Blogs - Challenger Blog
Half a world away
I was born in a war zone. My early childhood can’t really be described by the word pleasant. But it was the only life I knew of- a life of struggle, masked emotions and pain at the thought of how to get through the day.
I was three when my life suddenly took a twisted turn, my parents think it’s important for me to know what occurred during my time in Yugoslavia, a country that no longer exists. Throughout my life they have told me detailed stories about the war and their life changing decision. With my own memory and their words I have painted a picture of how my childhood and where it has gotten me today.
The person who meant the most to me in this world was the most reassuring person. My grandpa held back his look of uncertainty whenever I was around. Every night before bed he would tell me stories about a world in which there was no hatred and little girls went out and played as their parents kept a watchful eye as they sipped coffee with friends. I didn’t know of this life.
The life I knew of was no electricity, having to travel down four flights of stairs and five blocks to get water in buckets, and not making a single sound after ten, when police were on guard.
I formed a fear of shadows. Our house was dimly lit at night with a few candles. And when my shadow would appear on the wall, I would become terrified. But my fear turned into a fascination, and my nights would be spent putting on shows for my parents forming characters with my hands and making them come to life on our kitchen wall.
As my parents laughed at my new-found creativity, their minds were focused on escaping.
My mom’s family, the side I hadn’t met yet, had taken action a few months earlier. They packed their bags and moved to America.
And now my parents wanted to follow in their footsteps and go to a place where they didn’t have to deal with the struggles of war, a place where they could start over and possibly create a successful future for their daughter. They didn’t want me to have to grow up with a paranoia of my surroundings. All they wanted was to live a normal life.
My mom’s parents sent over immigration papers for a permanent visa. The day and time was set for the plane to take off in Zagreb and land in Des Moines, Iowa. Over 5000 miles in distance.
The day came to leave my life behind and start over, this included leaving my dad’s family, the only family I knew of. This is the part of my memory that is strongest, but so hard to look back at.
I was wearing a red velvet dress, with red stockings, red dress shoes, and a red bow in my hair. The hardest part of that day was saying bye to the most important person in my life, my grandpa, knowing that this goodbye was permanent. I wouldn’t let go of him as my eyes gushed out tears. And I kept begging, don’t take me from him, anyone but him.
He sang me a song, with the chorus line translating to: “Airplane, I will break your wings off, not to fly away.”
There was a room full of aunts, uncles, cousins, friends not one without a tear. My dad was hit hardest, he was leaving his family and he had no idea what life was throwing at him next. He had my mom, me, our plane tickets, some cash, and homesickness.
My parents had made this decision to live a better life, but they were ruining my life because I couldn’t imagine my life without our small candle lit apartment, my grandpa.
We traveled across the ocean without a word. And there weren’t any more tears. They dried out.
When we first touched American soil it was at the John F. Kennedy airport in New York City. It seemed like there were a million people and each one of them was speaking English, a stranger to us. It was like we were on another planet, and there was nobody who cared about us. We were alone.
I wanted my life back. Even though I lived in a war zone, I felt unsafe and alone in this country that was supposed to be our security blanket. Everyone was a stranger, they didn’t understand me, I didn’t understand them.
When we landed in Des Moines, our new home, we were greeted by unfamiliar people who were eagerly awaiting our arrival with tears in their eyes. This was the family I had never met. And instinctively I let go of my dad and rushed to hug my other grandpa. Words can’t describe the feeling of having someone that loves you hold you for the first time.
We were in a place where a new life would have to be built from the roots. We were in for a wild ride, but once again, we had family.