September 19, 2023

Curentul International

Curentul International Magazine

America, țara copilului meu/America, the country of my child

2 min read

Aseară priveam artificiile.
Oameni aşezaţi pe iarbă ca la un picnic uriaş într-un parc imens, country music, dansatori prinși în dansuri country tipice, copii zburdând în jurul părinţilor, standuri cu limonadă, hot-dogs, steaguri cu stele şi dungi.
Un oraș în Florida sărbătorește July 4th.
Paşnic, domestic, simplu, tipic american.
Ca emigrant, nu este de ajuns să am cetățenie, nu contează cât de bine m-am integrat, cât de bine vorbesc limba ţării adoptive sau cât de mulţumită sunt de ceea ce sunt; există un ceva anume, un sentiment că ţara lor, totuşi, nu este ţara mea.
În acelaşi timp nu-mi pot înlătura sentimentul şi mai ciudat de ,,Ioan cel fără de țară”, de emigrant în propria-mi țară, sentiment care m-a surprins când am fost acasă, în România, ultimă oară.
Artificiile explodau, mulţimea aclama, unii scandau USA-USA, aplaudau…
Participam la o sărbătoare de care mă bucuram sincer, dar care, într-un fel, nu o simțeam a mea.
Cu ochii scânteind în lumina artificiilor, sorbindu-şi limonada jumătate dezgheţată, băiatul meu, americanul, m-a privit, apoi a spus un lucru care, pentru a câta oară, m-a făcut să zâmbesc cu un fel de dulce împăcare:

“Mommy, America is awesome!”

(Davie, Florida 2011)
…………………
Happy Birthday, USA!

America, the country of my child

Last night, I watched the fireworks.
People sat on the grass, creating a massive picnic in a large park.
Country music played as dancers twirled in traditional country dances.
Children ran around their parents, and stands sold lemonade, hot dogs, and flags with stars and stripes.

A city in South Florida was celebrating July 4th.

It was a peaceful, domestic, and quintessentially American scene.

As an immigrant, having citizenship is not enough.
No matter how well I’ve integrated, how fluent I am in the adopted country’s language, or how content I am with my identity as Romanian-American, there remains a certain feeling that “their country is not truly mine”.

In the same time, I couldn’t shake off the strange sense of being a “John without a country”, an immigrant in my own homeland, a sentiment that took me by surprise the last time I was in Romania.

The fireworks burst in the sky, the crowd cheered, some chanted ‘USA-USA,’ and applause filled the air.
I participated in a celebration that I genuinely enjoyed, yet I couldn’t fully embrace it as my own.

With his eyes gleaming in the fireworks’ glow, sipping on his partially melted lemonade, my son, the American, looked at me and said something that, for the umpteenth time, brought a smile to my face and a sweet sense of reconciliation:

‘Mommy, America is awesome!’
(Davie, Florida 2011)

…………………
Happy Birthday, USA!

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