What defines us? How do we reconcile past and present identities? Where does authenticity truly reside?
Step into a reflective journey where identity is not just a label, but a living, evolving narrative. The Self in the Mirror of Identity invites readers to explore the intricate dance between perception and reality, between who we are and who we become.
Through insightful analysis and deeply resonant themes, this work navigates the crossroads of culture, philosophy, and self-awareness. Whether you seek clarity or contemplation, the pages within will challenge, illuminate, and inspire.
What defines us? How do we reconcile past and present identities? Where does authenticity truly reside?
I am but a lost emigrant,
In a world of mystery untold,
An emigrant who fought and strived,
For fate’s embrace, fierce and bold.
I am a tree, uprooted, worn,
My tongue now dry of words unspoken,
Unknown to heart, yet fate has sworn,
A path of bonds, a vow unbroken.
I drink the tears the sun has shed,
To warm my wandering, restless soul,
With longing deep and kindness spread,
I chase a dream beyond control.
The forests now estrange from me,
I am like a tamed young bear,
I step through shards of time’s debris,
Through wounds that strangers failed to spare.
I gaze upon the purple sky,
Where countless Christian souls ascend,
So pure they rise, in silent flight,
To peaceful paths that have no end.
Among the strangers, I am lost,
Forgotten, torn from land and lore,
A stranger still among the host,
Yet one who holds you at his core.
I am but a lost emigrant,
In a world of mystery untold,
An emigrant who fought and strived,
For fate’s embrace, fierce and bold
(Only an immigrat – Anisoara Laura Mustetiu)
The sky was golden-red. A few patches of blue drifted, unraveling beyond the horizon, only to dissolve into the darkness of evening. The sun continued its course through the boundless ocean of the universe. Yet, from the earth, its descent appeared like a fall into the depths of Terra.
A yellow Audi raced along the German highway, approaching Mannheim. The young man at the wheel, a friend from Timișoara, tried to reassure me. “Come on, you’ll see—it’ll be fine! We’ll be there in an hour!” Though exhaustion weighed heavily on him, his instincts battled to keep him awake and alert. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. I had a fever; a throbbing toothache gnawed at me, but I knew I had to endure. I couldn’t afford a doctor’s visit. To conceal my pain, I clutched my bag tightly. Inside lay my entire fortune: two sweaters, a white t-shirt, a winter jacket, a pair of boots, and a pair of jeans. But at 19, it was normal to have nothing. And yet, I didn’t feel poor—I felt rich. Before me stretched a life filled with dreams and hopes. I carried within me treasures unseen by others: the pride and diligence learned from my grandparents, the knowledge gained from Timișoara’s most prestigious schools—C.D. Loga and Philology-History—and my deep love for books and culture, instilled in me during the few years I had with my father.
At 18, I had already lived through the whistling bullets of the December 1989 Revolution. After that experience, I believed that nothing could frighten me anymore. But I was wrong! Life’s trials come in many forms, essential fragments of existence that emerge throughout our journey, each with its own purpose. Leaving Timișoara in 1990 meant, for me, a new chance—one I clung to desperately, like a wooden plank keeping me afloat amid the vast ocean’s waves. In the city where I was born, growing up without the protection and warmth of parents, my life had become a battle against hardships and dangers.
My hometown, Timișoara, still appears to me like a Fata Morgana—beautiful and deceptive. I see in it moments embalmed in joy. And the wounds remain, damp with hidden sorrows. From those times, I carry bitter tears, tears buried in my veins, in my memories—concealed beneath my warm smile, beneath the face sculpted by my parents’ genes and nature’s design.
Years later, after emigrating to Germany, I met a former high school classmate in Heidelberg. In a quiet moment, she confessed, “Anca, did you know I’ve always admired you?” “Why?” I asked, surprised. “Because you always knew how to bring us joy, even when burdened by hardships.” I fell silent. How did she know? I had never complained to anyone. In truth, why would I complain? I didn’t know life existed without struggles.
Human beings are often judged—or admired—based on the identity and reputation of their nation. This perception still dominates the world. Between 1990 and 1995, Europe was haunted by a new phantom—a sensation fueled by the Western press and shaped by the dishonest acts of marginal groups of Romanians or Roma. It was a heavy image, one that cast a shadow over every Romanian’s identity. Otherwise, little was known about the values, beauty, and culture of a country that had spent four decades shackled by communism and cut off from the world.
I remember those nights when I worked in Mannheim at a Greek restaurant. Washing dishes in the kitchen, cleaning the restaurant after the customers had left. I remember my face, lined with exhaustion from endless hours of labor, not knowing what tomorrow would bring.
Yet life was generous. After a few years, I was legally accepted into the country. From that moment, everything changed, and I longed to rise—like birds shedding darkness and soaring toward light. My first ten years abroad were filled with obstacles. Like a racehorse navigating its course, I sprinted through my own game of fortune. I recognized my opportunity. I did not live merely as a passerby, one who comes to exploit the opportunities of a foreign land. I learned its language, its culture, its traditions. I understood its joys and sorrows, strengths and weaknesses. I gave it my attention and my respect. Only in this way could I earn the esteem of those around me and foster my own growth. Strangely enough, among strangers, I found the protection and support I never had at home.
The fruits of my economic studies materialized in 1995. A new path unfolded through a respectable job in Sales/Marketing at a successful international chemical company—one that became my home of security and development for nineteen years. I wasted no moment without meaning. What I planted always bore fruit.
In my free time, I loved doing sports—exploring my strength and, through it, healing the wounds of my past. As a child, I dreamed of having a bicycle. That dream came true later, and my patience was rewarded. After years of cycling, which I pursued with passion, on March 16, 2001, I won—alongside a group of professional athletes—a 24-hour indoor cycling marathon. Our marathon was recognized as a world record in the Guinness Book of Records. On March 17, 2001, the city of Speyer, its newspapers, radio and television stations, the mayor, and the locals celebrated us with pride. And I felt powerful. The meter on my bike recorded 874 kilometers in 24 hours. I believe it was the happiest day of my life!
Today, when I look back on those times, I realize that through everything I did, I wasn’t just testing my limits—I was trying to dispel the image of an “immigrant”, so often associated with humiliation and inferiority, that had cast a shadow over me.
Over time, I shed the worn-out coat of an immigrant and clothed myself in the essence of a person simply living on this earth. My birthplace and the environment in which I grew up reflect a part of who I am. But the experiences of life, whether chosen or imposed, have sculpted my inner world. In the search for identity, I believe the most genuine answers lie in our actions—in the way we treat others.
I used my free time as a magical realm, where I could breathe life into the passions that had haunted me since childhood. My longing for the beauty and magic of literature pushed me, in 2008, to nourish my spirit through years of study in journalism and German literature.
Living in societies that exert a powerful influence on human nature, what we choose and internalize as ethical or cultural values—how we build our relationships with people, what we accept or reject—shapes and mirrors our personal identity. But back then, I reflected less on identity. I acted instinctively, led by that part of myself yearning for all that was good and meaningful.
When I decided in 2014 to leave for Australia permanently, looking back, I felt that both my actions and the warm words of those around me acted as a healing balm. In the twenty-four years I lived in Germany, I enriched myself spiritually and culturally, adopting new ideas and ways of life. I absorbed the very best of German society and culture—respect, discipline, precision, and the pursuit of a high-quality life. It could be said that my thinking and behavior were shaped by the community in which I lived. Yet, while my inner core remained the same—emotional, vibrant—I developed my outlook and habits within German society.
Having lived in a foreign country for so long, I still feel that my original identity has not faded but rather expanded.
In the past, I felt my connection to my homeland through my mother’s sweet voice. But one day, her voice faded. Since then, a new longing was born, and with it, a new sorrow. Country and mother—two words deeply intertwined.
The path of my life is dusted with moments, with experiences—cold, burning, or still aflame—with the scents of illusions and the fragrance of happiness, haunted by souls present or departed, and paved with splinters carved from the great truth. The past seems like a mirage, shining from the mirror of time, calling the wandering soul to lose itself in bygone joys and sorrows. But the mind does not sleep. It strives to find new balance, crossing forests, rivers, and the valleys of the sky, searching for all that is good and beautiful. In my search, the love of people, nature, and the universe has become a magical and nourishing symbiosis.
Reflecting on identity and its shaping, I would say that in Australian society, where I anchored my life’s journey indefinitely in 2014, I live in a diverse, multicultural world. Here, where countless nations coexist in harmony, I have embraced new visions and habits. I admire the Chinese practicing Qigong and Tai Chi in parks, adore Thai and Vietnamese cuisine, watch colorful parrots perched on eucalyptus trees in our garden every morning, and sometimes chase kangaroos across the hills of Hunter Valley. Here, I sought to fulfill a long-held desire—a passion that had whispered within me for an eternity. The passion for writing.
For much of life, we strive to show only our best selves, hiding our pain and mistakes. But there comes a time when we look back and long to reveal unspoken words and untold deeds. That is how I began a pilgrimage within my own being, where I listened once again to the voice of my childhood and adolescence. I transformed those voices into words, laid upon the pages of books. Through them, the past and present met and took on a new form—more understanding, clearer, and perhaps even wiser.
In 2019, I returned with my husband for a few weeks to the country where I was born. There, I kissed with my gaze the places of my childhood, sought my mother’s and grandparents’ smiles in the rainbows scattered over the lands of Transylvania, absorbed freshness from the fir forests, and cooled my lips with the crystalline water of mountain springs.
Returning to Sydney, I felt a new energy flowing through my soul—a spiritual stream bringing renewal. That energy materialized into new creations: several published prose books in Romanian and English, friendships and deep connections with readers, publications in magazines, literary collaborations, my own cultural radio show at Radio ProDiaspora, and the founding of a Romanian cultural magazine in Sydney—Emoții și Lumină (Emotions and Light).
Collaborations with writers, professors, artists, musicians, and journalists from different countries, as well as cultural events where I often stood on stage, unveiled to me a Romanian diaspora that grows stronger by the day. I believe we need it—and Romanian culture—wherever we are in the world. Through these values, I feel we remain faithful to our true essence.
This spiritual return to Romanian culture does not diminish the respect I hold for other cultures, especially the one of the land where I now live. In fact, I try to bring them closer. I feel this connection even more deeply when I take part in Romanian-Australian cultural events.
In this context, I believe that the aspiration to share Romanian culture with the world symbolizes my return to the center of my being—a return of the soul to its spiritual nest called home. Yet, I must acknowledge that promoting Romanian culture in a foreign land and actively contributing to its growth is a luxury—one that requires sacrifices of time and energy. It is a luxury I could only afford later in life.
Has Romanian culture influenced my life and identity? Undoubtedly, and in the most profound way. From a philosophical perspective, belonging both to my native culture and to the culture where I live could be described as a dual cultural identity. From my point of view, the cultures and traditions I have embraced—Romanian, German, and, after ten years in Sydney and graduating in literature, Australian—do not feel discordant. I perceive them within me as a rich cultural entity, a harmony of unique beauty, each complementing the other as parts of a greater whole.
Each culture has distinctive characteristics. Yet viewed collectively, these cultures do not exist in isolation—they are part of a global culture, the cultural heritage of humanity. Just as life—human existence—contains an infinite diversity of natural processes, experiences, mysteries, truths, and illusions, all intertwined in a perfect logic forming a unified whole. Through their diverse ideas, these cultures have enriched my worldview, deepened my understanding of life, and made me realize how beautiful and gifted humanity truly is.
When I discover something new, beautiful, and meaningful—especially in the creative and cultural realm—my emotions erupt into ineffable joy. Like a foaming ocean stirred by a fleeting storm, sensations rise in dizzying whirlwinds, then cascade in revitalizing droplets, washing over the inner paths of my being. The spirit is different. Often thirsty to probe the earth and universe, it rebels, shaken by truths and testimonies, then reflects, discerns, and, in the end, unveils new understandings. If described creatively, this is how I sometimes perceive the manifestation of the self, visible to varying degrees from the outside.
For, in essence, the self is the source of vital interpretations, thoughts, and ideals—the very forces that shape one’s destiny. As I have previously mentioned, I believe the essence of the self, from which identity emerges and reflects outward, remains unchanged. It merely cloaks itself in behaviors influenced—more or less—by the traditions and customs of the places we live. It is always the self that decides if and how much it associates with what it encounters along life’s journey. With a strong inner self, the spirit does not fracture into a dual identity, which, from a philosophical standpoint, could signify a spiritual conflict with other aspects of personal identity.
I believe that a Self which is anchored in ethical and moral thinking, built upon respect for oneself and for others—a Self that discerns wisely between good and evil and intelligently selects socio-cultural influences—becomes, over time, an invaluable treasure of one’s being and a beneficent light for those around.
I have lived thirty-five years abroad. Yet, this endless foreignness has not diminished the essence of my being, my Romanian roots. When I recognize this truth, I feel closest to myself—to the young woman who once set out alone to conquer the West. When I look back at the past, I feel a perfect peace, like a warm prayer descending gently, settling over my face. I feel fulfilled. My thoughts rest in a pure and healing light. I remain at the foot of existence, eager to absorb new wisdom.
In my book, “Fragments of a woman’s life” (2023), I describe a unique concept of identity—a self that discovers a new meaning in pain, a new expression, when it channels the energy born from suffering to fight, to overcome challenges. Through this path, the self encounters a deep sense of identity, of life, and a newfound power of healing.
Finally, I wish to reaffirm what I have also stated in my book. The evolution and refinement of identity are not tied to places or people, but they can be shaped by them. Yet, under the influence of internal forces, every victory—or defeat—is the result of a long chain of causal events. No matter where we live in this world, a profound and authentic identity always seeks to respond through actions and behavior to the ethical questions about how to live with dignity in a world that is sometimes unfair and unequal. The circumstances of life are not the same for everyone. Yet, the opportunity to harness one’s inner strength exists within every being.
Anisoara Laura Mustetiu
Sydney, Australia
This text is part of Volume IV, currently in progress, of the anthology Povești călătoare, scrise de români din lumea largă, coordinated by Ciprian Apetrei. The first three volumes were published by Minela Publishing House in Bucharest in 2021, 2022, and 2023, gathering 122 stories from 30 countries across four continents.
Published on 18 April 2024 in the cultural magazine Emotions and Light.
