Friday, April 26, 2013

No, it will never be dead

I just came back from the town my mother and I left 13 years ago.
I thought I would cry. I didn't. Well, of course, seeing the house you spent the happiest years of your life in in ruins makes you sad. But I was brave enough not to cry. It's just a house, I thought. And this is just a road. This is just a school. Oh, and here was a store. These are just buildings, nothing more. I expected to see everything destroyed.
Or maybe I just lied to myself, maybe I just did not want to see what I saw?
Anyway, when my cousin saw the pictures showing houses with no windows, all she said was 'The town is dead.' Come on, I know it looks horrible. But why did these words hurt?
Because in my heart and in my mind it is still alive. It will always be. When I stared at those empty buildings, I did not see just terrible and now dangerous places no one would like to see. I saw a town the residents of which were so happy; a prospering, growing town. A town I grew up in.
At that moment this town was the most sacred place for me. Sacred and alive, as ever.