From the very first moment I arrived in Chisinau, I was troubled by the thought that it would suffocate me. That I would have had too many things to think about, too many memories to recall, to many risks to take.
I do not like Chisinau. Literally, I’m totally not afraid to say that this is not the city I would like to live in and this is not the city I’m proud of. Yes, it is my dear city. Yes, I have grown up here. The best memories are from Chisinau. Everytime I leave it, I spend hours thinking how nice it would be to return and take the 185th minibus from Valea Morilor as I did daily in the past, to drink a coffee in a park, to have a walk with my people. Yes, it is my dear city. But I like it spiritually. Not visually or…
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