How I Learrned To Cherish The People Surrounding Me Instead Of Material Things
I have been thinking more and more of my grandparents lately, perhaps because the world we live in is more anxious, more and more cynical than ever. And that is why they come to my mind, along with their story that is not about sadness and lack, but about the acceptance of destiny, about the power to spread light even in the darkness. Just that we, the people of the present, have forgotten how to light ignite the light within us and always look for something from outside. A “something” that cannot be bought, leased or borrowed.
After marrying under the curtain of what should have been a “happily ever after,” the only two teachers of the town were forced to leave their newly built home when the Soviet army took over the Ukrainian region. With the help of a guide, they ran through the forest at night, barefoot in order to not make any noise, taking only the clothes on their back with them. It was only the first sign that their life would be about loss and things that go and never come back. When they arrived in Romania, the two settled in Banat, where they rebuilt a new home with great diligence and hard work. Collectivization in 1950 transformed my grandfather into the enemy of the Soviet ruled Romania after World War II because he was an intellectual formed in capitalist city of Vienna. Awakened in the middle of the night to get into animal wagons with thousands of other bourgeoisie people, they lost everything they had to live for once more. Arriving in the middle of the Baragan plain to their assigned house: a stake in the ground, with a name on it, “The Albu Family. ” From a diabolical imagination, of which only human mind is capable, the next “neighbors” were miles away, so that the unrooted families will not even have the consolation of staying together at that end of the world.
In such difficult conditions, they still managed to father their forces and build a school, a church and a town hall, something that could turn that wilderness into a “home. ” Twenty years and two boys later, they regained ownership of the home they lived in before nationalization. Only for years later, Ceausescu’s political regime to be established and demolitions to start all over the country. Their beloved home, built with tears and blood, became the now-forgotten history of a place where apartments lay as you see. After three houses built and lost, the two arrived, in old age, tenants to the state that took all their precious possessions, the fruits of their hard work. Thus they found themselves renting a tiny apartment on the same street that their home had once been. Yes, history is cynical, but that’s because of the cynicism of the people who write it is infinite. This led me to understand that fate cannot change people’s belief in the fact that man can be destroyed by governments, dictators and wars, but the spirit cannot really be knelt by anyone. As my four-year old self immigrated alongside my family to the states, I had no choice but to leave my room full of toys and everything I’d ever known up until that point, back in my home country of Romania.
The small, sparkly pink backpack that held the photo album that my grandmother had given to me and the doll that she had gifted me the previous Christmas was the only personal possession I brought with me oversea. Due to the irony of destiny, Katrina hit a couple months later, taking with it everything I had to my name, my sparkly pink book pack. With this, I too, had the opportunity to experience the loss my grandparents had felt. From that moment on, I learned to no longer cry over material objects and to cherish the wonderful people surrounding me.
