You will never be Romanian. Your country has no EU membership, it has no money, it has no infrastructure. You are a homosexual Balkaner twisted by oligarchs and poverty into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back Europeans mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish economy behind closed doors.

Romanians are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed Romanians to sniff out Moldovans with incredible efficiency. Even 'Dovans who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a Romanian. Your famished appearance is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk Romanian to your country, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a look at Chisinau.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a car, pick a random EU country, go there, and freeze to death on the street, because nobody wants to employ your kind. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone made from garbage and plywood, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a Moldovan is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably Moldovan.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.