...that a shitload of money and the "sincere" appreciation of the fat boss is nothing without the arms of a significant other, the support of friends, the energy of being healthy and the smile you have when you wake up to a new day. Money isn't everything.

In the wake of Raluca Stroescu's death, I saw this text on Mediafax:
A moment of silence in parliament for Raluca Stroescu?

Raluca Stroescu, a young, attractive, smart, career woman, worked herself to death, literally, and to such a tragic story one cannot remain indifferent, even if it’s not a story about a president told to take a hike, a parliament overstepping its attributions or a constitution twisted beyond recognition.

As far as we know, Raluca Stroescu was neither a diva, nor a babe who kept score of loaded guys in a little black book, she didn’t hang out in fancy clubs, she was not the daughter, girlfriend, wife or lover of some VIP.

She was a loner, who buried herself in her work, a workaholic if you will. She was ambitious, but ambition is not a sin. She had wishes, which naturally followed from her ambition. She may have had heartaches, quickly smothered, buried beneath files, forgotten in front of the computer or left wandering on the side of the roads she traveled. And in search of what? The ….-desired high social status with everything it entails? A certain happiness? Whatever she was looking for, she paid the price and was way overcharged.

There will be enough cynics who will say Raluca was already ill or that she had chosen this lifestyle knowingly and that she ended up slipping off the track. In other words, that she brought it upon herself, she isolated herself, she was brainwashed, she had gone berserk.