Blanka Rejholdová

"K nám domů chodili ti tatínkové, byli to takoví ti staří Cikáni. Já jsem je zdravila, ctila jsem je. Myslím si, že to pořád byli pracanti. Jejich děti už ale ne. Začaly propadávat ve škole. Vím, že v první třídě se mnou byly tři, ale dál už nepostoupily. Mě romské děti neměly rády. Říkaly, že jsem nafoukaná. Byla jsem zkrátka jiná."

"Už tenkrát chtěli Romové své práva, ale ne povinnosti. To je to, co moje maminka nikdy nesnesla. Věděla, že člověk musí makat a pracovat. Šanci máme všichni stejnou. Samozřejmě je to těžší, když je člověk tmavý. Trochu jsem to také zažila. Tu jakoby… diskriminaci. Zažila. Ale i to mně pomohlo a odrazila jsem, abych ukázala, že nejsem zloděj, podvodník, ale že jsem pracant."

"I met high-quality people here in Prague who showed me the way and helped me much. I worked creatively with children, we went to shows and we were always different from the ones in Prague, Brno, Olomouc. They asked where we were from, from Červený Kostelec, and where it was. We were such Cinderella. So, thanks to seminars and critiques after the various competitions, I improved my work and my children are today amongst the best in the Czech Republic. All this, the creation and probably a new direction in contemporary dance, working with children, with props, with the word, joint creation, it enriches us, me and the children, it is original. After all this, when I was sixty, a letter came. I couldn't believe, why should I get an award. I didn't feel like I was doing anything special, but I like doing it."

"Probably when Mom dies, you realize that Mom is the one, who makes a home. That was cruel. Dad died, it was terrible, and my mother went to the hospital right after his funeral and never came back to us. A telegram arrived and I was home alone. Mom died. It was horrible. I ran out. My brother was building a house or something, and I didn't have anyone to tell, and most of all, I could not believe it. It was September and then we had the first Christmas without our parents and I was left completely alone. Each brother thought I was with the other one. They already had their families, their children and wives. Maybe I didn't even want to go to anyone in order not to bother them. So I was left alone in that four-bedroom apartment. It was terribly snowy. I ran to town at eight o'clock, instead of dinner. There was such a toy store and a railing next to it, and there I held on and cried terribly. I was seventeen, already a young lady. There is a church in the square, people returning home from a holy mass. I cried, went home to a frozen apartment, and felt like a Robinson.”

"If I feel like a Roma woman - I'll say 'Gypsy', then no. Although I probably have such a character after my father. But my mother was wilder, more irritable. But I feel Czech. This is probably due to my upbringing. Dad was a trained butcher, but when my parents came here, he was a stoker here in a textile factory in Náchod for about 20 years. He was a hard worker, but he liked drinking beer. I remember my mother was still at home. She had a disability pension, a sick heart, and illnesses that I was not aware of at that time yet. She was very strict with us. We went to Dad's from time to time for a 'chat', which sometimes hurt us more than the slap. But I don't mind at all. They did not punish us. My mom slapped me, and it was, I didn't take it as punishment."

"I went all by myself. I had older brothers who went to their fourth, sixth grade, so I don't even know if they took me there at all. We were that independent. I went there alone and sat down and watched. The other parents led their child and everyone cried. I didn't understand why they were crying. I didn't know that. As if they had the mother and grandmother there, they felt like they wouldn't break away from them, or something. I didn't understand the crying - no one did anything to them. I was otherwise raised and toughened by my siblings."