What's your story?

I don't know your story, but I know mine.
Penultimate born, last girl (my parents had 6 more before me), winter, very cold period, towards the end of the year.
My mom was a farmer, working on our land for the state. Long story, another time.
Came home completely exhausted after a 14 hours of reaping iced (was very cold) beetroot.
Felt weird and told the supervisor that maybe she should stay home the next day.
--- "I think the baby wants to see the daylight."
--- No way!!! You come to work, at 5 Am, as every winter day, if it happens, will call a camion. Not to worry. 
So... my mom worked the land, one of the hardest job EVER, until the evening before I decided that I wanted OUT... in the cold. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
--- Silly baby! Why?! Weren't you feeling great in your mom's belly? 
3Am-my mom feels a terrible pain: 
--- "It is time to save your mommy."
And I did. My mom didn't have to go to work that day 'cause she had ANOTHER baby. The tenth.
And Ceausescu himself signed and sent a "Diploma of Maternal Glory" for this. Yeay (read sarcasm).
So, I was born during a communist regime, in a country where oranges were alien fruits.

Here is a post on LinkedIn about this: I was born in during a communist regime.

Chocolate was no where to be found, even if we lived 12 km away from a very big sweets factory.
I can't complain, I am not fond of chocolate and we baked traditional sweets every single day. Crepes with sweet cheese, cheese pies, gogosi (a sort of doughnut without feeling) and many other delicatessen.
We didn't even know of its existence.
--- And if you don't know something exists, you can't possible want it. Can you?!

I am not going to write about the communist regime in this post, but I will in others.

I went to school when I was almost 7. - I know, it's very late. It was too late for me too...
Where too many children on that period and wasn't allowed to go to school if you weren't 7.
Loved it from the very first day. Maths, literature, grammar were my favourite classes. I was addicted to reading. It was like breathing for me.
I helped my mom with the land, the animals, the house (cleaning, cooking, washing up - there were no washing machines) and with her passion. She was an amazing artist.

I used "she was" because she doesn't do it anymore. Too tired.
In my free time, I read and because my free time was almost nonexistent, I used to go to sleep really late, like 4Am, just to finish a book. No electricity, a candle. (We had electricity in the house, but the communists gave us just a couple of hours a day at certain times).
The years have gone, communist regime collapsed, we were free... but no jobs.
Decided to go to Italy, as most of my sisters.
In a few years my parents house was empty.
We all went to live and work abroad. Far away from each.
In countries we only knew from movies. And I was terrified. Convinced I'll be shot on the streets by the Mafia. :D
Instead, I almost died starving. I couldn't stand the taste of pasta! Bleah!

Then I fall in love with it. Completely. Yummy!

10 years in the most wonderful country in the World. With the best cuisine, most melodious and erotic  language, with sunny beaches and warm waters. Best painters, impressive buildings and irresistible Prosecco.
Then, I went back to my country which I was immensely missing. 4 years.
I didn't want to have a regular job with £ 100 a months.
Learned to be a blogger. From scratch. Professional.
Won some contests with articles and poetry. I didn't even know I can put together more than 4 words.
But my life wasn't going anywhere. No jobs with a decent pay (no matter the field) no future, no hope.
Needed to leave again, but I didn't want to and to where?!
Spoke with a friend of mine. British.
--- "Come here, you'll find a job soon, I know you. You'll do great in here.
So I did, with a broken heart though. Lost 9 kg in 2 months. I couldn't eat anything, I cried all the time. "I am a foreign again, I have no country anymore. :("
I found a job in 4 days, then another, then another again and I loved it. I was so busy that I've stopped crying.
Started to see the sun again... although there isn't much in England.
Yeap, I see the sun even when it rains. I choose to. Because sun without hope, means nothing.

I miss my country, I miss my place, my parents, my brothers and sisters, my traditions, but in here I found a job I love and I am grateful.

This is my story.
--- What's yours? Would you like to share?

To be continued.

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