Naked truth - Chapter 8 Merry go round
Crossroads and consequences
Autumn. Martha lifts her gaze from the computer screen, wearied by yet another personality test—this one part of a drawn-out recruitment process. Each time she has to click through these assessments, a familiar pang returns: a feeling of misplacement, as though she was born in the wrong era. Perhaps, she muses, the stork mistakenly dropped her into this digital age, when she was meant to belong to a time untouched by such machinery.
What if? Technology now picks apart personalities, trying to capture the essence of someone’s soul through algorithms and metrics, then turns the result into a story for bosses to pore over. These employers, armed with snippets and summaries, presume to understand her, casting judgments that strip her bare while she’s left in the dark. Meanwhile, all she has is the polished copy of a job description—an enticing lure, as glossy and elusive as it is impersonal. She feels like a lamb on the altar, exposed and measured, while the decision-makers smile knowingly over the digital tale woven about her.
A carousel image on the screen pulled her back, stirring her first childhood memory. It was the night before the move—the big move. Memories flooded in, vivid and swift: she was seven, her hair in two tight pigtails, tied with big white bows. She was spinning with her friend Carmen on the merry-go-round. She could almost hear their laughter, Carmen’s voice bubbling with excitement: “You’re moving tomorrow!”
Nearby, the massive concrete slide—the “topogan”—loomed, greyer and more intimidating than ever. She’d never had the courage to try it, and tonight, under the cold December sky with no snow to soften the scene, it seemed harsher still. Yet this playground was home, each corner familiar and beloved.
Martha clung desperately to the memory, hoping for another glimpse into that world, but only darkness greeted her, the past locked away, forever elusive. All she had were fragments, snippets of conversation from “the Ferret”—offering disjointed hints about life in that small, first-floor flat.
In those years, they’d shared the apartment with another family of three, dividing the kitchen, bathroom, and entryway. Each family had just one room to call their own, but in that communal life, they found community. The neighbours were warm and watchful, chatting on benches while keeping an eye on children playing in the park.
Neither the ferret nor her father came from well-to-do families, and nobody ever helped them in any significant way. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they had little to offer but their hearts. To make matters more challenging, one branch of the family was far away in Russia, while the other was in the remote countryside of Romania.
The block of flats was part of a larger complex, all four-storey buildings robustly built in the 1950s for army personnel and their families. About eight or nine such blocks were scattered across a generous expanse, allowing plenty of trees - linden, oak, carob - to grow between them, along with multiple green patches and a grey playground. Some blocks were united by beautiful arches, creating a striking contrast to the future construction of tall, imposing buildings that lacked character. This area was called HO-SHI-MIN, in honor of the Vietnamese Communist ruler.
For Martha, this place would always hold the essence of home, even if her memories were scarce. The warmth and tranquility she experienced while walking through those familiar spaces year after year offered her a sense of harmony that she never found again after leaving.
In the geography of her life, Ho Shi Min was the center. Moving to the new flat meant heading to the right side of town, a residential area dominated by tall grey buildings. To the left lay the heart of the city, with its high school, college, and the vibrant energy that made Martha feel truly alive.
For the next eight years - key hanging around her neck on an elastic ring - she took the bus, traveling eight stops to reach the school that was just five minutes away from her old home. Many times a week, she would turn on her heels and walk back to the playground before returning to her new place.
After that came four years of college followed by five years at the Mechanical Engineering Institute, which took her in the opposite direction. Countless times, when loneliness, fear, or despair crept in, a stop at Ho Shi Min and a walk around the area provided her with the strength to carry on. It felt almost magical, like something out of a Greek myth; touching that ground gave her the energy she needed. It was a space where she resonated, where she belonged, and once she was removed from it, she struggled. Struggled to belong, struggled to find her place again.
Martha had always felt like a wandering soul, drifting through places and faces but never truly landing anywhere she could call home again. Maya Angelou’s words resonated deeply with her: "I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself." It was as if, in that single line, Angelou had captured the quiet ache Martha carried—a longing not just for a roof over her head, but for a place where she could simply be herself and feel understood. The words had stayed with her forever, a reminder of that endless search for a sense of belonging that, so far, had eluded her.
Although she had no clear memories of the seven years in Ho Chi Minh, her body and mind held onto them in their own way. They remembered the feeling of safety, of belonging, of friends and comforting arms; the familiar trees and flowers, the neighbors with warm hearts. Her entire world was about to be dismantled, stripped of everything familiar and stable. This, she realized, was likely the first time anxiety crept into her life. End of chapter 8.
One of my dreams is to write a novel, inspired by real events but with a touch of fiction in it. Will it happen? I don’t know! Writing as and when I find the energy and time while navigating the choppy waters of life.
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