The call of the producer, “Sergiu Nicolaescu”: that people should go out on the markets …to defend the revolutionary conquest (Who was craving for it?) didn’t wasted in van, doing probably the trick (in “Baia Mare”, too, his call gathered that group, that in the end divided) only that in here there was nobody to make a stand against …others, but in Cluj, the ensoul of Transylvania, there were SHOOTING, there were DIEING.
On December 22 after I got home and I turned on the TV, my soul weighted from a real patriotism (different form the one at the show, till then) and I was sure to leave to Cluj, to give a helping hand there. It was a matter that certified as time went by and it lasted until, after the revolution when the television presented the desperate situation of the crippled ones by that time that couldn’t be treated inside the country, their prosthesis could not be made having no money (from where?), they “became” something that nobody needed. They became annoying with all their needs. But before all this, before this sad episode of life, the whole country population was capable of supreme sacrifice. The life we had until then, the unbearable come back to the humbleness of the material things and spiritual feed, made most of us incapable of cherishing our own life and freedom. You must always remember that the first man shot from Cluj was a young student that went without fear in front of his so called criminals. He made this step with a unique apathy and carelessness, even depreciative. The firing party acknowledged him in his last moment that the value of life in this country, in that moment, was nothing. Otherwise how can someone explain this murder in which nobody had nothing to give and nothing to take?
The place of the future Orthodox Cathedral from “Baia Mare” was consecrated, few knowing (maybe not even the heads of the church) that people who wished to be build in its foundation existed, so that they could give a meaning to their insignificant life, that nobody else cherished. The feeling of vanity tears to pieces humans bursts beliefs, and then in that extreme point we were with the ethic, us the brave Romanian nationality.
Many did not even have the power and the will to tell once again to all PEOPLE that in order to be HUMAN first of all you have to respect your fellow; throwing their own lives … in death.

On these living themes, of any contemplation, my will was to jump in the battle, to give my life for any cause that would ask for it, when my wife got home.
Noticing the state I was in, she had no clue of what she was supposed to do in order to calm down, knowing that in that moment it was impossible for me to “turn back” from my way. Someone rings at the door. It was a tapestry worker that had to fix the couch from the hallway.
– Good evening!
– Hello.
– Sorry to bother you, I’ve heard that unusual stuff are happening in the country, as you are watching TV, can I join you?
-Yes. Please, be welcomed. And we turned the TV on so we could see these things.
-Are you sure I am not bothering you?
-How come? These things involve everyone.
My wife quickly takes out a bottle of plum brandy (a last minute idea), so that he can see we aren’t upset with him, and serves us both. I take my camera and what I thought was important I recorded on the film. With all the shocking images shown at TV, the superposed messages over the image presented the participants from all over the country and all those movements in general made us believe that: “Romanian Television broadcasted live the revolution”. The drinks cumulated while the revolutionary from inside me was continuously imbibing after the retrace of the images in time, made by Brates and others. It seems that my wife’s calculation did not fail. In the end I went to sleep knowing that I will see Cluj… in December 29, when “the cold and fear” train stopped in Cluj. From it some got off, only some… Why not everyone? With my finger nail I scrape the carriage window from the ice deposed to it. Yes, we are in Cluj… It’s the final station. All the passengers should get off. Yes, but I see they don’t… I don’t get this “part”… I put my hand on the luggage and hand lamp (even in this type of city the movable lighting is necessary). I get off. Few passengers that got off the train hurry to leave the train station. I did the same thing. All people that leave the train station have the tendency to “throw themselves” at any type of transportation vehicle. I love too much Cluj to just travel in the speed of the railway.

I began to like Cluj from the moment I have seen it for the first time, when, after my opinion, it presented as an appealing, rather than towering city, like all the metropolis leave the impression, giving you the opportunity to discover it house to house, street to street, as if you would communicate with history, with those people that along the centuries have put their hands, soul and money to build this saucy Transylvanian city. Now I was being in a “over century affinity” and this thing was making me happy. I was trying to see those people that inhabited this city, how they behaved, how they were, how good, knowing that there the decision of assassinating Horea (today, a street name), Novac (whose torture wall still lasts) was taken. There were also bad people, but I believe that a lot were in pain from the sufferings of their heroes. Today people from Cluj are superior, they feel and understand each other better, and for their “intelligence” people are talking for a long time. From my getting off the train in the few lighted station this thoughts “grounded” me (this was also a kind of a psychic repression imposed to the whole people from the country through the missing of the street lights), in a city that is even less lighted. With a small luggage in this coldness I felt the need to “step” fast enough so that my feet won’t freeze. The city was waking up, but still the railways were empty enough. On the left side of “Horea” street, an armored car was patrolling. On the bridge over the “Somes” River the railways were going down the street with “bunches” in front of the door. The working Cluj was going on duty. Getting on the center of the city a little before 6 o’clock I did not find a door opened. A sign of fear? I don’t know, but there was nobody to offer you a tea, a coffee, a worm croissant, in such town not only that it was being unpleasant, inhospitable, it more looked like a sort of repugnance. The coldness “loved me” with a constancy to be envied. Since eight o’clock last night I was not able to feel the worm. I began to visit the graveyards with no dead men in it, the bread and sorrow graveyards with rests of candles. With the lamp on my hand in the full center of Cluj, I was reading the advertising, the imputes, the agony written in despair of the ones that have lost all they had worthful in this world at the so soon passed revolution. They mourned their sons, husbands, parents, brothers. The sidewalk from the front of the University’s Book Store was half full of crowns, bunches, BREAD, flowers and candles.