MONOLOGUES.

The fear.

My Grandmother never stopped talking about it.

The fear of losing everything, getting up one morning

and finding all this is no longer there.

I am afraid the same thing will happen to me finding myself alone,

without mother, with no one, and I will have to wander

the snowy streets of the abandoned city, barefoot, seeking shelter at night,

knocking on doors of the locals in the hope

some gypsy family will take me in and hide my forbidden identity.

I will have have to run my entire life from who I am,

from my forbidden language, from my small and dangerous past.

It was always like this, grandmother says, they always hated us,

it’s not new, and they will always hate us,

even if our streets are no longer covered with snow,

even if we are no longer alone,

but that’s just the way it is, Grandmother says.