Growing up in Moldova, with only two TV channels where propaganda of one form or another dominated the airwaves, I turned to reading whatever I could lay my hands on. Actually many times it wasn’t a choice, it was the only thing to do during the long winter nights when daily (planned and controlled) power shortages left us in the dark, save for the glimmer of the snow outside and the smelly kerosene gas lamp indoors.

I moved to London when I was 18, after cajoling my family and borrowing money from the racketeers who, in a happy coincidence, were also my family.

East London is my home. For now.

When I don’t write or bake cakes, I practice Taekwondo.