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Dienstag, 16. November 2010

To Oddvar, in Norway, after 20 years

20 years ago, summer 1990. During the previous 3 years in a communist Romania I managed somehow to have a regular penpal abroad, in Norway. Every month we changed long letters, sometimes two letters per months, depending how fast the Romanian post service was or how fast we replied, each of us in different countries, different worlds. Without electricity and in a cold flat in Bucharest, having no warmer as 8 degrees inside, the letters from Oddvar were my only joy in that life. We improved our English on the way during those 3 years to a decent manner. I remember, once he wrote to me, that he sent to me a pair of  “earrings”. As it was not allowed to get parcels from abroad it was no wonder I never got that thing, but at that moment I had no idea what he meant. Maybe earings? For sure. He put earings in a envelope and send it to me, so simple it that. I never got that envelope. Or I remember the long way by foot to the post office for buying that red stamp for Europe, it did cost 10 lei, very expensive. In winter was more difficult, about 1,5 km by foot and 1,5 km to return. But walking was a way to get a warmer body. It was so risky to have this penpal abroad, especially because I described everything from my daily life. I will never understand how it was possible our letter ran so many years without any remarkable dangers for me, even after I had the troubles with the secret police, in summer 1989. No, I will never understand. Only maybe If I will ever ask for my secret dossier which surely exists.

I will not write long this evening about the entire story, because the story is very long. I still have all letters and cards, I keep the entire correspondence we changed in the 3 years and a while after I left Norway, running to Germany on my own.

Oddvar’s father was the first human being who made the telephone ringing in our apartment from Bucharest, in the evening of December 25th, 1989. Oddvar and his parents wanted to know if I survived the street war from Bucharest. I remember I cried, my mother was also very impressed. Some strangers from so far away were worried and people around us never asked about me in those days. This is impressive, right? My own mother never asked me what I actually did during the bloody revolution, days and nights, far away from home, on the streets of Bucharest.

I became at the beginning of the year 1990 two invitations from abroad: to visit France (a family friend) or to visit Norway. The idea of applying for a personal passport was so strange in those time ….. we never dared to think we will ever see a personal passport. So, I choose Norway, of course.

I lived in Norway the happiest time of my entire life. It was the first time in my life when I felt the feeling of a real family, I was very well welcomed and very well treated. I adored Oddvar’s father and I liked everything. His mother was a little bit colder, but I admired her a lot. Just we could not become very close.
I enjoyed everything there: the landscape, the mountains behind the small village, the streets, the long walks and rides by bike, the white nights, I adored the long discussions with Oddvar's father, cooking, cutting the grass in their yard, painting white the wood house, a wonderful Norwegian house, I loved my room, the smell .... everything! I would give anything to go back there, but I suppose it would be very painful for me.

I remember as I let the family know I will not return to Romania ever again.

Oddvar’s mother said to me, I took advantage of them to leave Romania for escape. Of course it was not true, but I was too young und much too unexperienced to manage such of things and my English did not help me very well also.

I remember that Oddvar was shocked and he came to me to explain, I have to be patriotic, to go back to Romania and fight for a better future. It was clear that they would never understand the life in Romania and my right for a different chance. I tried to explain to him that no, I have no connection to that country, my mother was German/Austrian origin, I’ve got a different education. On the other hand, Romania has no future. Never. I better die than go back to Romania. I was 22 years old.

So I did not returned to Romania for 4 years. The most terrible times of my life started immediately I left Norway. I left Norway alone, with money enough for a train ticket to Germany (400 Nkr only), having my clothes on and a beautiful doll. So I started my life. And rivers of tears. I cried in the airplane to Copenhagen so severe, that I almost colapsed.

After a while, when I had an address in Germany, for a while, I got a letter from Oddvar, he was quite worried about my destiny, alone, in Germany, no German, no money, no nothing? He wrote to me that I have to go back to Norway, to him. Of course I wanted to go back to Norway and to stay there for ever, but I asked him first if his parents know about this. And I sent him the letter.

After a short time I got a letter signed by his parents. I was not allowed anymore to write Oddvar. Never again. I had no choice, as Oddvar lived in the home of his parents. From Oddvar itself, I never have got any word again anymore.

Oddvar’s father used to write me to Germany from time to time. He NEVER told me about how is Oddvar doing. Everytime I asked about Oddvar, he just ignored. Sometime, Hope, the mother, signed the letter too.

Now, after 20 years of thinking and remembering those times in Norway, I found Oddvar on internet, I found his blog. I wrote to him ….. after 20 years.

This evening I saw a visitor from Norway on my blog.

This is all for now. 
I hope Oddvar will feel to contact me after such a long period of time. I would like to know about him and his parents whom I loved and admired a lot.
I hope he will reply. Or not.... he never replied. END OF STORY. One of his brothers found this article and contacted me. Oddvar will never reply.

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