said that they were in the photos with them and their family (who are certainly their family). They changed their appearance at some moment in their childhood. When I was little, my godfather told me, showing me a photo with him as a child: "Cristina, you will never believe this, but that one was me." Back then the whole family told me and knew that my godfather had very blond hair and white skin when he was little, but his eyes were dark since then. In the photo you see here he had cancer in its later stages and was very pale. Otherwise his skin was darker all his life. He never dyed his hair. Here his hair was not whitened completely. He was 10 years older than my father, he was born on the 4th of March 1932. My father too changed in childhood, his skin became whiter and he became completely different. But the transformation of my uncle was impressive and a mystery to me. So I studied all my family photos and I arrived at some conclusion, but then they took a part of them, and now I cannot tell for sure if it could have been them. because there are only two options as far as I see: either they replaced those two children from my family photos in the family of those elders, or they had some genetic mutations, at least my uncle for certain.
This is the only mystery about my family. All the rest I already told. These men gave me shelter, peace and silence, protected me and gave me good education and taught me only good things, regardless of what they were. And I was perfect as an individual and there was no reason for the society to destroy or torture me, I don’t know why they did what they did. And I was not a mutant, I resembled very much the child that I was, until 2007 when they began to torture me more and my physical illness aggravated. All who knew me told me that I changed very little since youth and it was true.
When I was 18, in the beginning of 1989, my godfather and father talked in front of me a thing that hurt me — father said aloud that I was a genius and because of this a great tragedy will come over and my godfather replied that he knows that, but there is nothing to be done.
The night before my suicide attempt in December 1998, I was on my own in a train compartment with many people and a stranger began to talk with me and told me evil things about Gypsies and other things and he said that he cannot save me because my country is in the grip of two genetic mutants and he can save the life of a single person each year. Those were not dreams or hallucinations, it was the truth, they tried to scare me and I was pickpocketed too. Then when I arrived in a touristic station they did not accept me in any hotel to sleep although I still had money, they put a mad man walking in pajamas on my way to scare me and told me that I have to sleep there where that man was, then they called the policeman and threatened me that my place is in the police arrest, then they accepted me to sit in the restaurant where a group of people made me dance with a young man (I was not insane, I had only a horrible headache and I was very tired) and while a Gypsy band played songs I still remember now, they danced around me and filmed me because they had a camera with them. They were not Gypsies. I called my father who came there with a cab from Bucharest and took me home. I asked him to take me to the psychiatric hospital because my headache was too powerful. He said that it is useless and only Balaceanca is the place for me ( a place for very serious mental illnesses, not like the other one). He went to bed and I tried at first to lay down in my bed and took off a part of my clothes, but the headache was stronger and stronger. I took the decision to kill myself and looked down on the window, fearing that I will escape alive, because there was a kind of covering over a local bank-insurance company, Allianz Tiriac, that was then in our block of apartments. So I forced myself to jump over that and people said that I landed on my feet like this. Someone dragged me near the wall, like a neighbor and my father told me. That one did not call the ambulance. It was the neighbor below who found me and called an old-fashioned ambulance. I met her periodically on the street in past years. Then they woke me up in the ambulance asking for my blood group and I realized I was not dead and I tried to fool them. Then I saw myself in the hospital from above, exactly like it is written about near death experiences everywhere on the net. I did not know back then. Maybe it was a dream. Then I woke up in the reanimation room and took off my intravenous line. Since then I never tried to commit suicide anymore. My mother’s brother said that if I landed on those iron beams I would have died for certain. I did not realize that back then, because the headache was very strong. That headache started a few weeks before, in the University of Medicine Carol Davila where I was a student and I took some medicine in vain, Then it aggravated and that’s why I went there towards the Govora station, hoping to relax and feel better, but against my father’s strong opposition.
It was an altruistic attempt of suicide, because my head ached so horribly that I believed I will lose my mind and I shall become an evil robot like those who destroyed me all my life and for me it was unacceptable to kill or hurt eventually a person for example like I was. This was the real reason. When my godfather saw me without a leg, he began to cry with many tears. He also cried for me a few months before that attempt when I went to him and complained about different things. I think those were real tears and real pain and that he really felt sorry for me.
(Here in this photo my father’s books too are hidden inside the cupboard, only a few can be seen. he had good books, but that is not money. They and I never had money. They only had the habit to buy food for their family gatherings, and to arrange it to look special. Otherwise the food was normal. After the 1989 Revolution food was cheap and came from good companies from abroad, but only for a while, then things changed, then the social stratification became clear and my family bought only the cheapest food from hypermarkets. Before 1989 they all said that most of the food was sold on the black market and those who had not relationships starved. I will tell you now the most intriguing fact that happened to me my whole life. I went once unexpectedly, suddenly, when no one knew to a local food store, when everyone was supposed to starve and get on the streets when they heard that meat or eggs, etc were to be sold somewhere. I too stood at queues for food and I was stepped over or insulted, because people at queues were violent then. That day, to my great surprise, I found that the store was empty, no customers or queue inside, yet plenty of smoked chicken to sell. I don’t remember if I bought, probably I did, and yes, the sellers (women) looked strangely at me and said: "Is she stuck now?". I cannot explain this, even now. I think that maybe it was mass manipulation for changing the social system and create revolutionary vibes. I was from the poorest and maybe those women were talking about some kind of future sacrifice of mine, saying about me being "stuck". Even that University teacher who destroyed me became a hero at that Revolution in newspapers, but he had foreign bluejeans, cassette recorders, whiskey and told me that he manages to find food for his family. My family used to discuss politics very much at their gatherings and they all hated and insulted continuously the regime and Ceausescu family, a thing that was boring and disturbing for a child like I was, obliged to listen to their talks. Otherwise, in the back of those food gatherings, they were some of the most decent people possible and never used vulgar words before 1989).
After losing a part of my left leg, people treated me with much more cruelty. And after 2002, since I went to every kind of human rights organizations, churches, charity organizations, institutions, emigration offices (those days Canada and even Spain were trendy, but I went only to Canada), embassies (I asked for the help of foreigners too, imploring them to transmit my plea to any other embassy or organization that can help me), international organizations, etc, anything that you can imagine in my city with my plea for rights and life, they were more and more hideous towards me and they all rejected my requests. It is always the same philosophy: all countries have their psychiatric patients, who, in fact, are considered subhuman, and I only asked for an exception in my case, pleading with arguments all my life, since 1984 in fact, when they started to torture me and when they started to threaten me with psychiatry, although, I repeat, I was intelligent, good, innocent, and no psychological or psychic trouble at all. I became a beggar and also very ill physically in the past few years, but they hardly give 1 RON (leu, our currency) for beggars like me to buy a cheap bread. Some people suggested me that they kill me because I knew their secrets, but I know for certain that it was not this the reason. I was never interested to share useless information or stories that do not interest others. I had no place to go with those so-called secrets. I did nothing wrong, I don’t understand why. It was not because of that smoked chicken story, I was a normal person and anyway no one would have been interested in such things. I always lived a normal life and effectively I asked for help since 1984, being horribly abused by my parents and I told the necessary truth since then until now. Now people on the street call me aloud "smoked grease". That’s what they’re doing.
For example in the photo that you can see in the comment below it is certainly my father, his adult traits are visible. I had more with my father and his brother as children. In the photo below he is in the first row of benches, the only child without a scarf, like the others wore those days, 1948-1949.
My father told me that he was persecuted by the communist regime because of his small bourgeoisie origin or "unhealthy origins", the term of those years. My father explained to me when I was little that a part of the small misfortunes that happened to me in school when I was little were due to the fact that I had relatives abroad. My godfather too told me a part of his life story. My father became the only member in the communist party among my relatives.
Now please think about all these facts that are true. The way they raised me, the things they said, made me become disgusted of and repelling politics. When I was little I could hide after large family meals in a huge garden, which thing I almost always did, in order to avoid their political talks. But after 1984, their talks could be heard from my bedroom too and many times I was forced to stay with them by my mother’s requests, who, otherwise would have slapped me. I never had connections with politics all my life, with a few exceptions. My godfather told me once a word about politics that others too used: "politics is the greatest whore". At the 1989 Revolution I was dragged by the crowd after a sleepless night, I was not foolish, I couldn’t escape and I won’t explain everything in detail. It was not curiosity, but a fire that others ignited and I was not insane. The moment they executed the Ceausescu couple I had the TV set open, maybe because of that fire that burned in every home then, or maybe my mother told me to watch. If I knew that it was all about a nasty execution, I wouldn’t have watched. Those like me dislike executions, whoever is the hero/martyr/criminal/ head of state, etc. In old times it is written that they executed many "witches" or crowned heads, but this was not entertainment for those like me, but for others. I was always a conformer/conformist person if you want to know the whole truth, I always played by the rules, but I could not guess others’ thoughts. When they killed that presidential couple my father screamed aloud "Death!" and exactly that moment I lost my consciousness for a few seconds and I screamed the same. It was one of the 2 moments in my life with a temporary and short lack of self-awareness. After many years I opened by chance the TV set where I was a lodger and they were just transmitting news and images about Saddam Hussein’s execution and I shut it down hastily. I rarely listened to political news my whole life; I know very few things. In my case it was normal, but I admit that for a person it is necessary to be aware in life about political trends or to play the game as if. I also think that people should be aware about things, because if they sleep on their feet, it is always another Hitler or something else around the corner. I was always lucid about my environment too. I renounced television and radio years ago, lacking money. Some people say that I was the perfect idiot, but that was not true. It is them who isolated me by force effectively since 1984, but I stayed normal and I always was. My godfather visited me once in the psychiatric hospital after my suicide attempt and saw a radio in my bed (I listened to Romanian radio stations then) and said to me : " don’t listen, leave it to the devil". It is true that I was hurt by listening, because they invented exactly those days a song about a crippled woman without a leg and there were many other things I disliked. Only a period in my life, after those days, I listened to radio BBC and radio Vatican, because of many reasons, because of the others. Before 1989 I used to listen to national Romanian radio stations that broadcasted good music sometimes and had some interesting radio programs sometimes. I even received a musical gift dedicated to me when I was in high school and I wrote stories or poems for a teenagers "club" that they made those days, giving different prompts and asking for creativity. After the 1989 Revolution the national radio stations were no more present in my block of apartments and they could be listened to only in my grandparents’ village and in a tailor’s workshop on my street, where I had to go to shorten my trousers I could buy from time to time. Before 1989, since I was little in school, my godparents and other people that I knew listened to radio Free Europe. My parents too listened to that station, but less often. I listened to it only 2-3 times. I disliked that station because they had a tone of voice that I disliked and because I was educated to dislike politics. When I was a child in school I had to do my homework in dim light in my grandmother’s room, with that station she was listening to in Hungarian. Thanks God I did not know Hungarian, it was just like an unpleasant humming.
Only the days after my suicide attempt food was good in that psychiatric hospital and the rooms were full of patients, otherwise the food I received there was always scarce and unhealthy. I was told by my father that in his last horrible days of suffering, my godfather listened every day to radio stations. Once upon a time (the only thing that I am not certain about) I heard him saying to my father: "I won’t let you hurt Cristina, it is me who won’t let you do to her what you did to mom". And eventually my father said: "We will do even more evil to her". Everything I said is the perfect truth, only this dialogue is the only uncertain thing from my memories. I cannot tell for sure that my father wanted to hurt me, in reality I cannot accuse him of nothing for certain and he gave me some good things for sure.
I dislike the social-political system nowadays in my country, but when I was a child I was too young to know what was good or what was wrong. I was maltreated by my parents or state institutions before 1989, but not too much by the state. Being born in 1971, I couldn’t have guessed the communist crimes they are talking about. In the schools where I was a pupil and in high school they always replaced the communist propaganda lessons with maths or physics or something else. Today for me their political system is one of extreme right because poor or handicapped people have no rights or chances at all. For example recently the family doctor told me that the rule is that she cannot give me another official paper to go to the medic for my clogged ear, because she already gave me and I could not go there and I have to wait 3 months until she can give another one. Two months are gone, she will give me another act at the end of August. Like this people with severe illnesses (not about ears) are killed. There are many certain things about the medical system that I don’t write here. I give you one more example about social problems: from time to time water is very dirty at the kitchen and thus, being summer too, old and lonely or poor people die, they are killed. I had to ask again a neighbor for a small loan of one euro yesterday. These things and other like this are not politics, they are about social injustice and real crimes, I knew many like this, I have been through everything.
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