Kafka's House

A few years after I came to US, after a long discussion with my American friends about life in Eastern Europe, I started writing little snippets about what meant to be a child in communist Romania.

I was not interested in my recent experiences as a student, as a young woman. I wanted to understand the child I once was, because I felt that that child held the key to my future. I wanted to understand what it meant to grow up there in the mid-sixties. How were my friends, my schoolmates, how w...