Our Borders: Nineteen Eighty-Four

I stood on the windy bluff above the Danube, at the foot of the monument. My heart was racing. What if I forgot the words?

Galaţi, Romania, 1984

Galaţi, Romania, 1984

My mother had bought my outfit weeks before that cloudy autumn day. The polyester clothes smelled like new toys: the white shirt, the black pleated skirt, the white knee-length socks. The colorful Romanian coat-of-arms adorned the buckle of my brown plastic belt, and also the blue rectangular piece of cloth sewn on my left sleeve, and the small badge pinned on my shirt. The night before, my father had shined my black leather shoes. My mother had starched my white pompons and fastened them to my white plastic headband. That morning, she put a transparent plastic ring in my pocket and a folded red scarf in my backpack. Continue reading