I am From

My name is Heneric Ciumak; I am 28 and live in a part of Eastern Europe called Romania. I live by myself in a rural area in a small wood 8 by 8 handmade shack for a house. My house is on mountainous land for no one else wants to live here. It overlooks beautiful mountains with small streams of water weaving its way down through shrubs and boulders. I have no bathroom or running water. I use have a hole a short distance away as a bathroom. Inside this house there is a bed and a living area where I cook on a small fire. My diet consists of small game and crops from my yard.
This beautiful scenery unfortunately has unfertile land which isn’t suitable for crops, but I work with what I have. I must sift through the ground to pick out all the rocks, before I can plant anything. Otherwise the roots will be weak and the plant will wither away. Each morning I check on my crops breaking the dry hard ground up, and collect murky water from a stream in the valley below my house. We haven’t received much rain this season so I use the water for my crops. I have insufficient tools for gardening using a splintered rusty hoe for most of my work. I cannot afford new equipment or a plot of rich land for better farming. So I work harder on my land knowing this may be all I ever have. I grow small patches of maize, wheat, and vegetables. I own a slender light skinned pig named Rudolf; he was to be killed being a runt of a litter. I traded a couples stalks of wheat and maize for him, and nursed him back to health. He is still very puny, but makes a good companion. It gets lonely here and I often wish for a family. I know that that my never happen for I can barely provide for myself. In addition I have one chicken that is growing very old. I grow very hungry for either of their delicious meat by the day, since I rarely eat such delicacy. Most of my crops I use just to survive. What’s left I sell at the farmers market earning what little money I can. I also try and preserve a portion of each harvest for the winter for that is the harshest season to survive. I must walk twenty miles on small goat trails, over rough terrain to get to the market.
After attending to my garden I hunt for small game in the area hoping to see a rabbit or fox. I use a .22 rifle passed on from my father to me before he died. I use the bullets carefully though they are costly on my earnings. Most days I cannot find any small game and head back with thoughts of hunger. I can usually manage to kill at least one animal per week. When home I start up a pot of water over the fire to boil vegetables in for supper. This is my customary meal of the day which I grow sick of, but is better than starving.
As I eat my plate of unsavory firm vegetables outside on a large granite rock. I hear the beautiful calls of birds gracefully flying overhead. I listen to the wind whistling through the valley beneath me. This relaxes me knowing I am miles from anyone who could disturb my peace of mind. Slowly the sun falls under the high mountain horizon. Now all that’s left is a blushing red and vibrant orange sunset of fall, which I gaze upon often. As the darkness sets in the night unveils the beautiful stars and a full moon that gives the mountains a silver outline. I call it a night heading in I start a fire to keep me warm as the cold sets in. As I lie down on my wooden bed I feel content with my life. Knowing all that matters is I’ve made it through another day.