I grew up as the daughter of two immigrants, one of whom is a refugee. But it wasn't until I got older that I learned about their stories. I am still discovering more to this day.
When I was 17, I took a trip alone with my father to his home country. It was there, in Romania, thirty years prior, that he was thrown into a forced labor camp and kicked out of the country for rebelling against the government.
We visited his childhood apartment, where my grandmother still lives in Bucharest (the capital city). As I was digging through the drawers, I was surprised to find a pile of love letters addressed to "Soldat Pascali" (Soldier Pascali), my father, all from the same woman. Her name was Mihaela.
I became fascinated with her. This woman could have been my mother if my father had never left to the U.S. I started to think "who would I have become if my father never left; if Mihaela had been my mother?" I got the idea to write Mihaela Mihaela when I was standing in front of a foggy mirror in the bathroom of my grandma's apartment after I had taken a shower at 17-years-old, wondering "who is that girl in the mirror? And who would she be if my parents would have never come to the U.S."
“Just when you think that Mihaela Mihaela is a gorgeous ballad with a string quartet and simple piano, the electric guitar and drums hit you abruptly, knocking you off your feet. It’s a song written by a 17-year-old girl and sung by a 24-year-old woman. It begins soft and gentle and ends with a powerful angsty punch.”
“We took a 1990s-sounding song, orchestral strings that sound like they’re from the 1800s, a 1970s-sounding bass track, a 1980s-inspired drum track, and put it all together in one song. We have defied time with Mihaela Mihaela.”