Simona Calapodescu - I am supposed to know. And I don't. | People of Justice 2022 Iași

So, I took the paragliding exam after five years, like a flunker, I took a bigger break... As I was getting ready to land, I did a sort of mental calculation that, if I turn to the right, in order to land in the exam circle, over a few onlookers, I might get hooked on a few flags. If I turn to the left, I might land on the heads of the examiners. If I go a bit further and I try to go around some trees, too, I might hit them or, if I make a more sudden turn to land in the circle, I might hit the planet with my rear. I said to myself: This is it, I'll land further down, but at least I'll land safely.

My colleagues told me, when we got back to our accommodation, that one of the examiners was waiting for me. He considered me to be smart, talkative, because we talked about public administration and so on. When I saw him, I asked him to go further to the side and I started crying bitterly, the type of crying where your shirt shakes on you. I was awfully ashamed before him and, of course, before my coach who spent five years trying to prepare me. As I was crying like that, he was trying to comfort me somehow, to tell me that... He understands the burden of perfectionism, what it means not to have time for yourself, because you're doing lots of stuff for others, and I realised that he didn't know me well enough to say that stuff about me. Instead, these were projections based on his own experience. I knew that... I was certain that I cared a lot more about my legs than about a simple exam, but I also got a little scared, because I did try to go around a tree and I almost got caught with my wing in it. I knew that everything was alright and that it was the right decision, but I was so bitter that I made so many sacrifices: time, vacations, office fights, just to go to that exam and I couldn't pass it after all. When I finally managed to calm down, it dawned on me and I looked at him and said: Hey, Vali, I don't think I'm crying because of the paragliding exam.

I was crying because I felt empty, meaning I couldn't hold my emotions back. I have worked like a dog during that year. I changed my job, I took courses related to my profession, I was taking a few private courses with an architect, in order to understand what I can put instead, if I nullify some documents related to urban planning and architecture in court. Because everyone was saying I only criticise and ruin things, but I never replace them. I was going to urban planning courses secretly to learn what urban planning is about. I had a lot of responsibilities at work. I had a client who was bothering me a lot. I had this exam that kept getting postponed or was being held and I couldn't find the time in my schedule. First of all, I cried because I never have time for myself, to do the things that matter to me and that support me in my life. So, no matter how much I struggle with urban planning, green spaces, urban mobility, fair elections...

At the general and presidential elections... I choose to do all these things which, of course, are very important and I care about them, but I choose to do these things, in order to avoid taking that exam that is important to me and for my profession, in order to make a living. Because I was sure that, if I took that exam, I will have a sort of mirror in front of me that will confirm, that'll say: Yes, I actually am an impostor. I went to one of the best high schools in Iași. With all due respect to Național and Negruzzi, I'd venture to say the best. I had a few old-school teachers: very respectable, demanding and who had a certain way of motivating us: they told us that, after the middle school exams, we'll end up in a sad village in the middle of nowhere, because we aren't actually good. However, since we were mediocre kids, but were studying in a good high school.

At 16 years old, I was told that... That I'm getting ahead because I have long hair and long nails, and because I was cute and adorable. In tenth grade, I cut my hair in a bathroom in Berlin and dyed it purple. I stopped wearing skirts and anyone working with me can tell you that I don't get things because I'm cute. My gliding instructor told me that you're either born a pilot or you'll never be a pilot. The gliding examiner told me that, actually, an exam doesn't assess what you know, but how well you succeed in accessing that information or that skill in extremely stressful conditions.

But how could I access information in extremely stressful conditions, when I can't hear my own thoughts over all those internalised voices.

Moreover, I feel that paralysing shame of Man, I should've known this thing and I don't. I am afraid of a lot of things. When I take a break from paragliding, when I first climb the edge of the hill to take off, I tremble, look, just like I'm trembling right now, and I'm not taking off so I can fly, I am taking off so I can land sooner, to feel the earth under my feet again. When I go out on my bike, I'm afraid that the cars will hit me, of course, but also that I won't keep up with the guys and they'll leave me behind.

When I play volley, I'm also afraid that my team is lagging behind and losing because of me. I'm afraid... I'm afraid of the court trials that I go to. I'm afraid that I'll forget some detail and the other side will take advantage of it and an injustice will remain standing. I'm afraid... This is the thing that my professional activity exploits the best: when I'm writing local or national legislation, I might miss a loophole that someone will take advantage of, in order to bend the law and get around exactly what we are trying to fix. I'm afraid of asking for help. I'm afraid that I'm relying on someone.

What I am doing isn't glamorous at all. I'm working on technical regulations. That's if I can ever get my hands on them. I work on construction, urban mobility, irrelevant stuff. I am afraid of reaching out to other people because I know that... It happened to me many times. I'm afraid that, when I am the most overloaded, the most exhausted, as it happened this autumn, I will discover that someone won't be able to do what he promised and I will end up doing it when I'll be exhausted, as it happened many times before. I'm most afraid that we, people from NGOs, will get tired, and our numbers have already started to shrink, while the others are coming with new minds and with the most creative ideas to do wrong. A former colleague, from my first job ever, told me to

Stop overthinking so much. If you keep overthinking, you won't be smarter. Or more accomplished. No one will value you. Do what you can. A bit of the stuff you like, whatever. Man, I believed her and this was a mistake because now I can't stop. Now, I'll go and lay in the sun waiting to take off. I am drinking warm water, waiting for a few kilometres of asphalt to end, while I am hamstering with my bike on the road. I'm playing volleyball, signing up for tournaments. I lose and it's fine. While I do these things, I think to myself: Man, why do I go back home and work so much? Well, apart from the fact that I have to make a living. And then I get home. And when I get home, I start writing page after page like a maniac till two in the morning and I file objections to institutions with a pulse of 124. Or we're very happy that we succeeded in preventing the next Colectiv in Bucharest or that in Podu Roș you can still see the sky above the Bahlui because we prevented two overpasses from being built over the river.

I am so passionate because we succeed in collecting resources from Bucharest, Timișoara, London, people who left Iași, who have immigrated and have no connection with Iași anymore, in order to write an objection to block a high-rise near the French Institute in Copou. Furthermore, that if we keep trying to do better, to talk to the public authorities to improve the way they relate to citizens. I do this because, yes, I'm still afraid, but I'd be even more afraid of what would happen, if I didn't do these things myself and there wasn't anyone to do them.

I am most afraid of who I would be, if I didn't do the things I believe in. In the end, I took the exam once again this summer. Fun fact: the examiners forgot to look at me. In their defence, my wing is blue and it's hard to see it in the sky. When I heard this, I thought: Woah, wait a minute, I can't do it a second time and do the same move again, they'll catch on to the fact that, actually, I can do this move only two times, but, if I try to land in the circle the third time, I won't succeed in doing this.

And I thought: I've already failed this exam once. I mean, the shame is still there... I'll take it one more time. If I fail, I'll take it again... It's important for me to know that I can land and take off under any circumstances and, when I pass the exam, I'll pass it. So, ladies and gentlemen, my pilot's license.

But, wait, this is not the conclusion. I didn't even want to mention passing the exam because that's not what actually matters in life. A colleague who has the same conundrum about the urgency of success as me, told me: Listen, you have time. There's no hurry. I mean... We can take the exams that scare us lots of times. Maybe we pass it, maybe not. We take it again, until we pass it.

I think that the most important thing is that we don't need to pass that exam to realise who we really are. We're already there, but we have to find some silence in our heads and be who we really are.

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The People of Justice 2022 shows were produced alongside Decât o Revistă, a team of journalists who believe in the transformational power of stories.

Together with over 1,000 viewers, we imagined what a more just Romania could look like through vulnerability, empathy and the power of example. In each city we brought on stage lawyers, journalists, civic activists and artists whose true stories about justice: how we achieve it, what it means for justice, education, the healthcare system or our cities.