TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Carmen-Francesca Banciu

To me a doll carriage, like the one Juliana got, a doll carriage from Germany, was much better and what I wished for.

My parents mutually explained to me that more understanding was expected fromme than other children. That I had to learn to abstain and not give into every whim. Be my own master. Control myself. Show my strengths. Because we were supposed to be the New Humans. The people of the New Era. Stronger than nature. We, children of the Party, had to be an example for the others. I don’t know whether all of the children of the PCR block got this lecture. But at some point all of the girls got these damned doll carriages. These capitalistic white carriages. That promoted comfort, laziness and degeneracy. But at some point I too got a buggy. A buggy. Agreenone. So toilet-green that I was ashamed. I should be ashamed anyway, Father said. Because I couldn’t abstain. It was bad enough that Juliana’s parents had relatives in the West. I don’t know whether the fall of Socialism had already been determined at the time when the girls of the PCR-Block got their decadent doll carriages. You will see what will become of your daughter when you grant her every wish, said my father when my mother got weak, gave in, and bought me a doll carriage. A buggy. A green one. I had given up on wishing very early on. The Chinese toy, I did not want. I wanted a doll carriage and simple doll tea-set. But I 244