Until I met you, I felt fine in my own skin, but you convinced me insistently that what set me apart from perfection were only a few pounds, too thin lips, too big a nose, too small a chest, and that you, of course, had the remedies for all these shortcomings, carefully reserved only for the chosen ones, for what is good is set aside for those who know how to appreciate and pay for it, only now I haven't dared leave the house for weeks, though my identity card needs to be changed, for I don't look at all like I used to.
Yuka Brevi
I sat and thought to myself. Whom have I known to be so, so remarkable besides my husband, god bless you chief, and other cheerful persons of my youth, let them rest in peace. There might be someone. A fellow who, one night, in Vamă seaside resort, shouted from a boat drawn up on the beach, in the sand: Animals, come to me, I'll be gone soon. We're coming now, we shouted, evenmore wasted than he was. What animals are you, he asked. Here the conversation ended, this question I still ask myself. I still don't know how to answer it. It seems to me like I'd be more than one animal.
Ligia Dumitrescu
It was spring. Snow was falling down in petals. In my soul love was blossoming. You looked at me gallantly and whispered: My Sakura. Honestly, I got scared. I told you we didn't have any axe that we live in a block and wouldn't need it. So I didn't know who took it from you. You laughed. It's Japanese, you said. It means cherry blossom. I blushed like an apricot blossom and decided to learn Japanese. I wanted to impress you. I liked Japanese. I lost you on the paths of life. I'm a translator now. I love cherry blossoms.
(Translated by Adela Neacșu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.