It was a very sunny day. We were three in the car, carsharing to go back home after a music festival. I was listening a boring conversation between the passenger and the conductor about shopping. Few kilometers later, the passenger left us, and unfortunately I found myself in a tête-à-tête with this woman driving and talking about how she spend her money. Of course I had nothing to say to complete her conversation.
I tried to talk about the weather and the festival. She asked me : — “where are you from ?” insisting on my native country. “You’re not from here, are you ?” I felt like this travel slowly transformed in a kind of police interrogation. “I hear you have an accent !” My identity was so important to her, she couldn’t stop interrupting me to know my origins.
— “My father is a half immigrant, from Eastern Europe, but now he have nothing to do with that community. And you ? And are you here with your family ? What are you doing here ?” Instead of answering with sacrasm, I just started to talk about my studies. “Art ? Do you think you will get a real job with art ?” she went on digging my personal story, “are you expecting to stay here ?”, “why you don’t do art in your country ?”, “why did you come in our country ?”, “don’t you want to go back to your country ?”
The end of the travel was like a release. The annoying woman was behind and it was time to drink a beer to switch. In the bar I met some friends and they introduced me to someone. Beer was fresh and I had a lot of stories about the festival. Suddenly I was unterrupted by the new friend: — “You’re not from here ? You have an accent !”