April 2026e
Like seriously I want to move away. I want to go as far as possible from the big city, from the big bad Cluj. It’s too much, it’s too loud, both literally and emotionally. It’s expensive and crowded, it’s so much.
My studio apartment feels like a jail cell, too small, I can’t take more than 1 (one) step into the bathroom and the kitchen before the room ends. I went to Cluj to experience freedom, independence, but I feel like I had enough. Something that I hadn’t expected is for this “freedom” to feel like loneliness, like deep acute loneliness. My apartment is nothing more than a small, crowded reminder that I am alone, without a job, 300 kilometers away from home.
It feels like I wasted my time, my energy, and so, so much money. For those of you who have read my previous essay, you might be aware that, at the time of writing, I was afraid that I had failed one class from my first semester. Well, here I am, 2 very depressed months later, to tell you that I indeed failed that class, which leaves me with one more year of university. I want to quit, really, I do, but I feel like that is even worse, I would’ve wasted 3 years for absolutely nothing. I’ve spent countless hours stressing about exams and assignments, I’ve spent even more time reading texts from authors that I hated, with stupid ideas about the world, with a wretched view of reality.
I miss my cats, my bed (not the disgusting pull-out couch which I’ve been sleeping on for the last 2 years), I miss my bag of yarn with which I could knit, on the swing outside of my grandparents’ house. I miss the sound of chickens clucking in the morning, the smell of the various fruit trees planted behind my house by my grandfather and father. I miss my noisy, old neighbors, my walks to the village center and back, the feeling of walking barefoot on the wet grass. I miss my garden and the delicious vegetables, I miss stealing sour cherries from the neighbor, I miss my best friend who could be a 20-minute drive away, instead of a 6 hour one. If there is one thing that is going to kill me before I do it myself, is nostalgia. I am aware that maybe some of this is just, I don’t know, the fear of getting older. Maybe home is not that glamorous, that perfect. Things will be different than they were when I was 6, with both of my parents there, and my maternal grandparents nearby. And of course, my dear brother, who never wants to return home, things will certainly be different but honestly, I’ll take anything that isn’t the big city. I want to go home, not because I’ve given up, but because I can’t breathe here.
Sometimes I feel like I am, really. So many of my friends and acquaintances want to go and live as far away as possible. Pretty much all my university colleagues want to go and get a master’s degree, even farther, some even out of Romania.
And I get it! I really do; I mean this is what the system incentivizes you to do. For you to go, and “pull yourself up by your bootstraps”, which ironically once had the meaning of an impossible task, but has transformed into “just work harder”. I’ll blame capitalism for this as well.
Sometimes I even wonder if I am made for university. I went there because I love learning, it’s my favorite thing in the world, and every day I want to learn, I want to know more about everything. But I guess I had a very skewed of what university will be. Presence, performance and output is the thing that really matters. And well, you’re on the blog of someone who procrastinated 3 years to make a website and has not written a page in 2 months. I mean, I completely understand the need for exam sessions, to see if you have actually done something for a semester, but the attendance requirement? I’m so sorry but it’s so stupid! And for distance learning there are only so many majors you can pick from, there’s nothing like political science, history or philosophy. I mean I get needed to be there constantly if you are like in med school, or engineering. But Political Science?
And returning here, well, anyone returning to their village, or small town, that’s something that is instantly seen as failure. Why? I will never understand.
I get it, the job opportunities are far fewer, there are not a lot of people, it’s not very diverse. But still, are all of us meant to have an office job, living in the middle of a small, cramped apartment in a big city? That seems like something that the writers of Black Mirror would think about. What if we can live without being surrounded by a million people, but with a close small community around us, of people who love us and cherish us? Is your native village not enough for that?
I do wonder, can you become “someone” (read: someone important for the world, to leave a legacy behind you), even if you never leave for a bigger city? Because I’ve always been taught that you can’t. You will never evolve or grow without leaving. And once again, there are arguments for moving, I don’t completely regret leaving, Cluj has taught me a lot. I just wonder if this was something I HAD to do.
Being home is just seen as…stagnant existence. Not somewhere where you can grow, and love and create. But a failure that will haunt you, that you will regret, no matter what you’d like to do.
This is the part of the essay where I discuss whether the system that imposes this on us is correct or not (spoiler: it’s almost always incorrect), but I feel like I’ve already somehow discussed this.
Is going home, being home just cowardice? Or is it comfort? Is it love for a place and community, a need for belonging. I am aware I am very lucky in this regard; a lot of people don’t have what I do, somewhere where they can go and rest, and feel at ease. I won’t lie to you and pretend like my home is incredible, I suffer from a lot of the things that other people in my position do. The living conditions are not incredible, but it’s fine. My neighbors are nosy and judgy, but frankly I couldn’t care less. The job opportunities are very small, and there are a lot of the things that I need I can only get in the nearest city, but that’s ok with me. I prefer that over the busyness of the city.
Do you need to suffer to grow? Do you need to be uncomfortable to do it? There are 2 saying that come to my mind, first: “They only love depressed artists because they produced, but what incredible art what they have made without it?” (No idea who said this) and “The same boiling water that hardens the egg softens the potato” (which I believe is a folk idiom). Does this growth NEED to come from suffering? Does a human’s growth need to come from you being miserable? What if this misery just gives you trauma? What if that hurt just makes you uncapable of existing, of loving, of creating?
I think society sometimes confuses ambition with self-abandonment. This society of ours makes us believe that if you can’t make something into a job, if you can’t profit from it, then it’s not worth it. I remember loving to draw and being told to stop wasting my time because I’m obviously not good enough. Playing the guitar or singing and being told that “it’s not in your blood, you can’t do it, just quit.” I’m 22 and now I still regret putting down that lovely guitar. I started knitting not too long ago, and I’m constantly being told to put my needles down, I need to learn, to do my university stuff, to look for a job. You can’t enjoy anything if the people around you, if society doesn’t think that you are being “truly productive”.
I’m sorry, maybe I am being weak, maybe I will regret this in the future, but I can’t stay in Cluj anymore, or any big city for that matter. It’s not even about productivity, because first of all I can’t be productive if I’m just trying to survive. I can’t write, and love and work I’m battling to survive. My home is my everything. The place where I can feel good, and safe, and appreciated. Not even by my parents, but by friends and loved ones. It’s where I can be free to do all those things I mentioned above.
This system of ours loves to praise independence, get a job young, move out as fast as possible, do things on your own, etc. but I feel like, through this, we forget we are real human beings, social beings. All humans need community, and they need love. Every single one of us, but we’re told to go and move and start over. I don’t want to move, to go somewhere bigger. I want my friends here, at home. I’m always open to making more friends, and keep a lot of friendships alive, but I can’t do that when loneliness is torturing me and putting me down even further into my depression.
But it’s beneficial for them, isn’t it? It’s so much easier to exploit weak, lonely and depressed people. Why would you want to be bothered with… having social relations? Having hobbies? Your boss needs you to work overtime again, unpaid, for the 3rd time this week! Does you being married, hanging out with friends make them any profit? If not, try to forget about it!
And resting, calming down, all of it is seen as a privilege, but shouldn’t it be a right? Humans need it, we need to recharge and do things with our loved ones to not go insane. But there’s no time for that! You need to eat regular meals, and workout, drink 2 liters of water, and prepare for school/ work, and that’s how your entire day should go. But are our 24 hours enough for that? What about reading a book? Going on a date? Day drinking with your bestie in public and laughing really loud bothering the old ladies between the communist blocks?
I want to go home to do all those things. I am not against work, really, I am not! I’d love to do work, work that would pay me appropriately, that would understand the value of my labor. Work that still lets me love and explore and write. Am I that insane for dreaming of a job that would still let me live, not just survive? Am I insane for wanting it to be closer to my loved ones? I don’t feel I am. Me returning home shouldn’t be a “reverse progress” situation, but just another step in the many that we take in life. It’s me wanting to live and preserve what is left of my sanity.
Maybe my strength does not come from suffering, but from admitting that I deserve to be alive and at peace.
May you feel happy and safe wherever you want to be. But I want to be home, because home is community, it’s safety and softness. Home is somewhere different for all of us, and once again, I am aware of the immense privilege I have, to be able to have a home where I know that (probably) nothing will happen to me. I hope you find somewhere where you are happy and safe. If it’s not the one you grew up in, may you find your home wherever you want it to be. I hope you get too able to move, if that is what you wish, to travel and never settle down. I hope you are able to come home, if that is what you wish, to see your loved ones and fall into the softness of normality.
I want to do the most rebellious thing in existence, to love life. But I don’t think I m able to do this from Cluj. My biggest dream from when I was 18, moving as far as possible, has turned into my biggest nightmare, but that’s ok. I’ll fix it, I need to, so I can live, and love (no pun intended).
I want to continue my studies, to get my degree, to keep learning, but to do all of that I need to survive.
I want to go home so I can survive and feel good. I hope you can do those things wherever you may be.