The Land calling me back
Once upon a time I used to walk down the streets of the former Republic of Yugoslavia. That is where I was born, that is where I lived untill the age of 12. I do not live there anymore, I became a refugee because of the political persecution upon Kosovoalbanians. Now I live in Sweden. What does Sweden mean to me? The answer is everything. I have found my home here, a place where I belong. But the shadows of my past keep hunting me, someteimes at night I hear voices calling me back. They are forcing me to remember.
What do I remember? I remember the fear, the darkness, the shadows of the enemies dressed as millitaries with their weapons in their hands. I also remember how the green grass turned into black, how the trees had fallen, how the stars became the only source of light in my heart, how my neighbours stared at me and my family. Why did a country where I was born turn into a grave? Why did a country where I was born persecute me and my family and why did it take away my childhood? Why did it make me grow up too fast when all I wanted was to be a child, to walk down the streets and see the green grass, watch the trees growing, see the
sun and admire the moon? Why did a country where I was born turn me into a prisoner? I will tell you why: because there was a leader who did not care about the children, women, minorities, the weak ones. He did not care that the only way for a child to survive was to leave the country and become a refugee. And that is what I did. I moved to Sweden, and now, so many years later I am finally free. I had to forgive, in order to survive but I will not forget. As I am writting this, breathing in the fresh air of Swedish democracy, I can say that I am free thanks to my abillity to forgive. But the reason why I will not forget is that it is exactly those memories of those streets where I used to walk as a child that make me go on, speak out...