While shooting this, something dawned on me.
I’m more familiar with Manhattan than with the town where my wife was born. Where my mother in law still lives…
I had visited New York on three ocassions. I had spent there three, maybe four, weeks. In total!
I’ve driven to Dej, my better half’s birthplace, for at least 50 times. And mind you, getting there from Bucharest, by car, takes about the same amount of time as that spent in a plane flying from Bucharest to JFK…
In NYC, I used to stay at my late uncle’s. In Garden City. Almost every working day, I took the early train into Penn Station and wore my soles out criss-crossing the island. Alone, the first two times, accompanied by my wife and little son during the last ocassion.
Whenever we come to visit my in-laws we almost never leave the house. Except for buying groceries. To go to the cemetery. Or, rarely, to visit some derelict castle …
Why?
Does it really matter?!?
Do we actually need explanations for everything?
Why can’t we just wonder? Specially at the strange things which happen to us…
Or, more exactly, when we realize how strangely we had behaved ourselves for such a long time!
nicichiarasa 