It had been almost a year and a half since I last visited the countryside. After tidying up my things a bit in the room, I searched through my clothes and found the perfect polo shirt for my return. A blue one. One with phrases celebrating the positive qualities of a dad. It was a Father’s Day gift from a residential center for girls, boys, and teenagers at risk.
2023 was a beautiful year, one I spent half in Bucharest and half in Valcea. After many years of working remotely, I had decided to leave the capital. For the first time, I experienced each season with a new connection to nature.
I remember sitting on a log in the middle of the garden, sipping coffee, watching my dogs play in the snow. I wore thick pajamas, rubber boots, a blanket wrapped warmly around me, and a colorful Peruvian chullo hat.
I watched the trees turn green and bloom again, and the birds return, singing all around. I enjoyed the transition from the cold to a long-awaited spring—after a harsh winter, feeling the breeze and the sun warming my skin.
The intense summer heat was eased by the scent of flowers and the freshness of grass so green it filled me with optimism. Every now and then, I’d hear apples falling from their branches.
And finally, my favorite season—autumn. Showers of nostalgia and hills displaying hypnotic combinations of colors.
When I sit and read on the terrace of the country house, looking around reminds me of that residential center. The gray cement floor. The dust. The green grass. The powerful sun. There’s a certain familiarity that transports me back to my days collaborating with CAEF. Maybe it’s because both places are far from the city?
In 2023, I visited that center with some volunteers. On our last night, during the farewell dinner, Denise, the volunteer group leader, gave each of us some sweets and a rubber duck. The idea was that such a simple object would remind us of the moments we shared.
When I arrived in my room and saw the rubber duck on my dresser, memories flooded in—days spent cutting out cardboard for classes, riding a mototaxi to pick up the kids after school, lunches in the dining hall, walking through dust under the blazing sun, sticky and sincere hugs, the frustration of not understanding my professional role. But also, the discovery of a purpose that knows no time limits.
I’ve been sitting and reading on the terrace, enjoying the sun and fresh air, the overwhelming green that overstimulates my eyes. Sometimes I try to count how many times I breathe, until I forget and lose myself in thought. I return to my room—and there it is again, the rubber duck.
Ave Migratoria 