Humans Cursed by Geography on the Pursuit of Happiness: True to Fact Stories (Paperback) (ISBN-13: 9781521911891)

True to fact stories about people cursed by geography and discriminated by design. Communism, immigration, discrimination, abuse and a girl alone.

What will she do? What will she become?

While my father was lecturing me, I heard the sound of the whip hitting the poor animal who made a terrible jump upfront from pain. I closed my eyes for a second to hold back my tears. I felt the power of the strike on my back, and I shouted as loud as I could, "Stop, please, STOOOP, you are hurting him."

My father grabbed my hand again and forced me to walk with him on the other side of the cart, away from my uncle who was saying to my father in disgust, "You have a very weird child, Giuseppe, not that the others were different. I have never seen anything like that. I pity you."

My father ignored him and tried to reason with me, "Cristinuza, this is madness. He's just an animal. They don't have souls."

I was sobbing in despair, "Who told you they don't have souls? But what does it matter? He's made of flesh and bones just like us! When someone hits you, you feel pain. It's the same for them. It hurts, Papa, it hurts. The body suffers, not the soul. You know that."

"You useless immigrants, coming to the hospital for every headache to spend our money," she hissed through her teeth while pressing with force on my abdomen.

I screamed in pain. The look she gave me froze the blood in my veins. I was convinced she'll kill me with the stethoscope.

"Get up and go pay the ticket. Tell me your name and date of birth," she shouted.

"Cristina G., 14 November 1975," I murmured more dead than alive.

"Hmm. Today is your birthday. Instead of celebrating you came here wasting my time."

Ceausescu kept his nation in total dark and indigence. Children were sent to work the land to pay the debts the dictator made. Women encouraged to remain pregnant as often as possible. Then December of 1989 comes, and the communist leaders were shot dead on Christmas day. The country went into chaos. Freedom was not as people expected. The rich industry disintegrated at once. Schools were closed, forests were denuded... With faces covered in tears, we kissed our elderly parents and abandoned everything we knew on the pursuit of any future. Italy, one of the most beautiful countries in the world, was our main destination. However, Italians were not happy, and the inferno continued. We are humans without identity. Humans of inferior birth.

This manuscript gathers the previous memoirs set in Romania and Italy: Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country and Ten Years in Italy, Three Weeks a Human. If you read them, please skip this one.