Nicolae Guta - Biata Mea Copilarie -

She stopped her needle and looked at him. Her eyes were tired, reflecting a lifetime of "biata mea copilarie"—her own poor childhood—but she saw something in Nicolae that wasn't grey like the coal dust.

The village of Aninoasa was rarely quiet, but for young Nicolae, the noise was different than the loud, vibrant concerts that would later define his life. It was the sound of heavy boots on frozen mud, the rhythmic clinking of metal tools, and the low, tired murmurs of men returning from the coal mines. Nicolae Guta - Biata mea copilarie

"Mama," he whispered, "will I always be a worker in the dark like the others?" She stopped her needle and looked at him