I'm a rebel. A good rebel in her own place, but on her own initiative. I do not follow anyone's orders, I do not fulfill anybody's wishes, I do not go to my desk - because they yell or because I receive orders. I'm at my place because I know my place and because I like discretion. I do not express my rebellion by barbarous acts, I do not go to demonstrations, I do not appear on the front page of magazines. The world doesn't know much about me. I am rebel by being free. And freedom is a state of mind. I only know one freedom…and that is the freedom of the mind.



I don't think the world needs to know about you everything you do, from the moment you wake up ... until you fall asleep. No matter what you eat or where you go. Your dreams might be uncomfortable for other people's landmarks; they could judge you. They would close their eyes and think that it's not okay not to make the same choices in life as others do. Everyone would be able to tell you how life is, what is good, what is bad, but no one… why.

The panic that society throws in our eyes makes us small, blinds us. We carry it like dust on the retina and we see nothing else. If we see with the eyes of the mind, we immediately shake ourselves off and take away any audacity to be different.



It is not good to be different, they say, if you are different, the world runs around you and throws dust again and again. In the eyes. The panic that society throws at us causes us to give up and give up what we are, believe and wish. It pushes us with amazing force, it throws us into “uniform”.

“Let's do things in their time”, even if no one is able to tell us what the time is. A time has been set and we must follow it. We are standardized.



I believe in evolution. I grew up in Campina, in the foundry, a neighborhood where you can find all the human typologies. Whatever you can imagine .. you can find it there. It is a very complex neighborhood, for some, in the good sense of the word, for others, no. It just is. It is gray, with narrow blocks, with dormitories in which, in one room, 2-4 people live. Sometimes even more. In elementary school ... I had colleagues who lived there. In one room - which served as a living room, bedroom and kitchen - they lived daily ... at least 4 people. I only once entered a home, and the hallways scared me so much ... that I left home running. I didn't look back and didn't stop until I slammed the door behind me.

I never thought I woud be accepted at the Drama University, to the theater. But somehow, I always knew it would be this way. You do not expect to succeed in things that everyone tells you are too big for you. You have to believe very strongly in them, if not in you. Just find a way to cover them ... voices and beliefs.

All the conviction that others put in my car was a burden. I came to the theater and I was afraid I was too young, too ugly, too incapable, too shy. That no one will notice me, that I have nothing to offer, that I should think about something else, refine myself, give up.

Because others did not succeed, who made preparations with whom I had to, how can I succeed, an anonymously, with a repertoire prepared behind the block, with 3 poems instead of 10, with two short monologues as half as one, that I had only been singing in the bathroom, but I was silent there too, because I was afraid it wasn't good enough.

Musical, choreography and bodily improvisation were a disgrace that I didn't think I was capable of. I took them with maximum grades and congratulations.

When I return to the neighborhood of childhood I meet with all kinds of faces.. Friends of play, from school years, live an obvious unhappiness, almost tangible. For them, the neighborhood is broken by the rest of the world, as if it had no bridge, a bridge strong enough to pass beyond the narrow streets.

I walk with my eyes almost to the ground, avoid looking at you, dragging their slippers through the dust and tagging men. They are all the same, they are incapable of love. They left them, abandoned them all with children... The reproach starts from the corner of the street and continues beyond the fence of the court. Sounds. In the neighborhood ... everything is heard.

Sometimes ... I don't know how to talk to them. I don't know how to greet them, how to ask them what they feel , how to open a topic, how to have a conversation. At least as long as we can get to childhood, I wouldn't allow myself to talk about their unhappiness.

Childhood friends are no longer childlike. They are tired, sad, transfigured. They can no longer be honest, they are afraid that their sincerity would put them in a poor, dim light, that of a lamp with two bulbs, one of which burned.

The friends from my early childhood…remained there. Their faces are lost in the dust that rises from the steps that leave the streets of the neighborhood.

I am left behind, undefined. In my world ... things happen differently. I like to visit the neighborhood, I remember playing in the sand, but seeing my childhood neighbors and playmates makes me think about many, to wonder if life is as they see it, as I see it. ... or something else.

They wonder what bridge has taken me to this beautiful world, I find it and I see it as a luxury, not a normality - what it is, then I tell myself that this is not real life, that I know nothing about life.

Yeah, it's very possible. Maybe I don't know anything about life. I think no one really knows. But it remains important to know what we want from it, without seeking to define it. We have to define ourselves - in relation to it.

We forget that we are not immortal, we give up what we feel and want, to do things that society presents to us as rules. We take our time with everything, just not to think too much about ourselves, who we are, what our purpose is.



We live unconsciously, but we say we live correctly. We claim to know exactly what we are up to, but reality gives us effects that are contrary to the certainties we issue. We forget that we are not immortal - and we lose ourselves in rules and patterns. We do everything as in the book, in time, the time set and unanimously recognized by others. We avoid staying alone with ourselves, discovering ourselves, asking questions, giving answers, being honest.

It's easy to let your childhood places take over. To steal, to create illusions, to chase you. They are part of you and, in one way or another, they are dear to you. You have with them a relationship of addiction, assumed or not, accepted or not.

Awareness that you must break from there, move on, but embrace the joy that they are your places, where you can always return. And which, despite the landscapes that put others on the run, you like.



You feel at home, and half of them are half of you. The other half is the one who tells you that the world is wide and you must discover as much of it as possible. I think I learned to get out of there ... and get back there.



I leave to look for resources and opportunities to provide my resources, to return to preserve my roots.



You always want to go home, leave everything empty and go home. Being an eternal child. To go back and play in the dust, to make sand castles, to run behind the block, to buy gums with surprises - from the corner store. You always want home. Wherever you are and whatever you do ... you're tempted to want home.

In the neighborhood a lot has changed, maybe all, but at the same time ... nothing. The world has changed, many faces have been changed, they have been replaced, only life has remained: slippers dragged through dust, parties with loud music, from the corner of the street, dry clothes where there is room, grills from which smoke comes out, stretched out in front of the block, the horses tied to the posts.



At the corner kindergarten I see the dolls sitting in the window. When I get in there ... I see them in the window. Even if they're not there anymore. Inside it is warm, the fire burns in the tiled stove, the light in the class is lit, but dim, the dolls smile in the window. It smells like watercolors and coffee.

I know all this - without going there for 20 years. They were then - and so I want to know them. That's why I like to go by the kindergarten. For me ... they all remained in place, unchanged.



Even when the lights are off, even if the kindergarten does not look the same, I hear children laughing.

The dolls are no longer in the window, but I could accurately reproduce them, down to the last detail of the dresses, down to the cheek lines on the cheeks.

Dear memories have the miraculous ability to remain present over time, not to change, even if they no longer exist. They are alive, they keep shape, smell, color, expressiveness. It retains the purest form you can meet with the past and you can relive it at any time, no matter how you long for it.



The neighborhood has charm. He has charm because, although he is in town, he looks like another city. You could say you're from there ... without anyone knowing that name, without ever being able to find it. It's like living in a magical city, only known to you. The neighborhood can do that. If it is a neighborhood with personality, alive, strong, as it is ours, in which life never stops, in which time does not sleep, then yes, you could say that you are in a city in another city.

You're just a stone's throw from the city center, but so far! The neighborhood has its life, its energy, its history, its beauty.

My world was magical, not perfect. I had come to the West, I was studying with some of the best art teachers, I was doing choreography with a renowned acrobat and choreographer, one of the best at the University of Theater and Cinematographic Art in Budapest.



I was one of the lucky ten who had occupied the only ten places in the actor's art class. I divided my time between courses, rehearsals, faculty, theater outings, creative projects and night life from the summer garden. In the summer garden we gather to sing, to listen to Eva Cassidy, to discuss Shakespeare, to complain, at times, of piles of books that we did not know how to slip into the little spare time left after rehearsals. We were drinking lemonade and looking at the stars.



We lived a bohemian life that we embraced fully and never tired of. On the contrary, it was a permanent engine of more and more energy.



Now that we had left behind the world that demanded our uniforms and drew our attention to the fact that we did not wear the clothes we needed, we dressed exactly as we liked, made our own jewelry, painted our clothes.



I didn't know much about the others. When we tried to communicate, I discovered only their prejudices.

How could you go to the theater, you were so shy!



Shyness is not an impediment, it is a sign of a good growth, often not a handicap, it does not bother you to carry out your plans in the end. There are still times when it is possible to be shy, I think in the case of the majority, but this has nothing to do with what I'm doing on stage.



When I went to college ... hysteria started. What a shy girl can do at the theater? There is no way to be shy, the actors are not shy. Oh, and how many people know that actors are the most shy people on earth? Fragility and timidity have become basic things around me, in the environment in which I worked. And they were beautiful people.



The society is somehow designed for the daring and the extroverted. Yes, that's right, studies say. But all the studies support the fact that these are the biggest prejudices that surround the man: the labeling and the search of the form, even with the price of the loss of the essence.

The world was harmonious, just as I wanted it to be. I was exactly where I wanted to be, in the middle of the artistic world, among beautiful beautiful who believed in the beauty of their dreams. I think whatever you do, when you're part of the art ... art is part of you. You can't call it work anymore. I believe in my strength to convince people that they are more than maintenance payers.

I believe that only in theater you can remain human. And the viewer, like you, can be human there. There he cries ... He wouldn't cry at the office, but he comes to the theater and laughs or cries or something happens to him.



There he feels: "Hi, I'm a human!", Recognizing himself in an actor, in a text, in a red cloth on the stage. You have to show your life to man - and that's exactly what theater does.



You can't yell, you're in the office for twelve hours, but I can yell and I yell for you. And you find yourself in my scream and maybe something happens. Sometimes the theater has changed the world, sometimes not, but because it can change it, for that possibility I live.

That is the purpose we have always pursued. I can wake up with the joy of implementing my plans, not throw the clock on the wall, not count my hours until the end of the program, I can make my own program, work with passion and love.



It was always difficult for me to understand the handle, the choice to obey norms - at the price of unhappiness. The search for happiness - in fact, the word happiness, in itself - is a topic of great interest that everyone is talking about.



But no one thinks that they are going in search of happiness with the refusal to live it, by simply adapting to the things in which it is not found, by denying their life that they really want to live. For what? To maintain an image that society seems to love.



This means not to love yourself, but an image. That is what I think. And I think the image should really be a reflection of the self, of who you really are. Only when a man and the image are one and the same - and they go together, then I think that man can be called sincere, assumed and happy.

The scene is a magical place. No matter what you are told, you will only understand it when you step there. The scene makes things happen in a completely different way. The scene takes you out of who you are, lets you be who you want to be - and believe in yourself. It heals you from diseases, fears, throws you into illusions and pushes you to live unconsciously, with blind belief that everything is possible, that, in the light of the spotlight ... you are almighty, you are perfect, you are in a world where there is no worry, there is no past, there is no future.



You are living such an intense present ... that you do not know what the time is. Your mind and all you know is present. The scene is the place where you learn to live in the present, without thinking about things that are not going well, in the past, in the future, in time. It's the place where you learn your present lesson.

Art is a form of magic - which many people miss, because they are not open enough to accept it and look at it without prejudice. We alone choose happiness or unhappiness in life.

I could have been further, but I could have been far behind what I am now. Who knows? Nothing I am now is not accidental and is not related to unexplained external forces. Everything is a result of my perfectly conscious choices.

I could have been richer, but I chose to be rather happy. To have at hand all the tools necessary to enjoy my daily life, to be present in my life. Not to live it from a distance, like at the cinema. Next step? I hope I’ll reach the point where to motivate people and find the courage to talk in front of thousand of people about my story and help them to be better. And I hope to be better and known as the one who gave wings to the others.

I think life is about “meetings”. About meeting a man, a lesson, a situation, a place. About the meetings that lead to the most important meeting: the one with yourself. Which answer your questions, before you ask them, which confirms your opinions and beliefs, which helps you to see yourself in the light of truth, that gives you magic and helps you to be better, day by day, in everything you are and in everything you do. Help you become who you are inside, your best option. Meetings that make you say, "God exists, and I am on His favorites list!"