There’s a cold darkness eating Bucharest and the night of February 5th was the first night I saw it.
When thousands of protesters lit up their phones. There it was. Staring at us - the big darkness of not caring.
Politicians do not care about us. we don't care enough to vote once in four years.
We forgot to take care of our old people - so bruised by the darkness that they can’t see us anymore. We designed careless bubbles where we hide from reality. We built Facebook walls behind things we like and only the ones we like. We’ve been feeding this darkness for years and now we’re hungry for light.
There’s a cold darkness eating Bucharest and now you can see it.
“When our phones lit up, the whole world saw it too.” The hole of hope for Europe. And everyone jumped in with likes and shares. It was all over the pages of international press – the cold darkness lingering over thousands of synchronized hopes, tucking in thousands of flashlights, licking our warm fury.
There’s a cold darkness eating Bucharest and now I can’t unsee it.
Over the next few days and nights of protests, I moved in and out of fury. I could hear bubbles bursting louder and louder as the darkness grew bigger and bigger. Colder and colder. But ‘There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in’, once my dazzling Cohen sang in my ears. And now I know.
I’m starting my own revolution.
I don’t want to #rezist anymore. I don’t want to #care. I want to care. Care for words. For strangers. For old people. For young people. Helpless people. Care about my rights and their rights. Our rights.
That’s my revolution.
Words by guest correspondent Alina Varlanuta