I was born in the most unhappy place on earth...

"Once upon a time there was a little girl and she lived in the most unhappy place on Earth...". According to Eric Weiner and his book, it's how my story would start, that is if my life was a fairytale.

Recently he wrote a book titled The Geography of Bliss in which my homecountry (Moldova) was rated the most miserable place on earth. He makes valid arguments for people's unhappiness, but those who jump to Moldova's defense make some counterpoints, or at least give valid reasons why the country is in its current state. I could write a lot on this delicate subject; not attacking mister Weiner's opinion but probably supporting it, at least partially. Then again perhaps being raised in that country I am already doomed to be a cynical pessimist and overall wet blanket. A family friend used to always ask: "Why do you have that sad look on your face of an exiled princess on the Black Sea?" Perhaps the sadness is already engraved on my face.

I've been thinking a lot lately about identity and culture. The problem with Moldova, as with many other former Soviet Union countries, is that our people had their identity stolen from them, and they no longer know who they are as a nation. It's a very long convoluted history that takes time to explain, and a problem my generation won't solve. However, it's not a dump, it's not under some sadness spell, and there are some happy people going on with their lives unbeknownst to them that they should be miserable. There are some very intelligent people, some very talented people, and some beautiful ones (despite mr. Weiner's statement that men don't take care of their appearance and women wear raccoon makeup).

I only grew up with two kinds of ice cream flavors (vanilla or chocolate) and didn't have peanut butter or cream cheese, but those were the least of my problems. I've had conversations with people about my background and recently I got this reaction: "wow, your childhood sounds awful, why are you such a nice person?" Maybe most of us from Moldova learn to be happy with fewer things, and learn to be kind when life finally gives us a break. Perhaps because in the end, despite our condition, we won't give up. We cannot chose where we are born, although we can choose to leave. Our parents raise us right and fight hard as hell to give us a better future working with what they have. And for that we are grateful, not unhappy.

Somewhere in my photo archive there are a lot more images, a lot probably even bleaker than these, and a lot more cheery, but  no need to go down memory lane. Just a snippet...

1. A partial view from my apartment right before the rain when the crows are going mad, so you get the morose feeling
2. My grandmother's house, after the chickens have escaped from the back
3. A tractor in the village