A Story of Light Through Concrete
From a Broken Crane
to a Colorful World
A personal account of growing up between rusted machinery and building blocks — and finding, against all odds, a world of beauty within it.
I remember being in a long, dark hall, full of doors on both sides. I was at a construction site — the place I lived in. All of a sudden, a door opens, revealing a yellow-lighted room. There are my parents, old and tired, sitting still.
My steps sound like the ticking of a clock, as with each second that passes, they fight more to go beyond their condition.
The Early Years
At two, my father worked a hundred kilometres from home and my mother balanced graduate studies alongside her job. When I turned three, we moved into the construction site's residence itself — living between rusted machinery and building blocks. I had no children to play with; my playground was a broken crane.
Only when I turned six did something change. After many sacrifices, my family managed to secure a property — a clean apartment where sunlight was no longer diffused by concrete dust in the air, but by the colored windows I was surrounded by.
But this also marked the moment my parents unconsciously passed an unhealthy torch of ambition onto me. My mother became my primary school teacher — and so I felt loved only when I was the most performant, both at school and at home.
I sat alone at my desk, finishing coursework, striving to be the best. I didn't feel seen. So I sought validation through everything I undertook.
Due to a lack of financial security, I became eager to accumulate — money, power, recognition. I envisioned rising statues with my name inscribed on them, a title chanted by an endless crowd. I wanted to become an important individual.
Happily, this illusory crowd was quickly silenced — because I entered high school. There I met people as diverse and interesting as stars in the night sky.
I looked left and saw colleagues who generated educational movements. I turned right and came across peers who sang at the biggest rock scenes in Romania.
They were truly passionate about life and their pursuits. And so, I became profoundly inspired by them — inspired not to chase a crowd, but to listen to the quiet voice inside that had been waiting all along.
At their recommendation, I started writing my thoughts. Page after page, my past was unfolding, unmasking my identity — finally being able to hug the little child who craved to be seen.
In those moments of self-inquiry, it felt that life no longer graded the quality of my answer — but the significance of the question.
This is how I began my journey of self-discovery. I started creating and expressing myself through filmmaking — living through all the stories I built.
Moments like running at 5 AM on a snowy field beneath a drone, falling into water while filming a chase scene, getting ten thousand euros' worth of equipment rained on — these changed me profoundly.
The mistakes I made, the discussions I had with my friends, the diverse perspectives on meaning, the unexpected situations — all of it helped me embrace my imperfections.
My desire to fully live started to arise. And my childhood dream finally became true.
The small, imprisoned, dark room transformed into a colorful world.
And experiences could go beyond mere imagination.
Silviu-Alexandru Grigore