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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-05-07 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
The first map of my homeland I remember
was a blank bulletin board on which they pinned down loyalty, patriotic fervor, sacrifice, and nothing else. They said that would suffice. My grandmother got a job as a secretary, and all day she had to check for typos in the word “comrade”; my mom was in charge of wiping out marmalade stains left on circulars by sticky hands of teen boys and girls in overalls, and keeping flies from laying eggs on the red letters in ”our wonderful heroic people”. Nobody was fooled, though. But they nailed me up with my favorite language: solum patriae sacrum est. (I have to admit this is a dead language) Anyway, they didn’t cut off my legs to fit into the communist bed, yet the pins I removed from the map came out blood-red, and my loyalty, patriotic fervor, sacrifice smelled sharply of squashed bed bugs; so I knew I was given a dilapidated map of my homeland. ©Elena Malec, California, June 3rd,1997
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