by Oana-Maria Moldovan What cannot be seen does not exist, right? I remember a moment from Oradea Pride last year: a yellow light flickering in a hidden room. Drawn to it, I moved forward, but the outlet by the entrance was both too close and too far, like something visible but untouchable – something meant to exist, but not for human hands. Then the light went out. Someone turned it off. But that’s okay. We grew up hearing stories about how our parents did their homework by candlelight during the communist era. Now, a group of young people laid down coloured candles on the floor. A tall boy in a black shirt, someone I’ve known since childhood, urged them to find their lighters and ignite the candles. Everyone sat down in an ad hoc circle in the darkened room. To my left, someone was talking about freedom. I sat there, wondering: nearly thirty-five years after the Romanian Revolution, why are the pictures still black and white? Why does it feel like the banned radio stations never stop