In my living room, in the background CNN is on, as always. I hear some heartbreaking violin sounds. My soul hurts literally from the first seconds. In less than a second I remember all the concerts, the backstage, the conductors, the orchestra, the rush before the concerts, the dinner at a tradition restaurant right across the alley where the musicians entry to the music hall is. When I lift my eyes, I see Romania and some purple smoke. 150 events, George Enescu Festival. I feel so proud.


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