Ana, Pasha’s sister sits in the family kitchen as she prepares coltunasi, a traditional Moldovan dumpling, in the dead of frozen January. I see that she is staring quietly into nothing and I ask her what she is thinking about. She responds simply with, “My sister, my [eldest] daughter in Italy, my brother, [Leonid] who died. I am remembering my family.”
Ana is the pillar of strength of her home. Always busy, she rarely takes a moment to sit and rest. As I have gotten to know her better it becomes clear how she uses her work as a means to survive her past. The moment she stops working, the memory flood in and, at times, a quiet melancholy will cross her face.
As we talk more and she laments her age, I joke that she is still young and active. We laugh together and she later says, “I don’t know if I was ever young. My childhood was so sad, I don’t think I was a child then.”
