Kosovo

The thing about memories is you always remember specific things,even if they weren't essential to that specific event.There are many events that have occurred in mylife,but the one I will always remember even if I one day become senile,this memory willnot escape me. For the life of me I will never remember the weather,or even what I hadthat morning for breakfast. My memory always,goes to that little girl at the gate waitingfor her mother to return home.This image that I remember, so vividly as if it were a scene in a movie that I had watched too many times. {link to: 'Family', label: 'My family'}

My family owned a beautiful home, a home with a courtyard,and brick thatseemed to glisten, in the sunlight. There were certain places that were engulfed in vines.The gate in front had already begun to rust, but with an old world charm. Mygrandfather had built this house with his own two hands; it was his pride and joy. Peoplein my neighbourhood didn't buy homes they built them. They were hard working people,and it was easy to see as you walked through the old village. The homes that they built,were their legacies, and would be passed onto their children.{link to: 'The Family', label: 'Beautiful Home'}

My mom was a nurse,she had moved back home after my father had taken hissize twelve boots, and spanked me. He had locked the door, so my mother would beunable to stop him. I was only three. My mom was the second woman in our village toget a divorce, and unfortunately walking anywhere she would receive unpleasantcommentary. She was and still is my hero. Maybe that is why,the image of her runningdown the street towards the gate has stayed with me for so long. I don't remember theweather I will never remember who pulled me away from the gate. I will howeverremember holding onto that gate as though{link to: 'Memory', label: 'my life'} depended on it.

Everything was a blur. My family was grabbing everything that had ever matteredto them, I didn't say a word and if I had I wouldn't have been heard through the loudsound of fear. The back wall had never seemed larger or more terrifying then it had been that day.The loud noise of our front gate being bombarded by Albanians wastraumatizing,I remember my grandfather handing me over the wall,I got a glimpse ofthe gate being broken and a group of men entering our yard. I don't remember theirfaces,and I don't think I ever will,however,their impact on my life afterwards will neverbe forgotten.{link to: 'Run', label: 'run'}

"Go! Don't worry about me."I heard my grandfather say.Those who hadoffered to help us escape would not let my grandfather in the vehicle;they said there wasnot enough room.We reached a home that again I will never remember its contents or itssize;I will however remember crying myself to sleep that night.There was a noise and Iawoke my grandmother, went to the door,when she opened it the sight of mygrandfather brought her to tears. My grandfather was distraught.He had just witnessedeverything he had worked for his entire life, burned to ashes.He was not a man to showemotion,but his red eyes were unmistakable of that of a man who had cried.

I will always remember the stories that have been told to me about the events thathad occurred that day, buy my memory of this day has never been altered. I have tried toremember more; unfortunately the mind is not one to be told what to do. Or at leastmine isn't. My life has been altered since this event; this is a positive statement,considering the previous statements. {link to: 'Terror', label: 'fear.'}

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