The images are haunting me, filled with the familiar scent of a home. I cannot escape their temptation and familiarity; after all, these memories are the only cherished possessions I was allowed to take with me. No, they can’t take that away from me. Nothing can ever take that away from me. My identity is reduced down to “once upon a time…before the war…before the genocide…before the hateful destruction… Before…Before…Before… Before the Death came and took so many away-to some of them welcoming final escape the horror they were surviving.” Finally everything is over-for some of us. What a strange and cruel comfort that is.
But the images, the sweet images of the time before when I belonged in a place that used to be called home. In my mind’s eye I roam through the rooms, touching the walls, listening to comfortable silence, and feeling the deep longing for what used to be. I am so misplaced. What do the forsaken places feel? Are we missed? Am I missed? It is all gone, forever gone. No more belonging. No hope, just devastation and plain survival. Ugly, naked, and bitter survival. Luxury. Privilege to be alive-at the moment. There is a huge void where innocence once lived. Now it is gone forever. Somehow, that is a loss most difficult to grieve.
Still not afraid of death, but afraid of what I will become. No, NO, NO!!! I won’t become one of them. In their eyes they already won, in my heart I know the difference.
The images are haunting me filled with memories of a place once upon a time, of a once-existent life, and a girl now reduced to a name. The images are haunting me, and I am letting them torture me knowing my existence depends on it.