Dec 8, 2011
It is CHRISTMAS not just a Holiday….
I am wondering and pondering…Someone i know has shared very enthusiastically with myself and few other ladies her friend’s invitation so we can all go to her “Holiday “goodie" exchange” event next week since she has apparently a big house and her “Holiday” decorations are fab….. We must wear a Santa hat she added and dress according to the holiday season……sounds kind of fun ...huh…well …hmmm I am going to vent…sorry ..but… as much as I know, these events are usually called ”Christmas cookie exchange”, and those decorations are for CHRISTMAS-celebrating the birth of Jesus, the only begotten Son of God (not to offend any unbeliever here expressing JMO). If one is an Agnostic or Atheist I bet won’t host one of these “goodie exchanges" as they believe in: "live and have fun today and forget about tomorrow”- as they believe that there is nothing waiting for you after death so eat drink and be merry-well enough…their business no problems for me there ….But if you say you are a christian-like this Jane Doe with the huge mansion, a mercedes, sauna and room for a pony, then why be a hypocrite and shy away from the word Christmas, St.Nicholas, Christmas cookies, Christmas tree, etc..…...In the end if you like the “goodies”, can put up a fancy tree and outdoor lights, have those huge holy tree wreaths on the door, put up hundreds of lights, send cards (for what?) ,then isn’t that all about Christmas? We can certainly invent all sorts of feasts for ourselves…we are many tribes and clans….. (2000+ tribal languages are known in one continent alone) …we can invent so we can pretend that Christmas doesn’t exist any more….. but the truth of the matter is that this time of the year the Holy Mother Church’s tradition is set that we celebrate Christmas, the Coming of the Savior, the joyful mystery of the " Word Became Flesh and Dwelled among us".. Either embrace and celebrate it properly or do not stain it….sorry I had to say it…we have to stand up and face it before our faces are totally gone and we have no more real face to face the real truth when needed. Happy Feast Day-Mary, Immaculate Mother pray for us all..
Jul 12, 2011
Albania’s long wait in the delivery room
Debating with teens and twenty something-s about Albanian History’s missing links.
By Merita B.McCormack
Washington DC
I have been wondering for sometime now, as to what motivates some very smart, extremely patriotic, energetic Albanian youngsters, who live both in Albania and overseas, to have such a zest and fervor to fight at every instance the argument that the current Albanian Socialists are to be identified with the Communists of 1941 and beyond.
This I have noticed while I have been expressing my thoughts and have received comments. Nothing unusual for any one who wants to say what he/she thinks, and I have been met with some brilliant minds, but to oppose basically everything I write pertaining to Communism and some even trying to convince me, with what they believe, is somehow puzzling as to why.This has subsequently has motivated me to research further as to what is behind all the fervor and zest that seem to have engulfed some young people to have such a determination for the matter and here it is what I have concluded:
These beautiful people were born in the early 90s or mid to late 80's...that in itself explains a lot.... these people were being raised in transitional times, when the transition from Communism to the supposedly Democratic system in Albania has brought much suffering and much pain to the nation. They were born and raised in very difficult times. They were born with the supposed fall of Communism and as many other youngsters, they are experiencing the labor pain. Something is being delivered. And that is the Dawn of the New Era, which will finally mark the death of Communism.
Hence I understand this generation's frustration and pain, the disappointment and the ideals and I hope we have many youngsters like that, who voice their concerns and hope for the best, expecting the best.
Yet I, as the rest of my generation, for the sake of the coming generations, have to testify to the history that is not being written yet and these young people don't know much about. We can't build upon broken structures, we can't raise walls without proper foundations and we must do a deep and thorough clean up. We must remove the pus from the deep wounds, and that will continue to be still a very painful process.
When I was a teen and witnessed history being made, and saw what no eye should see, heard what no ear should hear and felt what no body should feel, the Albania we all know today was a different world some twenty five or more years ago.
Unfortunately, friends, we did see Devil being pleased in Albania. God was not sought , invited or embraced. For fifty years Albania agonized as an atheist state.
Having said that, there are so many who can testify to this, but unfortunately not many are writing and speaking about it.
A partial history is being told through the mouths and through very few daring souls like Fr. Zef Pllumi with the book "Live to Tell" or Leka Tasi with "Grabjani Rreze Kodrave" (Grabjan –The village on the Hills Side)”
There is not yet, as far as I know, an institutionalized effort on behalf of Albania as a nation, to write the Communist history of my nation and tell it as it was, a history from which we all can learn from or can testify to.
Arguing with some young men and women born in the 90s , is like talking with my American born teens who have no idea as to what really happened in the sixties and seventies in Albania when we grew up godless and almost died of starvation many times, when my mother lived for a full year (1948) on boiled potatoes while going through puberty. To the nation, religion was banned. To my mom’s family many other horrible things were done. Her family was wealthy before Communism hence they were given the infamous title “Kulak” –banning them from Society's life in general. After many of the close family's men defected Albania, the roller coaster of a very difficult life on Earth, due to human persecution, which had already began in 1945, took a very difficult course and we all, the respective generations, can testify with our own witnessing. The beautiful houses and material possessions were taken away by the government and my mom's family was left with nothing, barely some personal belongings, when her cousin-who couldn't defect as he was only fifteen years old and away from home on forced labor camp, on that September night, was jailed several times for agitation and propaganda,-which he had no idea what that was about,- when my great uncle was insulted and called names in front of the whole village as a kulak and a reactionary as he used to own a lot of land and a lot of livestock, when my mom's home was turn into the socialist state owned cooperative's depot and her living room turned into the village's soviet type cooperative ‘s blacksmith's place; when the head of village council looked lustfully upon the young girls of the family and told them to pull the transportations carts, just like an ox and horse does- he had joked- to bring their personal belongings to a mountain mad hut where my mom and her young siblings spent several years with nine other people-kulaks as well- in a single room, when the communist comrade got his burning cigarette out of his mouth and put it over the face of my great aunt and asked her to tell where her husband and sons were,(they defected Albania)- otherwise her eyesight would be gone by being burnt with the hot ash of that cigarette- when my grandfather died, and as the casket was transported to be put in the final resting place, the head of the village council ordered the cultural centre clerk of the socialist cooperative the following: " Play Loud Revolutionary Music and make sure is being heard. The reactionaries are dead, hurray"!
I will never forget the wedding of a loved one and other loved ones couldn't come. My family could not be together as some people were not happy to mix with kulaks. I will never forget the tears of my mother, covering the Devoll region's land everyday when her children, myself and my two brothers, could not get permission to go to the local high school as we had the "bad anti -communist biography", or when my brother was kicked out of school after three days of starting as apparently he was the “wrong” person to be sent there for an education apparently not being from a communist family , or when, my older brother was sent to serve in the army for three years in a terrible place and conditions, and as he was never permitted to get an education....
I will never forget what my grandmother witnessed when the wives of communists, on a mission to psychologically insult the non and anti-communists, were yelling and calling in the streets of the village, at our house's door, to go and see the dead man who was hanged... (he was my father's cousin who tried to escape Albania, was caught at the border, was hanged and his dead body was dragged in the streets...)
This is very little of what my experience of many years in Communism have to tell, or nothing to what other people have gone through, but is just an illustration of what is “the missing link” and is not for the purpose of complaint, neither to seek revenge, but once these are written, are acknowledged, are taught as true and real happenings, and most importantly those who committed the crimes truly apologize and repent, Albania will continue to be in the delivery room for a long time and we will continue to hear more and more crying babies...as the mother will be too sick to nurture and the doctors will be coming and going without much result of aid from the delivery room or other "hospitals"
The past needs to be examined and seriously considered as both the source of that suffering and also the source and means of a national healing. Unless Albania sees the past and heals it, nothing much will change even with the new elections at the door. Albania needs to be its own doctor and also seek real and effective help from friends; Every Albanian has his/her own part to do to speed the delivery and healing. Healing begins with acknowledging the wrong, feeling and showing true sorrow for it and resolve to stay away from the evil ways. Let's hope every Albanian and the whole society does so!
September 2010 (revised June 20 2013)
The author Merita B.McCormack serves as Washington DC VATRA Chapter President.
By Merita B.McCormack
Washington DC
I have been wondering for sometime now, as to what motivates some very smart, extremely patriotic, energetic Albanian youngsters, who live both in Albania and overseas, to have such a zest and fervor to fight at every instance the argument that the current Albanian Socialists are to be identified with the Communists of 1941 and beyond.
This I have noticed while I have been expressing my thoughts and have received comments. Nothing unusual for any one who wants to say what he/she thinks, and I have been met with some brilliant minds, but to oppose basically everything I write pertaining to Communism and some even trying to convince me, with what they believe, is somehow puzzling as to why.This has subsequently has motivated me to research further as to what is behind all the fervor and zest that seem to have engulfed some young people to have such a determination for the matter and here it is what I have concluded:
These beautiful people were born in the early 90s or mid to late 80's...that in itself explains a lot.... these people were being raised in transitional times, when the transition from Communism to the supposedly Democratic system in Albania has brought much suffering and much pain to the nation. They were born and raised in very difficult times. They were born with the supposed fall of Communism and as many other youngsters, they are experiencing the labor pain. Something is being delivered. And that is the Dawn of the New Era, which will finally mark the death of Communism.
Hence I understand this generation's frustration and pain, the disappointment and the ideals and I hope we have many youngsters like that, who voice their concerns and hope for the best, expecting the best.
Yet I, as the rest of my generation, for the sake of the coming generations, have to testify to the history that is not being written yet and these young people don't know much about. We can't build upon broken structures, we can't raise walls without proper foundations and we must do a deep and thorough clean up. We must remove the pus from the deep wounds, and that will continue to be still a very painful process.
When I was a teen and witnessed history being made, and saw what no eye should see, heard what no ear should hear and felt what no body should feel, the Albania we all know today was a different world some twenty five or more years ago.
Unfortunately, friends, we did see Devil being pleased in Albania. God was not sought , invited or embraced. For fifty years Albania agonized as an atheist state.
Having said that, there are so many who can testify to this, but unfortunately not many are writing and speaking about it.
A partial history is being told through the mouths and through very few daring souls like Fr. Zef Pllumi with the book "Live to Tell" or Leka Tasi with "Grabjani Rreze Kodrave" (Grabjan –The village on the Hills Side)”
There is not yet, as far as I know, an institutionalized effort on behalf of Albania as a nation, to write the Communist history of my nation and tell it as it was, a history from which we all can learn from or can testify to.
Arguing with some young men and women born in the 90s , is like talking with my American born teens who have no idea as to what really happened in the sixties and seventies in Albania when we grew up godless and almost died of starvation many times, when my mother lived for a full year (1948) on boiled potatoes while going through puberty. To the nation, religion was banned. To my mom’s family many other horrible things were done. Her family was wealthy before Communism hence they were given the infamous title “Kulak” –banning them from Society's life in general. After many of the close family's men defected Albania, the roller coaster of a very difficult life on Earth, due to human persecution, which had already began in 1945, took a very difficult course and we all, the respective generations, can testify with our own witnessing. The beautiful houses and material possessions were taken away by the government and my mom's family was left with nothing, barely some personal belongings, when her cousin-who couldn't defect as he was only fifteen years old and away from home on forced labor camp, on that September night, was jailed several times for agitation and propaganda,-which he had no idea what that was about,- when my great uncle was insulted and called names in front of the whole village as a kulak and a reactionary as he used to own a lot of land and a lot of livestock, when my mom's home was turn into the socialist state owned cooperative's depot and her living room turned into the village's soviet type cooperative ‘s blacksmith's place; when the head of village council looked lustfully upon the young girls of the family and told them to pull the transportations carts, just like an ox and horse does- he had joked- to bring their personal belongings to a mountain mad hut where my mom and her young siblings spent several years with nine other people-kulaks as well- in a single room, when the communist comrade got his burning cigarette out of his mouth and put it over the face of my great aunt and asked her to tell where her husband and sons were,(they defected Albania)- otherwise her eyesight would be gone by being burnt with the hot ash of that cigarette- when my grandfather died, and as the casket was transported to be put in the final resting place, the head of the village council ordered the cultural centre clerk of the socialist cooperative the following: " Play Loud Revolutionary Music and make sure is being heard. The reactionaries are dead, hurray"!
I will never forget the wedding of a loved one and other loved ones couldn't come. My family could not be together as some people were not happy to mix with kulaks. I will never forget the tears of my mother, covering the Devoll region's land everyday when her children, myself and my two brothers, could not get permission to go to the local high school as we had the "bad anti -communist biography", or when my brother was kicked out of school after three days of starting as apparently he was the “wrong” person to be sent there for an education apparently not being from a communist family , or when, my older brother was sent to serve in the army for three years in a terrible place and conditions, and as he was never permitted to get an education....
I will never forget what my grandmother witnessed when the wives of communists, on a mission to psychologically insult the non and anti-communists, were yelling and calling in the streets of the village, at our house's door, to go and see the dead man who was hanged... (he was my father's cousin who tried to escape Albania, was caught at the border, was hanged and his dead body was dragged in the streets...)
This is very little of what my experience of many years in Communism have to tell, or nothing to what other people have gone through, but is just an illustration of what is “the missing link” and is not for the purpose of complaint, neither to seek revenge, but once these are written, are acknowledged, are taught as true and real happenings, and most importantly those who committed the crimes truly apologize and repent, Albania will continue to be in the delivery room for a long time and we will continue to hear more and more crying babies...as the mother will be too sick to nurture and the doctors will be coming and going without much result of aid from the delivery room or other "hospitals"
The past needs to be examined and seriously considered as both the source of that suffering and also the source and means of a national healing. Unless Albania sees the past and heals it, nothing much will change even with the new elections at the door. Albania needs to be its own doctor and also seek real and effective help from friends; Every Albanian has his/her own part to do to speed the delivery and healing. Healing begins with acknowledging the wrong, feeling and showing true sorrow for it and resolve to stay away from the evil ways. Let's hope every Albanian and the whole society does so!
September 2010 (revised June 20 2013)
The author Merita B.McCormack serves as Washington DC VATRA Chapter President.
Apr 18, 2011
The Lilac Flowers-based on true stories from Communist Albania
Mira’s Lilac
For all my friends and cousins in Albania, whom I spent my unforgettable childhood years with.
When Mira and her husband decided to settle in the area where they live now, the first thing she admired in the front yard were the lilac trees surrounding the house. They face the sun all day long and they bloom at the end of April and beginning of May. The trees were spread out nicely and some of them were pretty high. Mira had always fancied the lilac trees. Perhaps it was the color, perhaps the aroma, perhaps the height of the trees, frankly she did not know what triggered her attraction to the lilac, but it had always been one of her favorite flowers.She often remembered her home in Albania, she recalls the back yard, which saw the sun all day long. There was a big lilac tree planted against the wall in the back of the house.. It was the tallest lilac tree in the village and the first one to bloom. Mira was her parent’s only daughter and she had the enjoyment of cutting the first bunch of flowers and making a big bouquet to put in the house’s entrance hall. The aroma was so nice, so delightful. Every one entering that hall would comment on the welcoming lilac aroma. Many neighbors and cousins envied Mira’s lilac bouquet and Mira surely felt very proud.Although she was but a little girl, still at elementary school, she now remembers some of her bitter childhood moments related to the first lilac flower bloom in her home in Albania.* * *Mira’s lilac bloomed the last week of April every year. Mira’s teachers knew about it and they always sent her home to get a bouquet for the classroom, and on May fifth they repeatedly asked Mira to ask her mother or grandmother to send a big bouquet of lilac flowers to school, to put them on wreaths which were to be placed by the monument in the village center, a lapidary put up in memory of three partisans, members of Communist party of Albania or its sympathizers, from the village killed during the War.May fifth was Communist Martyrs’ Day in Albania, and during the ceremony 8 year old children who were called “fatosa”, were to be accepted in the ranks of “pioneers” a higher organization, one other division of hierarchy which separated the masses of Albanian people.The teachers sent Mira home to collect the lilac flowers, and at that precise moment feelings and emotions started to stir up inside her soul The first one was Mira’s pride, having the first lilac flower tree bloom and having these flowers decorate the wreaths, being seen by so many people and honoring the Martyrs, the other feeling was bitterness, the feeling of exclusion. Bitterness was because of the fact that although Mira was the best student in the class she was never allowed to be a “roje nderi” (a honor guard) at the monument. A few selected pupils had that honor. Mira was engulfed with these feelings, traveling to and from home carrying the flowers.She never understood until she grew up, why she was never allowed to participate in these observances , why she was not allowed to honor the martyrs or to read the oath to the young children entering the higher ranks. Her father used to say, unfairly Mira thought, “It’s not your turn, to carry those duties”. Mira was always confused and astonished to see students who barely passed the class to have the chance of standing guard at the monument during the ceremonies. That wasn’t fair, she always thought, but never found the right answer as to why she or her brothers were not allowed to perform that honor.Mira always thought and expected some kind of reward for doing so well at school but nothing like that had happened to her so far. She never quite understood her father’s statement “Mira it is not your turn dear”.Confused and convinced that she would never be able to be included Mira provided the flowers with hope, but every May fifth found her heart broken. She felt unable to honor the partisans on that day especially since her cousins from her mom’s village visited too. Their village had been anticommunist and had only “ballists” during the war. Ballists were never remembered as fallen martyrs, on the contrary they were forgotten, hence no monuments to fallen martyrs there. So every May fifth school children would come and pay tribute and respect to the three partisans in Mira’s village.Mira’s father was aware of her distress and tried to help her by saying “You are included, honey, you see, your flowers are there!”“Look” the mother would add “everything is green and the beautiful lilac is yours! Be happy for that!”This somehow helped Mira feel better, but she always wanted to go to the bottom of the problem: why she was excluded…Mira was not the only one excluded, so many more children from the school were not integrated in the honor ceremonies. Only those whose families related by blood to the partisans were allowed. Those with ballists in the family were brutally barred and stereotyped. Children belonging to the latter class did not discuss among them any such things. Mira was always told by her parents not to talk about it. “It is not a big deal” they had told her and her brother, but Mira wanted to know more.Mariana was Mira’s best friend and coincidentally she missed the ceremonies every may fifth pretending she was sick. Her parents did not let her attend any events on that day. Mariana’s grandfather had been a political prisoner and had died in jail because he had fostered diversants.That was May Fifth for Mira and some of her friends…The evening of the very same day was quite different! Every year Mira made a big bouquet of Lilac flowers and brought it to the only Uncle she had. It was his birthday and Mira loved family celebrations. It was fun, she always got something special in those celebrations and could wait no longer until the day went by and evening with the special “tri-eggs cake” came. Grandmother always cooked the same cake for Mira’s Uncle and all was warm and nice in the house. They closed the doors, listened to folk music and always stayed up late celebrating.The colors were not any more political in the house.There in the household everyone was treated fairly and everyone was happy. This had always made Mira’s mood change and forget about the rest of the day. Every year May Fifth repeated itself in the same way.Lilac flowers were needed again the next day. May sixth was Saint George’s feast. Then, the only unofficial religious day, which the authorities overlooked. All women visited the graveyard. All tombs were decorated with flowers, the dead were all the same. No distinction there, no matter whose family they came from, the dead were buried in rows… they were not discriminated anymore. Crowds of the living were different. They visited according to clans and very much separated from each other. Mira always visited the village graveyard with her Grandmother, Mother and Aunties. She recalled when old ladies used to sit down and murmured prayers in secret as they were not supposed to pray for the dead. “The dead are gone and there is no God”. God was the forbidden word. Albania was supposed to be an atheist country and practicing religion was a crime. A crime to pray at the tomb of the dead! A crime to say a prayer for peace! A crime to mention God’s name, and astonishingly a day before, there was said: “Eternal be the memory of the fallen”.What a contradiction Mira thought…if the dead are gone forever as the government people and teachers proclaimed, then what is to remain on this earth for them or in their memory. A lot of confusion reigned in the young girl’s mind but she had to go with the crowd. That was what her father had said “Walk with the crowd and don’t separate, otherwise your wings will be cut off…”What wings Mira wondered??? She never understood her father then!While prayer was forbidden, loud wailing and crying was allowed. It was like “a choir of crows there”, Mira’s dad had said. Women used to scream while weeping for the dead, as they let it all out, with swollen eyes and runny noises. After a good cry, they returned to their homes.Mira always got scared from this part of St. George’s feast. The whole village was crying out loud for the dead, every year on the very same day. If you ever visited a place on that day, you could easily tell where the graveyard was, without seeing it. The crying came as a scaring noise and the mixing of voices reminded Mira of the scariest movies she had ever seen. She did not like that day. It was so sad; it reminded her of the death, of the end of life. She did not know about God. He did not exist there, in the Albanian Land God was No One. Mira was told at school you die and you’re done with the world.That was scary and Mira did not want to accept it. She felt she had a purpose to be here on earth but she could not figure it out by herself. Grandmother often mentioned there is God but Mira’s teacher had ruled out God’s existence. There was no soul. There was only the body. The world is material. This was explained so scientifically at school that Mira had begun to think “Grandmother is wrong”.God was a thing that was part of old thinking. God is nothing. Life is on earth and when it ends, it really does end. And this was terrifying but that was what they were told at school and that was supposed to be true.Mira was torn between what grandmother had said and what was written in her books. She had learnt a few prayers, but was told to say them only in secret and in silence.In the end she was happy to do her job, prepare the flowers and after school visit the graveyard. On the way back Mira and her friends would taste all the cookies prepared for that day. They used to have dozens of them as each family prepared them and gave them as a gesture of charity, but Mira never analyzed deeply the true meaning of that tradition. She was lost at the end of the day in the beauty of the surrounding flowers in that first week of May. Although the trauma was repeating itself each year, at the moment of time she paid attention to the beauty of flowers without paying attention to the messages her sub conscience was receiving….When communism fell, after the wire removal, she met God and understood her purpose in life. Mira understood her father’s efforts to keep a balance between what the government was teaching through moral-politic education and the true morale, God and everything else.That must had been very hard for faithful and religious people whose right to practice religion was brutally taken away from them and was considered a political crime.What a difficult task Mira thought as she remembered her parents, what an emotional and psychological stress they carried along with the heavy load of bringing up their children in the poorest country of the continent. She tried to understand the burden they carried over their shoulders but all she could do now was help them understand how appreciative their children were and express gratitude to them, she hoped to help heal the hearts of a lost generation, as she named it that of her parents…They had had an optimistic childhood, hoping that after the war things would turn out for the best, but their life turned upside down, fed with the worst ideology ever seen in the world, suppressed and tyrannized, killed and thrown away, their generation was forbidden freedom of thought and speech, was punished for believing in God, was totally thrown at the doors of starvation, it was the generation that needed another lifetime to heal.* * *These thoughts were going through Mira’s head in her new country, in her own home, among her own lilac flowers. She had so many flowers now and so did the neighbors around her. None envied her lilac and Mira did not mind it anymore. There was no body to take her lilacs away and use them for any political purposes. There was no oath to be taken to enter a higher political organization rank. Everything was free and felt free. She appreciated that freedom more than anyone else around. There was not a party secretary to ignore here or look angry at her, clearly excluding from the rest. They were daughters and sons of the communists, who verbally insulted her daily reminding her she did not belong to their class. That had come to an end now.Mira a mother herself, was far away from that time, and knew that the memories were only memories. They were not there to haunt her, but just a reminder to appreciate the equality and the freedom, to enjoy the present and to respect others. She enjoyed every flower and she observed her daughter Sarah, in the garden. Sarah liked the lilacs just like Mira as a little girl. She looked at them, smelled them and gently cut a few of them and smiling approached Mira who was sitting in the sun.“Mommy, here you are, a few lilac flowers for you”
“Are these the same as those in Albania Mom” she asked?“Oh sweet heart, thank you”, Mira said as she hugged her daughter and received the flowers, “Yes dear, yes, they are, exactly the same flower… Flowers are the same everywhere in the world, but only here we have plenty, plenty of them and everything else”
“Mom I made a big bouquet” Sarah continued, “Can I put them in the front porch to have the house smell lilac all over…”“Oh yeah honey” Mira said, “Please do it…”As Sarah went to take care of the flowers Mira started to think: “May be one day I will tell her about my lilac.” She hoped not to mention too much of May fifth and sixth to her…It was enough, to have her heart broken as a child. She wanted her children to grow without the fear and the exclusion Mira went through and she hurried to join her daughter in fixing the flowers together, and to enjoy the spring in the yard, in the home and in the hearts of everyone. It was about time…
For all my friends and cousins in Albania, whom I spent my unforgettable childhood years with.
When Mira and her husband decided to settle in the area where they live now, the first thing she admired in the front yard were the lilac trees surrounding the house. They face the sun all day long and they bloom at the end of April and beginning of May. The trees were spread out nicely and some of them were pretty high. Mira had always fancied the lilac trees. Perhaps it was the color, perhaps the aroma, perhaps the height of the trees, frankly she did not know what triggered her attraction to the lilac, but it had always been one of her favorite flowers.She often remembered her home in Albania, she recalls the back yard, which saw the sun all day long. There was a big lilac tree planted against the wall in the back of the house.. It was the tallest lilac tree in the village and the first one to bloom. Mira was her parent’s only daughter and she had the enjoyment of cutting the first bunch of flowers and making a big bouquet to put in the house’s entrance hall. The aroma was so nice, so delightful. Every one entering that hall would comment on the welcoming lilac aroma. Many neighbors and cousins envied Mira’s lilac bouquet and Mira surely felt very proud.Although she was but a little girl, still at elementary school, she now remembers some of her bitter childhood moments related to the first lilac flower bloom in her home in Albania.* * *Mira’s lilac bloomed the last week of April every year. Mira’s teachers knew about it and they always sent her home to get a bouquet for the classroom, and on May fifth they repeatedly asked Mira to ask her mother or grandmother to send a big bouquet of lilac flowers to school, to put them on wreaths which were to be placed by the monument in the village center, a lapidary put up in memory of three partisans, members of Communist party of Albania or its sympathizers, from the village killed during the War.May fifth was Communist Martyrs’ Day in Albania, and during the ceremony 8 year old children who were called “fatosa”, were to be accepted in the ranks of “pioneers” a higher organization, one other division of hierarchy which separated the masses of Albanian people.The teachers sent Mira home to collect the lilac flowers, and at that precise moment feelings and emotions started to stir up inside her soul The first one was Mira’s pride, having the first lilac flower tree bloom and having these flowers decorate the wreaths, being seen by so many people and honoring the Martyrs, the other feeling was bitterness, the feeling of exclusion. Bitterness was because of the fact that although Mira was the best student in the class she was never allowed to be a “roje nderi” (a honor guard) at the monument. A few selected pupils had that honor. Mira was engulfed with these feelings, traveling to and from home carrying the flowers.She never understood until she grew up, why she was never allowed to participate in these observances , why she was not allowed to honor the martyrs or to read the oath to the young children entering the higher ranks. Her father used to say, unfairly Mira thought, “It’s not your turn, to carry those duties”. Mira was always confused and astonished to see students who barely passed the class to have the chance of standing guard at the monument during the ceremonies. That wasn’t fair, she always thought, but never found the right answer as to why she or her brothers were not allowed to perform that honor.Mira always thought and expected some kind of reward for doing so well at school but nothing like that had happened to her so far. She never quite understood her father’s statement “Mira it is not your turn dear”.Confused and convinced that she would never be able to be included Mira provided the flowers with hope, but every May fifth found her heart broken. She felt unable to honor the partisans on that day especially since her cousins from her mom’s village visited too. Their village had been anticommunist and had only “ballists” during the war. Ballists were never remembered as fallen martyrs, on the contrary they were forgotten, hence no monuments to fallen martyrs there. So every May fifth school children would come and pay tribute and respect to the three partisans in Mira’s village.Mira’s father was aware of her distress and tried to help her by saying “You are included, honey, you see, your flowers are there!”“Look” the mother would add “everything is green and the beautiful lilac is yours! Be happy for that!”This somehow helped Mira feel better, but she always wanted to go to the bottom of the problem: why she was excluded…Mira was not the only one excluded, so many more children from the school were not integrated in the honor ceremonies. Only those whose families related by blood to the partisans were allowed. Those with ballists in the family were brutally barred and stereotyped. Children belonging to the latter class did not discuss among them any such things. Mira was always told by her parents not to talk about it. “It is not a big deal” they had told her and her brother, but Mira wanted to know more.Mariana was Mira’s best friend and coincidentally she missed the ceremonies every may fifth pretending she was sick. Her parents did not let her attend any events on that day. Mariana’s grandfather had been a political prisoner and had died in jail because he had fostered diversants.That was May Fifth for Mira and some of her friends…The evening of the very same day was quite different! Every year Mira made a big bouquet of Lilac flowers and brought it to the only Uncle she had. It was his birthday and Mira loved family celebrations. It was fun, she always got something special in those celebrations and could wait no longer until the day went by and evening with the special “tri-eggs cake” came. Grandmother always cooked the same cake for Mira’s Uncle and all was warm and nice in the house. They closed the doors, listened to folk music and always stayed up late celebrating.The colors were not any more political in the house.There in the household everyone was treated fairly and everyone was happy. This had always made Mira’s mood change and forget about the rest of the day. Every year May Fifth repeated itself in the same way.Lilac flowers were needed again the next day. May sixth was Saint George’s feast. Then, the only unofficial religious day, which the authorities overlooked. All women visited the graveyard. All tombs were decorated with flowers, the dead were all the same. No distinction there, no matter whose family they came from, the dead were buried in rows… they were not discriminated anymore. Crowds of the living were different. They visited according to clans and very much separated from each other. Mira always visited the village graveyard with her Grandmother, Mother and Aunties. She recalled when old ladies used to sit down and murmured prayers in secret as they were not supposed to pray for the dead. “The dead are gone and there is no God”. God was the forbidden word. Albania was supposed to be an atheist country and practicing religion was a crime. A crime to pray at the tomb of the dead! A crime to say a prayer for peace! A crime to mention God’s name, and astonishingly a day before, there was said: “Eternal be the memory of the fallen”.What a contradiction Mira thought…if the dead are gone forever as the government people and teachers proclaimed, then what is to remain on this earth for them or in their memory. A lot of confusion reigned in the young girl’s mind but she had to go with the crowd. That was what her father had said “Walk with the crowd and don’t separate, otherwise your wings will be cut off…”What wings Mira wondered??? She never understood her father then!While prayer was forbidden, loud wailing and crying was allowed. It was like “a choir of crows there”, Mira’s dad had said. Women used to scream while weeping for the dead, as they let it all out, with swollen eyes and runny noises. After a good cry, they returned to their homes.Mira always got scared from this part of St. George’s feast. The whole village was crying out loud for the dead, every year on the very same day. If you ever visited a place on that day, you could easily tell where the graveyard was, without seeing it. The crying came as a scaring noise and the mixing of voices reminded Mira of the scariest movies she had ever seen. She did not like that day. It was so sad; it reminded her of the death, of the end of life. She did not know about God. He did not exist there, in the Albanian Land God was No One. Mira was told at school you die and you’re done with the world.That was scary and Mira did not want to accept it. She felt she had a purpose to be here on earth but she could not figure it out by herself. Grandmother often mentioned there is God but Mira’s teacher had ruled out God’s existence. There was no soul. There was only the body. The world is material. This was explained so scientifically at school that Mira had begun to think “Grandmother is wrong”.God was a thing that was part of old thinking. God is nothing. Life is on earth and when it ends, it really does end. And this was terrifying but that was what they were told at school and that was supposed to be true.Mira was torn between what grandmother had said and what was written in her books. She had learnt a few prayers, but was told to say them only in secret and in silence.In the end she was happy to do her job, prepare the flowers and after school visit the graveyard. On the way back Mira and her friends would taste all the cookies prepared for that day. They used to have dozens of them as each family prepared them and gave them as a gesture of charity, but Mira never analyzed deeply the true meaning of that tradition. She was lost at the end of the day in the beauty of the surrounding flowers in that first week of May. Although the trauma was repeating itself each year, at the moment of time she paid attention to the beauty of flowers without paying attention to the messages her sub conscience was receiving….When communism fell, after the wire removal, she met God and understood her purpose in life. Mira understood her father’s efforts to keep a balance between what the government was teaching through moral-politic education and the true morale, God and everything else.That must had been very hard for faithful and religious people whose right to practice religion was brutally taken away from them and was considered a political crime.What a difficult task Mira thought as she remembered her parents, what an emotional and psychological stress they carried along with the heavy load of bringing up their children in the poorest country of the continent. She tried to understand the burden they carried over their shoulders but all she could do now was help them understand how appreciative their children were and express gratitude to them, she hoped to help heal the hearts of a lost generation, as she named it that of her parents…They had had an optimistic childhood, hoping that after the war things would turn out for the best, but their life turned upside down, fed with the worst ideology ever seen in the world, suppressed and tyrannized, killed and thrown away, their generation was forbidden freedom of thought and speech, was punished for believing in God, was totally thrown at the doors of starvation, it was the generation that needed another lifetime to heal.* * *These thoughts were going through Mira’s head in her new country, in her own home, among her own lilac flowers. She had so many flowers now and so did the neighbors around her. None envied her lilac and Mira did not mind it anymore. There was no body to take her lilacs away and use them for any political purposes. There was no oath to be taken to enter a higher political organization rank. Everything was free and felt free. She appreciated that freedom more than anyone else around. There was not a party secretary to ignore here or look angry at her, clearly excluding from the rest. They were daughters and sons of the communists, who verbally insulted her daily reminding her she did not belong to their class. That had come to an end now.Mira a mother herself, was far away from that time, and knew that the memories were only memories. They were not there to haunt her, but just a reminder to appreciate the equality and the freedom, to enjoy the present and to respect others. She enjoyed every flower and she observed her daughter Sarah, in the garden. Sarah liked the lilacs just like Mira as a little girl. She looked at them, smelled them and gently cut a few of them and smiling approached Mira who was sitting in the sun.“Mommy, here you are, a few lilac flowers for you”
“Are these the same as those in Albania Mom” she asked?“Oh sweet heart, thank you”, Mira said as she hugged her daughter and received the flowers, “Yes dear, yes, they are, exactly the same flower… Flowers are the same everywhere in the world, but only here we have plenty, plenty of them and everything else”
“Mom I made a big bouquet” Sarah continued, “Can I put them in the front porch to have the house smell lilac all over…”“Oh yeah honey” Mira said, “Please do it…”As Sarah went to take care of the flowers Mira started to think: “May be one day I will tell her about my lilac.” She hoped not to mention too much of May fifth and sixth to her…It was enough, to have her heart broken as a child. She wanted her children to grow without the fear and the exclusion Mira went through and she hurried to join her daughter in fixing the flowers together, and to enjoy the spring in the yard, in the home and in the hearts of everyone. It was about time…
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