Thursday 18. September 2008 It's a beautiful sunday
By: FFB Christian
It is a beautiful sunday, classic sounds are waving around the historic houses in the old town and i have to put an empty beer basket right next to my writing hand, to not get blind fom the white sheet of paper, because countless sunbeams hit it.
In the meantime i believe, Hermannstadt is one of the most developed cities in Romania. Surely most of the roofs are old, at the walls from some houses the plaster is gone and the word cart rut only makes sense knowing the outgoing street from Hermannstadt, but the people carry the candour which constitutes a city, which receives impetuses, absorbs them and which is sending impetuses by itself in return. For example hand craft markets, festivals, theater programs and concerts in wide suspense sowed and i'm not wondering about the fact, that the beautiful girl on the commercial poster for a cell phone is standing on the 'Liars Bridge'.
The entrap hand of the west is vissible everywhere and also our hands are involved in renovating and for sure also in the way, to set up new wonts while loosing old traditions. In the moment the new won power of investment is vissible in family houses, new cars and also in things like working materials, which already fill houses and appartments in Germany, no matter if you got a feeling to a thing, or it only counts for the moment of buying it. People can be satisfied with that.
From the way how the Romanians are, seldom we meet distrust or aggressiveness, characteristics of many Germans, who are able to make sure, that we look out for stress, that we want trouble to get rid of them. The people here seem to be enquiring to me, becoming a part of the world, which also defines its abundance in knowledge and skills. If i write this and read it seconds later, i feel a small of Romania captured. The city. On the countryside it seems like standstill attends the day. Few villages contain a factory. Agriculture is the work, which is spread out under the residents. During daytime life is on the streets. The young kids play in groups, alley dogs can't be erased out of one view, hooves from the horses make tictac and the carriages rumble, dark skin, dark eyes and smiling faces, in front of the doors and gates, which are often painted in variegated strong colours and still they cannot deceive over the fact, that most of the time something is done not until one human life is gone.
This is not our buisness, in this river of life, the world of thoughts of doing and not doing something. To appoint the fields of life, to revel in the pleasure and to let time run away. Therin lies a conscious way of dealing with nature, which is completely unknown for me.
There are many differences, but i also feel, that i miss the way how to describe and how to see the life of the Romanians today. A nuisance which can be complained, if i betake myself under the people, to stay at my points of view, to stay with my intensions.
Horn concerts drive through town. Marriage and religious background stayed the family cornerstone here. Also tragedies beneath, where financial guarantee abolish love. And still lies in love the abandonment, to live for the children and serve life, also with personal reversal. By intentness and passion as achievement and volition of love, which is capable in its appearance, to displace thoughts. Also those, dealing with material guarantee.
Where we are between all this und how much truth makes our pride, to live a life, which sees as the most engaging goal the own implementation?
A dove who has wings forgets to fly,
on the big square, where pieces of bread and remains
from pastries scattered, sheer endless cling on the ground.