My heart still breaks for you every day

I can sit here and say that I love you, but the reality is that the love can only be attributed to the memories. To the places, to the smell in the air. In reality, my love for you, while multi-faceted, can only last so long when day in and day out, I am reminded of all the reasons I have to walk away and never come back. There's nothing left here for me except the memories of what was. Going back would simply be a return to what I know for a fact to no longer serve me. I'm not even sure that you would take me back either, not if you didn't have anything substantial to gain from me. So is it worth it? Or do we eventually actually walk away from each other and leave the past in the past?

I was born in Romania in 1995 to a middle class family. I would say that I had a normal upbringing but I'm not sure that's true. My parents worked way too hard and fought way too often for that to be considered normal, but that was my normal. In reality, we had first world problems and were never starving, prosecuted or living in fear (at least I don't think). That being said, I always felt like my childhood was less than.

I was always a smart cookie and that, surprisingly, got me places. In my middle school years, I attended the best school in the city and I did that on account of my intellect and not because my parents paid my way through. It was painfully obvious though that I was there because I was smart. On day 3 of grade 5, I was called out by a classmate for wearing the same shirt two days in a row. She asked me if my parents didn't have enough money to get me a different shirt for every day of the week. While I hold no grudge against her, I remember to this day what her full name was because she made me feel like I was less than. It was around then that I became fully aware that my heart was already breaking and I wish that I could give young me a hug cause she was way too young to have to feel that way.

Within a few months at this school, it became clear whose families had money. Those kids always had those ringlet notebooks and coloured gel pens. I had glue binded notebooks and just your average pen. These things made a difference and while it seems absolutely ridiculous to think about these days, those were the things that told you apart in middle school society. That Christmas, I begged my parents for school supplies that matched the other kids in the classroom. I think that broke their hearts a little cause they didn't want me to feel left out. The reality was that a normal notebook was about a quarter of the price of a ring binded notebook. It realistically shouldn't have mattered so long as you had paper and a pen to write, but it mattered.

I didn't really understand these things until much later in life. When my parents got the green light to immigrate to Canada, I resented them for it. As broken as my heart was every day living in Romania, it was what I knew and I was comfortable in that. It was like that really toxic relationship that you don't have the heart to leave cause you'd rather cry in the relationship than be entirely on your own. My heart broke further when I was on that plane heading a world away from anything I ever knew.

It took about 9 years to come to terms with the fact that Canada was that really nice love that I got only after I had my heart torn to shreds and I pushed it to the side because I longed for the one thing that would continuously break my heart if I went back to it. Canada gave me notebooks and school supplies for free and didn't ask for anything in return. Yet I longed for the agony I knew Romania gave my parents with those damned ringlet binded notebooks. Canada gave me the bicycle I never had growing up, simply cause my dad and I loved checking out garage sales. Canada healed a heart that I had no idea was broken, not until 9 years after my parents made me say good bye to Romania.

In June 2017, I went back to my first ever love, Romania. My parents refused to return so I went on my own to make sure I understood why I loved Romania so much still after 9 years apart. The air smelled the same, the places were just as I remembered and yet, something was different. My once naive and young eyes saw the realities of everything that drove my parents away from home in the first place. With every day that passed, I began understanding that their efforts to leave - which took a long time to come to fruition anyway - they were completely justified. My once juvenile way of thinking that they took me away from everything I loved, finally made sense. Romania was no longer the place I longed for for belongingness.

It's been 6 years since then and I haven't gone back since. I think I'd do a disservice to myself if I did. I have a weird relationship with the country now. I still love the places and the air and the people that are dear to me but I no longer crave a sense of belongingness to the land. I don't feel a sort of patriotism. I mostly just add the flag emoji to my name to identify myself as not being part of only one nation. I am Romanian first after all. But that, in and of itself creates confusion - people ask questions. When was the last time you went back? Do you go back often? Why not? When's the next time you will go?

What am I supposed to tell them? That Romania just doesn't feed my soul anymore? That I feel no sense of belonging to the land despite my name absolutely screaming association to it? That I'd rather speak English when I'm there so I am not associated with all other Romanians? That I just would rather say I'm Canadian? That I don't really have Romanian friends here because it's a sad reminder of everything I don't feel I belong to?

I know it sucks to read. Trust me, it sucks for me to write. To feel alienated from everything you are while feeling weird that you don't entirely feel like you belong in the new place either. It feels like my name is Cezara in a world full of Sally's. Like my last name is Chesu in a world full of Smith's.

I know I don't have to pick one or the other - that they can both co-exist. In all honesty, I always hoped that I'd marry someone Romanian just so that I can feel closer to everything I was brought up to know. While that still is a possibility, I feel far removed from those roots. I guess to some extent I resent it. But with that said, everything that happened brought me to where I am today and while my heart is still broken, I've found solace in knowing that I don't owe anyone an explanation for not wanting to go back "home". That I am perfectly okay being here - and that's enough.

I know this might upset some of you but I will say this - my writing would suck if I wasn't authentic. It wouldn't be me if I was careful about every single word and making sure that it is neutral enough as to not upset anyone. I hope you can join me in understanding that this is my own mental turmoil and I don't expect anyone to join my mentality. I just frankly say what I feel and feel what I say for those of you who might be able to relate or frankly, might be trying to understand me a little better.