I'm grasping onto color these days. Winter may have finally decided to come--I woke up yesterday morning to light snow, walked outside in it this morning, slipping on the ice and thoroughly delighted. But for its indecision in temperature and snow, the light has been winter light from the start. White-washed and muted. There are no straight lines in this kind of light. Its edges aren't clear and hard and exacting, they're undefined, unsure. But its full of a glare that permeates everything--no clear distinction between light and shadow, either.
The other night I was washing dishes by the window in the kitchen and was surprised to find myself still standing there thirty minutes later, leaning against the radiator, watching the sky over the hill behind our bloc. Dark except for the burned line of yellow outlining houses and towers. And the other night, I started watching Slumdog Millionaire with my younger roommate. A quick aside: I had the book in Romanian, she read it, loved it, and sitting there in the dark with her I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the fact that God put us together. From my first morning here, I have been convinced that sharing a room with her (didn't move in with the other roommate, after all) specifically is why I ended up living in this apartment instead of anywhere else in Pitesti--there's so much I wish I could share on the blog. But that movie--a different sort of yellow altogether, but it's the strongest impression it left on me, the color of it. A hazy yellow, a heavy yellow. That warm language.
And then a few weeks ago I got a package from a friend for Christmas. In it was a red scarf and I remember being so surprised at how red it was, this shock of color. I wore it for a week hardly taking it off.
Minimized this and went about reading other things for a while. Not sure where to pick this up, where it was going. If we're talking about sudden shocks of color, I think about the footage I saw on the news the other night of the protests in Bucuresti. I can't remember what, but they'd turned something over and lit it on fire (correct me if I'm wrong). Here's a rather a dramatic videoclip from all of it. They've been mostly peaceful from what I'm reading, and not just in the capital but all over the country, including here in Pitesti (article in English). It's strange to watch the news and see it all happening in such a familiar place. I went to church every week pretty close--they rented out the Scala Sunday mornings. Used to sit on the benches or the steps in front of the National Theatre, reading after going to Carturesti or listening for other languages as tourists passed by.
But it's familiar in such different ways for other people. If you read about the Revolution, if you talk to people, so much happened in that square. What's the monument there? I can't remember if it has anything to do with the Revolution or no, but there's something somewhere around there I'd see.
And I'll tell you what: I miss Bucuresti, and I know most of you Romanians will think I'm crazy, but there it is.
Not sure how to end this one, except to say that I've missed writing on here. Hoping to be back for real soon.