THINGS WILL SORT THEMSELVES OUT.

Lisa gave her an impulsive hug, which embarrassed her a little bit. "Don't worry, it's only temporary. Things will sort themselves out."

On the way back to the main buildings she found Dad talking on the verandah with the other men. He pointed her not to disturb them. Saranda entered the long quiet corridor and went upstairs. Her eyes became acustomed to the dark and she found their door. Mum was staring at the ceiling holding a handkerchief in front of ther mouth. Saranda knelt next to her and touched her bandaged arm.

    "Are you sick?"

Mum stared at her but didn't answer. She puts the handkerchief back to her pocket and started slowly to fold some of the 'Salvation army' clothes, which had been given to them.

Saranda stood up and gazed through the window. The horizon was shimmering in the hot air but inside was fresh and cool.

    "Look, Mum, you can see the ocean from here."

Mum stood sadly next to Saranda and pressed her palms against the glass with pointless longing. They watched tiny seagulls flying in the clear, blue sky, their wings touching the green line where see and sky met. Saranda had a feeling that this is how their ancient homeland looked like when 'Light man' had put the first sun on the sky.

    " Hey, next week, they allow us to go out and see the ocean, the real ocean, maybe I'll spont a dolphin or a real shark." Dardon burst with excitement.

    "Nonsense." Thought Saranda, who rarely believed the news he told.

BLINKING IN THE SUN FEELING HOMESICK

Saranda blinked in the sun. Where am I? She tried to get the world into focus. The magpies carolled in the tall eucalyptus trees scattered along the barracks' garden. A group of refugee's boys looked almost happy, sitting under one of them, having lunch and chattering. It would be good for Dardon to join them...
     " You're new, are you?" A girl with a ponytail came to sit next to her on the bench. " We have already been here for a week."

     " Where do you come from? From Pristina?" Saranda smiled at her. " My aunties live in Pristina or they used to live there...and you have the same accent."

    "Hm." After a little pause the new girl added: "Forget the past, here is fine, you will see. Did you hear that school starts tomorrow, my English is not that great, I don't know how I will do..."

    I don't know how I will eat." Saranda looked down at the salad and tuna sandwich in her hand and added slowly: " This bread is too soft and it's too hot for lunch."

    " And ist's the start of autumn here they told us, imagine, it's spring at home." Suddenly the girl with the pnytail stopped as she noticed a plump figure coming towards them. " Look, Lisa is coming," she jumped for joy and her ponytail danced on her head. " I love these frozen frit sticks she always bring us, what they are called here?"

    " Icy poles, " Lisa approached them. " Whould you like some?" She wiped perspiration off her brows:
" My goodness, the heat has come late this year."

    "You're welcome, oh, Saranda is here." Lisa's cheerful face with freckles turned to her. " Your brother is flooking for yo everywhere...and your Mum, she seems to be sick and a bit upset, I've tried to cheer her up...but you know, I can't speak your language very well."

Saranda watched her and felt uncomfortable. " Oh, I know, she will be all right, she is only...she scratched her forehead trying to find the right expression: "homesick."

ARE WE REAL MUSLIMS, MUM ?

" It is locked, honey." Someone gently touched her arm. "You've come a long way, you are safe now." Saranda looked up at the kind woman's face. She was one of the barracks staff who served them in the dinning room. The round woman stared at her until Saranda could stand it no longer and looked away. How could she possibly understand...how could she explain about Granny and everything?

" Oh sorry, you can't speak English." She sighed slowly trying Albanian greeting: " Mer-ha-ba, er oh sorry, I mean...emri im asht Lisa, Li-sa." Lisa pointed her finger to the samll card on her huge chest with hen name on it.

Saranda chuckled and Lisa wiped perspiration off her brows" " Mare-harbor, emree-
imarsht Saranda and don't worry I speak English."

" Oh, nice to meet you, Saranda," She put her arm around her: "How old are you?"

" I am twelve and my brother is ten."

Lisa sighed and went back to the barracks, halfway there she stopped to make sure Saranda is following her. " I wanted to explain to yhour that I am here for you and by the way, your hair are really beautiful, so long and thick, you are lucky you don't need to wear shawl like some of the Muslims' girls I saw."

" My Grandmum wears a scarf and she can tell wondefull stories from our past."

" Can she?" Lisa waited until Saranda entered the barracks, then she locked the front door. " I would love to hear about your family, we could sit here, if you like." She pointed on some chairs in the hall.

" No, thank you...I mean, I'd like to go bakc to my family."

Saranda made her way to their rooms without anyone meeting. All was still and hushed on the corridor like in prayer time. She entered her parents' room. Her Mum was standing next to one of the empty shelves.

" Where is Dad ?" Saranda asked.

" Where have you been?" Mum looked white and tired. " He went to talk to other men. You know, he does not like you to go off without telling us.

" Mum, I have been only outside to get some fresh air." Saranda touched the empty self. " Are we real muslims, mum?"

" To be Muslim means to be God consious, whether inprayer, fasting or charity. That is what my Mother-in-law has taught me and I teach you. All of your Father's family are Muslims by tradition. I was orphan form Coratia. But as you know, because your father was a teacher he was forbidden to practise his religion."

" We never talked about Islam at school."

" All religion were forbidden at home, although people followed Islamic traditions at home and we all lived peasefully together," she sighed: " I don't know what happened to us."

" We never prayed at home too much either."

" Islam is both a religion and a complete way of life. Your father had chosen to teach so I respected his wish. He always preferred to take his own responsibility for his life, don't rely on God too much, he always used to say for that he was often called Non-believer by your Grandmum."

" But why has he been working as a farmer now?" Saranda interrupted.

" The Serbs took over and destroyed everything, your father was not good any more as a communist teacher from previous regime and later he was not good as a Kosovo Albanian." Mum sighed heavily again. " It is God's will to turn his back on us as we have turned our back on him."

" No, it is not." Said Dad entering the room. " There is nevws from home about ethnic cleansing not only of Albanians but also Croats, Gypsies, Turks, Montenegrins. Where are their God?"

" Go to sleep, Saranda," Mum ushered her into the adjoining room and closed quietly door while Dad was taling about the government violence against Albanian civilians.

Saranda stood quietly between her and Dardon's beds looking at some empty shelves and thinking of Grandmum. Dardon was sleeping soundly. She gently touched his head.

" I've tried to find you but you just disappeard." He snifed once or twice like a little child and truned back to sleep.

Saranda moved the makeshift curtain her Mum put there to divide her private space and stretched her body in the comfortable hend hugging her welcome teddy bear. " Good night, Grandmum, wherever you are!"

PART 1 THE SUNNY COUNTRY April 1998

Finally their family and four hundred other refugees began their interim new life in Australia.Saranda closed her eyes when hot shower touched her skin. She had dreamt about this moment the whole month. A look in a mirror frightened her: what a pale face with big scarred eyes, her long brown hair had lost its shine...only her tiny golden sun shone like a star on her bare skin.

"Come on, Saranda, you are next." Mum openend the door dressed in a new dress with a pure white bandage on her left arm.

"And what about you?" Saranda dressed quickly into clean pants and loose shirt:
"Are you O.K. ?" She asked concerned.

" Im O.K. as you say in English, I am ingood health. A lady who translated for me sent you this to make you feel more welcome." Mum handed her a small teddy bear as she pushed Saranda through the white door with the sign in their language: Medical Check-ups.

Saranda was holding her teddy bear tightly as they approached the barbed wire fence of thier temporary home. The night was peaceful and warm. She looked up to the sky but none of the stars looked familiar. Someone from the back pushed her to move.

" Aar-my Bar-racks." Her brother was standing near the big entrance. "You see, I can read in English."

" Can you read the first word?" Mum approached him: "I think, it's the name of this town, I have no idea, where we are."

" It's called Fremantle, Mum." Saranda followed them inside.

The following night passed quickly. After checking their family unit, Dardon ran through the long corridor with the same family units on both sides. Saranda followed him thinking about this strange country.

" I thought we would have a real army room." Dardon peered in to a room, which was similar to theirs. Kosovar families, which were more fortunate than them were unpacking their luggage. They made piles of spare clothing to share with others.

" I love our room with its bright blinds and comfy beds," Saranda said following the noise from the end of the corridor.

They entered the communal lounge with TV and chairs. It was full ofyoung Albanians watching 'Simpsons'. The smell of cooked halal meat, which floated out from the opposite kitchen made them hungry.

"Come on, Mum and Dad are witing for us in the dining room." dardon ran out. The big room had already been prepared. Mum waved to them from one of the big tables laden with chicken and lamb dishes.

" Try the thick soup, it's similar to what we make at home." Dad was smiling, his mouth full as they approached.

" I love chicken." Dardon took up a knife and cut the first delicious piece. Soon warm meat was pushed into his mouth. Some drebbled down his chin as he grinned at his sister: " I bet I cna eat more than you."

"I bet you can't." she took some chicken form his plate. Saranda felt warm and secure for the first time in a long while. Having eaten their meals, small groups of refugees around their table stood up. Men went outside to smoke. Dad went to join them. Saranda looked at her Mum. The happy, satisfied smile on her face hid the horrors of the past, which were still very close to the surface. Saranda's stomach ached, not knowing what proper food had menat for so long. She pushed the plate back. Ignoring the tempting secure atmosphere, she went out. She passed some men on the open verandah. Fortunatelly her Dad was nowhere to be seen.
Following the path they came in she listened intently. All was still and quiet. Suddenly she touched something cold. Saradna tried to open the gate of her new home, wondering what was behind it.

MORE THAN A DECADE AGO AUSTRALIA OPENED ITS' DOOR TO MANY KOSOVAN REFUGESS WHO FLEED THEIR HOMELAND BECAUSE OF WAR AND DISTRESS. JUST AS YOU ARE READING IN SARANDA'S STORY. TODAY MANY DISPLACED AND SCARED TAMILS FROM SRI LANKA KNOCK ON OUR DOOR. WHEN THERE IS WAR AND DISTRESS THIS IS WHAT PROPELS PEOPLE. DOES AUSTRALIA OPEN IT'S DOOR AGAIN?

' Don't look back, go ahead...'

" We are going to Australia." Dad entered their tent early morning.

" What are you talking about?" Grandmum stood up with difficulty from the ground.

" Come on kids, we are going to fly to the sun." He had shaken them to wake up.

Saranda sat up shivering from the icy air coming in from th ethousands of hole in their plastic tent. She had already forgotten what the warm sunlight felt like.

" I'll stay. My life, my dear husband and your sisters are all still here.." Grandmum whispered.

" You will die here, Mum." Dad started to talk but she stopped him resolutely.

" You know that I'm too old to go, besides I have to wait here for your sisters
to come," She waas helping Dardon to put his damp jumper on. "But YOU have to go,
you are lucky to escape this misery."

When Dad hesitated, she pushed him out of the tent: " For the sake of your children,
go."

" Saranda, I have something for you," Grandmum took off her gold chain with a tiny golden sun and put it around Saranda's neck: " My Grandmamma gave it to me and
now it's yours, it brings you good luck on your journey."
She gently patted Saranda's long brown hair then quickly turned away to hide the tears in her eyes.

It was a cold frosty morning when they boarded the bus, still half asleep. Saranda
waved to her beloved Granny for as long as she could see her old figure, so fragile
until it finally disappeared in the crowd of thousands of cold, desperate refugees.

The same day they boarded a plane for the long flight to Australia. Saranda landed a seat near the window. As the jet soared up into the sky, she could see her beloved Kosovo, the piece of land, which they were forced to flee, their war-ravaged homeland. How small and wounded it looked. She had no desire to go back now, but...

" What about aunties, my cousins and my friends?" She quickly turned to the rest
of her family to see the same question in their eyes. " And our Grandmum, will we see her again?"

" We were lucky to escape the camp." Dad sat next to her, his eyes full of pain.

" Look, that muyst be our village." Mum sobbed.

Suddenly, a flight attendant touched Mum's injured arm, gently telling her something in English.

" What does she mean?" Mum turned to them from the front seat. Dardon scratched his head trying to remember the English phrases form school.

" Don't look back, go ahead, we are on the flight to sun." Saranda said triumphantly. " That is, what it is!"

I'M EVER-CHANGING YET THE SAME

MY DEAR SOULMATES; I HOPE YOU LIKE MY NEW 'APPEARANCE'. I TOOK TO MY HEART ALL YOUR SUGGESTIONS AND TRIED TO MAKE MY 'BITTERSWEET' BLOG MORE ORGANIZED FOR YOUR CONVIENCENCE. I BELIEVE THAT CONTENT IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN 'IT'S WRAPPING, HOWEVER WE LIVE IN A FAST-PACED SOCIETY WHERE TIME IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING AND I AM SO GREATEFUL FOR ANY SPARE TIME YOU FIND FOR ME AND MY THOUGHTS. THERE WILL BE STILL 'MY THINKING FROG QUESTION TIME' AS I NEED SO MUCH YOUR INPUT. THANK YOU TO ALL MY SOULMATES WHO 'CONNECTED WITH ME AND MY THOUGHTS SO FAR...'

What am I?
I'm ever-changing yet the same. There was a darkness from where I came. I have 'rainy' and 'clear' days. I look for a sunshine, just hold my hand and walk with me on this great land. Enjoy this sunshine, for where we go there will be a darkness, just the same. I'm ever-changing yet the the same. I want to stay as long as I can, with you, on this great land.


Who is Saranda?

Saranda's journey is about to continue. Please read carefully, there will be 'My Thinking Frog' questions for you to answer next week. ENJOY...


"I warned you about my land yesterday, you damn refugees." The angry farmer from the other side of the border shouted as they approached. "No more moving through my land." More Macedonian farmers came on their tractors to show them off.
Their huge dogs came snuffing up for a fight. They speeded up to the camp trying to avoid them. Saranda looked the other way at the muddy remote field. There were thousand of plastic shelters and tents made from sheets. Shortly after arriving Dad joined other refugeees to hastily dig latrines while Mum had already linde up for food handed off the back of a relief agency truck standing nearby. Saranda and Dardon stood in the middle of the bustling camp for a moment wondering where to go, when Grandmum's scarf appeared from one of the tents.

"Welcome to a home in the mud." She greeted them with her usual cheery smile, but there were tears in her eyes. Saranda and Dardon hugged her tightly as they jumped into the first shelter they'd had since being expelled at gunpoint from their home. The big tent was full of desperate people sitting everywhere. In the dark corner a young woman was sreaming: " He has a fever, what will I do?" As Saranda's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she noticed a tiny baby on the woman's lap. The look in her eyes was mad with fear. All women in the tent were around her. Men on other side of the tent paid no attention, lost in their separate gloomy lives.

"Come to this corner and I will try to help this poor sick baba, an aid worker is coming...come on, my children." Grandmum pushed them to the small ampty place on the women's side with an old rug on the floor.

When Saranda opened her eyes next morning, she could hardly breathe in the heavy air and her fingers stayed frozen when she wanted to pull up the charity blanket. Some of the refugees were packing up. The aid worker who came to help with Mum's injury told them to pack up too, but their Granmum refused.

"Go, where?" She murmured as she kneaded heavy bread.

" This is a dangerous place, a terrible place to live..." Mum started to complain touching her new bandage. A wild scream from the corner made her turn back. The aid worker rushed to take the sick baby from the young woman.

" If we move, we will have to beging again, " Grandmum nodded. " There is no safe place for us to go. I just want to go back home."

They all nodded, looking sadly at the young woman. Her baby was dead. There was no piece of white cloth to wrap it in. The aid worker quickly took the baby out to avoid spreading infections.

Their family stayed in the dirty muddy camp clinging to what little stability they had left. As the cold rain thumped on the tent, Dardon and Saranda listened to Grandmum's old story about the 'Light of Life' /look on the introduction page to this story if you want to read it by yourself/.

Saranda knows that somewhere beyond this gloomy horizon the sun would shine on them again.

1. QUESTION TIME - HOW OUR KIDS HANDLE STRESS?

I hope you enjoy reading Saranda's story. I changed her name to protect her privacy although she does not live in Australia any more. I have tried to stay 'close to the truth' with her story as much as possible, relying on my observation notes from our conversations and notes from her diary I had a privilege to read / I mean the parts written in English as she liked to switch to Arabic often/.

From the time I met Saranda I have taught many other students from different backgrounds, of different age and different abilities. However they all have their own troubles and grievances to deal with, they all have been in different times in their lives in difficult situations and needed to learn how to deal with stress. I realized that children who have found their own way how to deal with stress and learnt eventually to overcome difficulties grew up to be strong and confident individuals, who have a great chance to suceed in life. I felt that my role is to listen to them, to acknowledge them as individuals in their own right, to give them support or advice if they need it, but I realized I have to be patient enough to let them grow and experience world in their own pace, to find their best way to deal with stress. SUPRISINGLY MANY CHILDREN FROM WAR RAVAGED OR POOR COUNTRIES COMING TO LIVE IN AUSTRALIA HAD ALREADY BETTER COPING SKILLS AND RESILIENCE TO DEAL WITH STRESS THAT OUR CHILDREN GROWING UP IN AUSTRALIA.

Saranda's story is horrific. How many of our children growing up in Australia will experience war in their lives? And yet we have more and more children diagnosed with adult like conditions such as depression, stress and anxiety and even in younger and younger age. I am lucky that I work in school which is one of the pilot school for KidsMatter /the early intervention to help children build relisience and coping skills to prevent serious mental health problems such as depression emerging during their teen years and adulthood/. However I wonder, what is happening to our children, Professor Sims said research showed at lest one in ten children in Australia has a diagnosable mental health problem, why?

Is our society and our parents too much responsive to our children's needs, too compassionate about our children's emotions that we stopped trusting them to learn to deal with everyday moderate stress independently?

Is our children's unhealthy stress caused by the demands of modern fast life and consumerism we all are slaves of?

Are our children suffering with obsessive compulsive disorder, phobias and worries products of modern overprotective parents?

Are they products of modern busy parents who had no time for their kids any more and prefer to pass their responsibility to 'more qualified' psychological sevices?

A GOLDEN BIRD FLYING TO THE SUN. DOES SHE MAKE IT?

The flood of refugees grew bigger as they slowly moved toward the border. There were dark mountains around them.

"Up there is the village, where our Granny lives." Saranda poitned to the left, there was no sign of burning.

Dardon nodded, still looking at the long convoy of civilian vehicles stacked out behind them. His brown hair was soaked, dripping on his dirty jumper.

"Remember, how we were skiing there this winter?" She spoke again holding an old sheet to protect them. The water ran down her cheeks as she turned to him. He was usually at his loudest while home. But now...

Suddenly they heard an aeroplane. In a split second there was an explosion. Flames engulfed the lead vehicles. A bomb attack.

Dardon screamed in terror and Saranda wated to as well. Dad appeared and grabbed her hand. The black suitcase thumped on the ground and everything spilled out. The wind vigorously turned the pages of their family album. She wanted to pick it up but Mum pushed her to run.

After a while they all flopped down, exhausted. As they were lying on the drenched ground, Saranda touched gently Mum's bandage. She looked like a hundred-year-old-mummy, with her eyes closed, lips tightening in pain, she was saving all her energy for the future.

" Let's get out of here, we have to manage to reach the border before dark." Dad ruffled her hair with one hand as he helped Mum to stand up.

The rain stopped but the wind was blowing fiercely as they approached the borderline with tens of other escapees. Saranda hated meeting the soldiers. They gave her the creeps. She could feel their unconcerned eyes boring holes in her face, their voices hammering at them.

" No one is allowed in," they told them. " The situation is getting worse, the border is full of refugees, wait here, until tomorrow."

So there they were standing, on no-man's land, scared to go back and not allowed to reach safety. The wind stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the last snow slowly fell from the silent dark sky. The sodden and wretched group of refugees crying out for help were covered in white, as was the black mud around them.

" Oh, I am so cold." Dardon whispered, his face blue.

" Give us a hand getting some sticks for the campfire." Dad said cheerfully handing Dardon his coat.

They didn't get much benefit from teh tiny smoking fire in the early Spring evening.

" Not that dry bread again, I'm sick to death of it." Dardon wedged himself on the patch of first green grass next to Mum looking for some food in her pocket.

"Goodness, just look at this misery, I hope Grandmum managed to cross the border yesterday." Dad's voice sharpened with worry.

"Gran is too old, it's just not fair." Saranda said, peering through the slow tendrils of smoke at the people gathered around them. Old and young, crying babies and sobbing kids were huddled there, shivering over dying campfires.


"Don't worry, she is strong...she always taught me, that our family is capable of handling any crisis." Dad said, but for a moment his dirty, unshaved face sagged with anxiety and his arm tightened instinctively around Saranda.

"Mm," Saranda's eyes were full of tears, but she knew, there wasn't much point in allowing them to burst out.

" If only we could find a safe place for us to go, if only we could cross this damn border and...with God will..." While Dad was talking, Saranda nodded off to sleep with one hand tangled in his.

Dardon's head lay heavily on her shoulder. He was snoring loudly. Saranda imagined herself as a golden bird flying to the sun.

KOSOVO CONFLICT 1998-1999

FROM SARANDA'S DIARY - MARCH 1998

The weather changed suddenly. Thunder grumbled somewhere beyond the horizon, or was it the sound of many guns. Saranda felt her heart beating wildly.

" Keep quiet and don't move, " her brother shouted next to her left ear.

They had been gathering wood in the bushes near their house when they saw a couple of Serbian soldiers passing by. Suddelny Saranda noticed thier mother walking through their paddock towards the men with guns.

" Mum stop..." In her panic stricken reaction Saranda jumped from the bushes, but Dardon pulled her back down: Hey, watch out! Or they will shoot all of us."

One of the soldiers stopped an dlifted up his gun. He was coming towards their hiding place. Saranda had a feeling that he was looking straight at her. Her legs were heavy, she couldn't run, she couldn't move any more. Then the man turned left to the approaching woman.

" Oh, that was close," Dardon whispered. " I thought we were dead for sure."

The soldier ordered their mum back into the house. She hesitated for a while, looking for them. He shot. Mum knelt on teh ground, touching her injured arm. They caught sight of her face, which was pale with shock and sruprise. Terror held Saranda still. Suddenly there was silence. An early spring shrub brushed against her face as she jumped to her feet. A few fresh green leaves were caught in her long brown hair. She could smell its sweetish scent as she ran in front of the soldiers.

" Mum." Saranda leaned over her mother. She was trying to use a piece of cloth to stop the bleeding. Saranda felt sick looking at thousands of red drops which now coloured her mother's grey jumper. Someone was behind her. she quickly turned around. Her younger brother was shivering; his big, dark eyes wide open like in a nightmare. Only this was real.

" Don't worry, my darlings, " Mum was breathing hard. " Help me to my feet, will you?"

As they slowly moved, they heard the soldiers' laughter echo on the other side of the padddock. Suddenly, ahead of them, a fork of flame shot up. The three of them looked at each other dazed.

" Our house is on fire." Dardon gasped almost sobbing.

" Come on, quick." Mum urged, clutching her teeth together from the pain. " I must get some things, I must get them...auch, out."

As they came to the door, several men with guns stepped forward. Saranda knew them all by sight. There are two of their closest neighbours and the shopkeeper, who used to give her a candy...Serbs. There were great flames shooting from the top window. Her room. Through the smoke she tried to find some kindness in the eyes of her neighbours. But they dind't recognize her anymore. She was only an enemy. The little group stood for a moment, an injured woman and two kids. Confused, helpless...Trapped in the centre of a civil war.

They took flight and ran out of the sight of the gunmen when suddenly Saranda saw the family truck behind tha barn. The back was low with the weight of the household goods loaded in it.

" Get in," Dad gabbled. "Quick."
Mum, terrified and bleeding heavily, sat beside him.

" Oh, my god, it looks nasy..." Dad torn apart his own shirt in a hurry...

" Go on, you cattle, clear out and don't come back. " The gunmen yelled from the burning house.

Saranda climbed onto the back of the open truck. Her brother followed her, slowly, weeping quietly to himself. Dad drow off. At the end of their village was a traffic jam with many vehicles, tractors and people. They were hidden in a smoke haze. Every house near the road had been set ablaze.

" Ghosts, they are like ghosts," Dardon whispered. " It's a nightmare, soon we will all wake up, back in our home. On, no..we have to go back, what about the dog?"

They could hear a horn started blasting. Their car clanked to a halt. Suddenly Dad jumped off the front seat and ran along the logn row of vehicles.

" Our doggy ran away like us, he went straight to the forest behind our paddock." Saranda said looking for the sight of her dad in the crowd. " Maybe..." she couldn't say anything else because it felt as if she had a lump of wood in her throat. Finally she saw him rushing back followed by a woman with a first aid kit. As soon as they approached their car, Mum screamed in pain.

Slowly the cars moved on. Daylight was fading. The cluds seemed so low as they joined the smoke from all the fires around. The grey world around absorbed all sound. The grey cold crept into her body. Saranda stretched her upper body on top of the cold suitcase and fell asleep.

" I am so hungry, it drives me nuts." Said Dardon from behind her.

She sat down semi-conscious and gasped for air hungrily. They were surrounded by blackness. It seemed as if they had spent days on the top of their truck, which was doing more stopping than moving.

" Gee, I've found it, a piece of bread, yum..." She could hear his noisy eating. Saranda stretched her arm in his direction. Shivering from cold, they watched as the sun rose again. So small and lost in the grey, gloomy world. Chewing slowly on hte piece of old heavy bread, Saranda looked up at the sky: " I wish 'Light man' from Grandmum's story gave us a sunflower each."

" I wish I could fly." Her brother's gaze followed the direction to the birds flying towards the sun. A big cloud soon hid the sun and heavy rain began.

MY STUDENT FROM A MUSLIM COLLEGE

When I think about my experience teaching for a year in a Muslim College in Perth, one particular student comes to my mind. Not long time ago I opened the West Australian Newspaper and there she was,standing with Nicole Kidman, an UN ambassador discussing with young University female students the future of Kosovo and their ongoing fight for their independence. I looked at the Saranda's enthusiastic
face looking admiringly on our Australian actress and my memories came back.

The first lesson I had in Saranda's class, I taught 'Folk Fables and Legends' and asked students to give me examples from their cultures. Saranda stood up and told the class the Albanian legend as it was told to her by her Grandmother.

I would like to share with you the Saranda's legend as well as life of one Muslim teenager, one Muslim refugee who lived in our state for a while.


THE LIGHT OF LIFE
/Albanian Legend as it was told to Saranda by her beloved Grandmother/


A long time ago when the ancient Illyrian tribe roamed all over the vast territories of Albania, the sky was always dark and hung very low over the land nearly touching the highest peak of our mountain
range. With every person born, one sunflower grew from the grass next to his/her home. This sunflower gave the person enough warmth and light to live. There was a special man, who Illyrians called 'Light
man'. Every evening he gently bent all the sunflowers, so they and the people could rest in the dar, and every morning he gengly stretched all teh sunflowers, so they could shine again. The 'Light man'
was very well known and respected, as he never forgot his duty. He was a very precise man, the cycle of dark and light repeated exactly the same way every time.

The 'Light man' had one more duty to do. Whenever a person died, their sunflower died too, so he gently picked its flower and walked up to the highest peak of our mountain to place it on to the sky above. ALthough the dead sunflower stopped to give warmth, it still glittered little bit in the dark. People used to look at it before they went to sleep to remember the dead person.
There was also another man called 'Enemy'. He was never satisfied with what he had and always wanted to have more than others. When he married a beautiful girl and it was his time to built his own house, he was not satisfied with an ordinary house inside the tribe. He built himself a stone castle on a small hill above the settlement, so he could see all the land around. But there was no chance to lighten up and warm the huge damp place with only two sunflowers. So he visited the 'Light man' and asked him to give him more sunflowers as his house was so much bigger than the others and needed more light.

The 'Light man' shook his head at this unusual request: " I can't give you, what is not mine."

But the cunning 'Enemy; asked: " What if someone give me the light, I can't refuse the offering."

"That's true," said the 'Light man': " But remember, you can't take the offer, if someone's existence depends on it."


The cunning 'Enemy; didn't go to ask the strong men and women, but the weak ones. He visited all the sick and very old people of the tribe, when no one was near them and asked them to give him their 'light of life' as they would die soon anyway. Since the sick and very old people were too deaf or weak to understand, they only nodded their heads as in agreement.
'Enemy' took their sunflowers with him to his castle. Suddenly all the sick and very old people of the tribe died and there was no one sunflower left near their houses to put on the sky.
Soon the sunflowers died in the stone castle, as they had been too old and 'Enemy' let them shine all day and night.

Next day 'Enemy' decided to go and ask all the babies to give him their sunflowers. Since they were young, he thought, their sunflowers would last longer than the old peoples.
He watched for a moment and when their mums weren't around, he asked for their sunflowers. The babies smiled and giggled at him as in agreement. He took their sunflowers to his castle and let them to shine all day and night.
Suddenly all the babies of the tribe died and the wailing of their mothers didn't stop. There was not one sunflower to put for them on the sky.

'Light man' went to the stone castle and found all the sunflowers of dead people and babies too. He picked them all up and went on the highest peak to put them on the sky. As he didn't know which one is which, he made a crescent shape on the sky using them all to remember all the victims of 'Enemy'.
Then he returned back to the tribe and started to pick up the sunflowers of the living people. Firstly he carried them in his hands. Later he piled them up and shaped them in a huge ball to roll them up the highest peak. When the people realised that 'Light man' had taken their 'light of life', they surrounded the highest peak and cried for him to give them the sunflowers back.

He turned to face them and pointed at the 'Enemy': " He is responsible for your misery."

People turned to him at once and started to throw stones at 'Enemy'. He quickly ran back to his castle lost in darkness.

'Light man' rolled up huge light ball right up the top. He picked it up with all his might and put it on the sky for all the people to share the 'light of life'.
'Enemy' was too scarred to leave his dark castle. Every time he peeped out, people started to scream: "Enemy is coming". All the weak, old and young ones then quickly gathered together inside the tribe settlement.
All the strong men faced 'Enemy' with stones in their hands.

FROM THiS TIME ON, PEOPLE HAD NOT ONLY RECOGNIZED THE MEANING AND IMPORTANCE OF THE STARS, MOON AND SUN IN THEIR LIVES BUT ALSO THEY INTRODUCED A NEW WORD INTO THEIR VOCABULARY: ENEMY. ENEMIES STARTED TO FIGHT AGAINST EACH OTHER AND WARS STARTED AND HAVE NOT STOPPED EVER SINCE...


Saranda loved this legend because she lived all her childhood with Serbian oppression of her homeland. She was born as the 'enemy' of Serbia. She came to find refuge in Australia and she was marked as the 'enemy' of Australia and whole Western world because of her 'Muslim upbringing'. What does it tell about us?

This ancient Albanian story resonates in me, because it also reminds me of our human greed. I believe that we need our own 'Light man' who would protect our earth, our environment from us, before we replenish it and destroy it all.

The story also reminds me of our human indiference. We know about suffering of others /it the story the old, weak, sick and babies have been robbed of sunflowers, but people only started to protest once their own sunflowers were taken away/,
but we do nothing if it does not concern us or our closest family.

Is this old Albanian story resonate in you?

Separation, challenge and return

WHAT DOESN'T BEND - BREAKS

My son kept me regularly informed about his travels. He longed to reach the ancient Inca city and his dream came true. To reach the upper stony structures the visitor travels a narrow, winding paths bounded by rocky edges. Views of the surrounding landscape are breathtaking. The visitor arrives regularly at a stony platforms, that at above 4000m above sea level, affords gaspevoking views of the mountains that ring the ancient kingdom. The Inca culture suggest that paths should weave towards a final point, rather than running straight to it. The stepping stones are laid to ensure that a destination is approached slowly and thoughtfully. Gasping for a breath in the thin air ensure that a visitor takes time to reflect and take in the pace and mood, light and texture. These stepping stones were first steps my son took on his travels from his teenager's years to manhood.

My son noticed the desperation and poverty of the Native South American Indians. It reminded me when I was teenager I felt sory for the Gypsies living in my native country. I hope he too will try to see their world through their eyes, so he will connect to and understand of the world they live in. Hopefully he will mature knowing that there is no diffference between them, him and anyone else. I want him to believe that we are evolved enough to help each other preserve our uniqueness and culture and believe in oneness at the same time. Learning about cultures so different to his own was another stepping stone my son took on his travels from teenager's years to manhood.

All the little things and favours he has done to make their life easier really do matter. The most important thing is to have an open heart, free of prejudice, anger and self pity. I hoped his heavy heart opens up to a new world.

My son was alone in the vast South America he never visited before. Anything can happen to him. My advice was to follow his intuition and trust himself. And something happened.

Travelling should never be at the expense of good health, unfortunately a new food, a new environment and weather patterns as well as the harsh terrain take toll even on the experienced traveller. My son's drained vitality made him vulnerable to potential illness. On the 13th of August 2009 on his flight from Santiago de Chile to Europe he started to have a sharp abdominal pain, nausea, fever with chills and weaknesses. The IBERIA plane did an emergency landing in Asuncion in Paraguy because of his condition and he was brought to the E.R at the Sanatorio San Roque for assesment and treatment. They found out what happened, his appendix bursted and flooded the stomach cavity.

As a mother I knew that the challenge is upon my son and there is nothing I can do for him. Fortunatelly the IBERIA plane representative, Ilse embraced him as her own son. The members of the medical team of the Sanatorio San Roque especially Doctor Jorge Gomes did everything to save my son's life and they successeded. There is no better feeling for a mother than knowing that somewhere on the other side of the world, there are people of different language and cultural background, caring humang beings who looked after my son as their own.

We all suffer, we all expereince pain, loss and grief. At time, during this suffering we may become emptied to such an extent that we wonder what is left inside. The draining of our emotions and feelings, the hollow experience of emptiness can disable us, making it very difficult to recover, and yet recover we must. The life journey we are on is filled with difficulties to face, challenges to meet. My son, a patient experiencing suffering, pain and distress in unfamiliar environment surrounded by people whose language he could not speak, entered the last stepping stones on his journey from adolescent's to manhood. He learnt that troubles do descend to make our life difficult and painful but we do have the inner resources to transform them. Everything that comes to visit us is enriching in some way if we remain receptive.

SEPARATION, CHALLENGE AND RETURN - My son left and overcame his challenge but he is not ready to come back. I will wait for his return that may never happen. His life is not mine any more. He is untamed, beautiful and wild and once will mature to an unique individual, a warrior for a good cause, a warrior that can catch the sun with his bare hands, a warrior that we need.

An adolescent's journey into manhood

I want to tell you a story about my son's experiences with a passage to manhood. From birth to 7 years of age was his first passage when he started school in a new country, dealt with his first bullies and moved one small step away from me. At around 14 puberty started, his body changed and he asked me to be left alone. He moved one big step away from me. The next passage came when he was 18 years old and he started his university. Most traditional cultures around the world have ceremonies to mark these passages but in our times in the western world these passages are often ignored. Watching him to change I realized that manhood to boys does not come easily. Becoming a man takes many years and many teachers. Some men never reach the title of 'man'. Without appropriate change it is posible to remain a boy your whole life. Struggling to find his purpose and his fullfilment he packed his backpack one day and left. Loosing his sight in an overcrowded airport I realized that this is the modern version of the archetypal hero's journey. The separation for the first time. I hold back my tears not to embarass him. In front of my eyes flickered images from my teenager's years when studying in Russia I saw 18 years old boys draged from their theatrically wailing mothers to fight in Afganistan. Many of them fought for many years and came back broken men, physically and mentally injured men. My son does not need to endure the challenge of war to return as a real man. He is going to explore South America on his own and as a part of a group. I understood that I need to lose him and trust him if I want him to return. The change from mother-child to adult-adult relationship was critical for both of us. I hoped that when he finally comes back he will connect with his father's masculine spirit and mother's feminine tenderness, gain an apppreciation for family traditions, values and beliefs and begins to develop a vision of himself as a young man. I waved back a let him GO.
I can move on, focusing on my own growth. My boy is not mine any more. I release the young man to find his own path to happiness.

HOW HEAVY IS YOUR HEART?

This poem I dedicated to my first born son. He was the most happy baby you could wish for, always smiling in spite of wet nappy or a late feed. As a boy he sailed with his good friend around the Rottnest Island and dreamt about pirates. He was always shy. He never talked too much but he had the most beautiful smile, which touched something deep in your heart.
Suddenly approaching his teenager's years his heart felt heavy. He stopped smiling and stopped talking.
Often, in our adulthood we have one or two areas in our lives where our hearts feel heavy. Our hearts could feel heavy with regards to relationships, finances, carrer of perhaps family issues.
What made my son's heart suddenly feel so heavy, I wondered.

HOW HEAVY IS YOUR HEART?

YOU ARE HERE
because I've fallen in love
with your Father

Your Dad,
our provider,
responsible for a necessary
culture
of material values.

Your Dad,
who demonstrate truth and knowledge
in practical ways,
does he forget to talk to you?

Does he forget to talk to you
about what is important,
about love, life, truth and death

YOU ARE HERE
because I've fallen in love
with the beauty
that
resides in all living things,
the smell of flowers, the feel of the earth

Come closer,
I whisper to you:
Feel deeper,
the real sensation of love.
There is a difference
between passion and lust.

Step forward to be
a masculine man
you want to be,
but remember,
if a man cannot truly
respect and love a woman,
then he cannot love his children rightly:
he will give them the wrong idea of love.
Step forward
but do not forget to look back,
to your Mum's feminine side
so you can inherit a world less
burdened,
where mistakes aren't repeated,
where lives can be orientated towards
fulfilment, caring and love

YOU ARE HERE
because I've fallen in love
with myself
again
it takes a moment
to fall quiet
and just ask your heart
what it desires Move forward
my Romulus,
my son
Get yourself unstuck!
Not to be tied
to hurt and pain
from the past.
Let it go
then listen with your heart
and see
what comes up!

Finally,
I am looking for a light at the end
of this tunnel
I reclaimed my power I took responsibility
for my own life
or death

Let us both
hold our heads
high!

I am ready to let you go...

HOW HEAVY IS YOUR HEART NOW?

WHAT MAKES US HUMAN?

This poem I had dedicated to my son born in Australia when he started to question: himself, people around him, place where he lives and his family. Before he was born he survived a car crash and battled series of illnesses and operations throughout his childhood. This poem was written when he once again missed his school, because he was just to sick to go...

WHAT MAKES US HUMAN ?

Our seaside port
Monday June 9, 2008
/ Destructive winds of up to 180 kmh cut a 30m-wide swath through port
after the tornado hit the coast at Shoalwater Bay about 7.40 am
Bureau of Meteorology WA/

One Winter Monday morning
when sky was no more blue,
lightening fleshed and thunder roared,
a tornado
hit our neighborhood

We rest, me and my son
in our cozy room,
oblivious
to weather outside
he moaned with pain
I fought the Flu

Remus picked my ‘Cosmos’ journal
with nothing else
to do
he looked at the picture
of a chimpanzee
and read the words:
‘ WHAT MAKES US HUMAN?’
“ What does, Mum?”
“I don’t have a clue.”

‘ WHAT MAKES US HUMAN?’
I watched his eager gaze.
“Let me think,
our curiosity,
our feelings,
our desire
to learn?”

“ I don’t think so, Mum,”
he shook his head
in a protest
like twelve years old do:
“ Our dog is clever,
he even knows when I’m sad
and that is true.”

“ We BELIEVE in something,
that animals can’t do,
we want to know,
where do we come from,
who we are,
who is our family,
and our places,
we belong to.

Together,
we manage to survive,
together,
we fight the challenges
together,
we find new ways
to get us through.


“ But, I don’t know anything
about my family.”
He shrugged and threw
the ‘Cosmos’ away.
“ I don’t even know anything about YOU.”

“ Then close your eyes and IMAGINE,
that’s another thing just humans can do,
I take you to places,
where I once belonged.
Maybe once,
you visit them too.”

“ That’s awesome, I like traveling,
I will go for sure,
tell me about them,
so I will know them all,
just like you.”

“ That is something YOU can’t do,
look at this storm…”

“ Storms are cool.”

“ Maybe for you,
what about a few streets down?’

“ You mean like those roofs
and fences flew? And what about those peple? I bet they can be hurt too?

” You see, you can feel the pain of others,That's the other thing animals can't do."
"THAT IS WHAT MAKES US HUMAN:

TO EXPLORE
TO DISCOVER
TO UNDERSTAND
TO SEE THE WORLD
FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW.




The following week when my son finally recovered and started his new school and his behaviour changed. He was anxious how students would react to his unusual name and pale look. He was too weak to excell in sport. Usually talkative and of bubbling personality he started to withdraw and spend more time alone in his room. His frequent outburst of anger surprised me. He lost interest in learning and his old friends. His new teachers s felt confused about his behaviour and started to associate his recent troubles with psychological problems. I explained his recent troublesome medical experiences and asked to give him more time to fit in.

The following weekend I took him to the Stiriling Range, our closest mountains. We invited our family and friends to join us and we TALKED...

I explained to my son that it was me, who is responsible for his ongoing health problem, as I was driving my car in the seventh month of him expecting to be born, too fast. I was rushing to finish my studies, I wanted to have everything at home ready before he is born, I HAD NO TIME...and I nearly lost him.
I said, I am sorry and he just nodded. I promised to always find time for him and listen to him.

He said he wants to be treated at school like everyone else. Maybe his health is going to worsen but he wants to try ...
All he nees is to heal and get over his normal anxieties and insecurities. It was just one of his many life experiences and he can deal with it.

 I explained that I was just scarred more than him and I hoped that his health starts to  improve.


We sat on the top of the sunny hill and bellow us threatening clouds rolled and covered a nearby town.
" I know now how the people down there feel like," my son looked up at me and we smiled at each other.
We knew. We managed to see each other's point of view.

MY Perception of people

Our children do not need psychological labels and medication, our children need love and trust

I was a child once, a confused and insecured one, diagnosed as depressed and traumatised. People felt sorry for me and i felt worthless. I was naughty child as well, people felt angry with me and I felt unloved.

I was a teenager once, giving my teachers a hard time and arguing with my aging Grandmother, my sole carer and was diagnosed as suffering from something likeappositional defiant disorder. They persuaded me that going to secondary school is a traumatic experience for me. For the emotional upheavals I experienced from falling in love for the first time I was offered councelling and many forms of therapy. People expected me to fail at school, in relationships, at life in general and I felt suicidal.

I was an young adult once, again confused and insecured in my new role as a partner,parent and a teacher. I was diagnosed with something like bipolar disorder. I was advised how to manage mood swings and find balance. People undermined my ability to be stable partner, good parent or professional teacher. I felt disoriented but i wanted to prove them wrong and I SUCCEEDED.

I HAVE NOT BEEN BORN NOR I GREW UP IN AN ANGLO-AMERICAN SOCIETY IN THE PAST 40 YEARS. ALTHOUGH MY MOTHER WITH THE HELP OF MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONALS / FRIENDS OF MY STEPFATHER/ LIKED TO USE NEW PSYCHOLOGICAL DIAGNOSES FROM OVERSEAS, FORTUNATELLY FOR ME THERE WAS NO AVAILABILITY OF PSYCHOACTIVE MEDICATION. THERE WAS NO SPECIAL NEEDS EDUCATION. AT THE END OF YEAR ONE I WAS THREATEN TO BE MOVED TO MENTAL INSTITUTION AS I REFUSED TO COMMUNICATE AND MY MEMORY WAS LOST AFTER THE SHORT BOUND OF MENGITIS.UNFORTUNATELLY MY GRANDMOTHER'S PAIR OF HOME RAISED FRESHLY KILLED DUCKS, THE PRESENT FOR THE SCHOOL PRINCIPAL SAVED ME FROM THAT ORDEAL.When I came to Australia in my thirties I was thrilled that student with various learning and behvioural problems have more choice than a regular school or a mental institution

Working with strudents with learning difficulties for the past ten years I praise Education Support Centres for their crucial role they play in students' further development especially for students with various medical inborn impairments and sometimes medication is necessary. However I know now that they are not there to help children in my situation, who are just confused and powerless to deal with their unsafe home situation.

Diagnoses and medication will not help, they make students only more powerless.

MY GRANDMOTHER SAVED ME OTHER WAY AS WELL. AS A HOUSEWIFE AND KEEN GARDENER SHE SPENT EVERY FREE MINUTE ATTENDING TO HER VEGETABLE PATCH AND LISTENING TO ME. SHE SAID THAT WE HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD AND SHE IS NOT EDUCATED /FINISHED ONLY PRIMARY SCHOOL/, SHE IS NOT GOING TO GIVE ME ANY ANSWERS, THOSE I HAVE TO FIND FOR MYSELF, BUT SHE LISTENS TO ME. AND SHE DID.

I RECEIVED THE ORDINARY EDUCATION AND WAS TREATED LIKE EVERYONE ELSE AT SCHOOL. EVENTUALLY I MANAGED TO CATCH UP ONCE I REALIZED IT IS ALL UP TO ME.

After reaching maturity I realized that it is not normal to treat the routine troubles of childhood as a mental health issue. My divorced Mother who left me as a three months old in the care of my aging Grandmother felt relieved that I have 'some mental health problems' and she is not responsible for my behaviour. After my Grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer disease in my teenager's years my Mother / an alcoholic and selfpromoting sex addict/ introduced me to drinking, smoking and partying in her flat she shared with my stepfather. I understand now that I had a normal reaction to adverse and unsafe circumstances in my life at that time was assumed to have mental health problems.

Children possess a formidable capacity for resilience and usually managed to get through difficult childhood given the chance in life someone they can trust and time to find their path.

As a parent of three children in teenager's years and as an expereinced teacher of students with learning and behavioural difficulties I ask myself: 'IS A DIAGNOSIS AND PSYCHOACTIVE MEDICATION FOR DIFFICULT AND MISBEHAVING CHILDREN REALLY WHAT THEY NEED FROM US?'

I strongly believe we can give them much more...we need to connect with them and get their trust so they learnt to trust themselves...

Being connected means feeling safe, having deep trust and knowing you are loved.But what ifyou never have connections with your parents, teachers, kids and people around you...What if you are just learning how to connect, but you do not trust people around you and people do not trust you.How to change your perception of yourself, of people around you, how to change your perception of your surrounding so you can feel safe, trustful and loved again or feel loved for the first time in you life?

ONCE YOU START TO TRUST YOURSELF AND PEOPLE AROUND YOU, ONCE YOU START TO FEEL SAFE AND LOVED IN YOUR SURROUNDING; PEOPLE WILL START TO TRUST YOU AND ACCEPT YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE. YOU WILL BE FREE FROM MEDICATIONS AND LABELS. IT IS YOU WHO HAS THE FUTURE IN YOUR HANDS. IT IS TIME TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS AND BEHAVIOUR.

Special human beings

I regret all those times when I worried about my look, my weaknesses and flaws when I was
child. I learnt to accept all my flaws. Flaws and weaknesses, strengths and abilities that is me.
That what makes me special. When my children come to me wanting to correct their flaws, I
remind them: ' Don't change, be who you are. There is only one you.'

We need to teach children to embrace themselves as they are and to embrace other people as well.

Bitter and sweet, they are unique traits that make me, you, that make special human beings.

Bittersweet Beata

there is nothing to compare with a deep bond with another, even if it means we feel the pain as well as the joy. Connection is about empathy, which is the ability to imaginatively feel the emotional state of another. This is the most remarkable skill.

It is also a matter of understanding through bodily imitation. Children learn to speak, and nearly everything else, by imitation. Babies will imitate the facial expressions of adults within the first hour of birth. Later they learnt to distinguish difference between a genuine smile, or a cover up smile or a smirk. Some children seem to have great difficulty in understanding others, but all children can learn to understand others to some extent.

It is also a matter of understanding what is going on in another person's mind. If we don't know what is happening in our own mind, if we don't know ourselves, how can we possibly understand and empathise with others. Some children seem to have great difficulty in feeling, describing and recognizing their own emotions. They have to learn to love and understand themselves first.
Children have difficulty understanding the more complex emotions of adults. They need time to develop them through age and experience, but we have to teach them to be happy within themselves and teach them to be affected by the emotions of others.

Look around how many chronically depressed and lonely people you meet everyday. Some people do not even look around any more. They believe it is more convenient to ignore the feelings of others. Look around how many separated, cheated on and heartbroken people you meet every day. We often love someone because of the effect they produce in us - not because we understand, or are even interested in, how they feel.

Look around how many violent, depressed and self harming children you meet everyday. Many children feel confused and abandoned because they often are loved only when they fit in with their parent's image of who they should be and not who they actually are.
Look around how many narcissistic and self obsessed children you meet everyday. Many parents believe they need to protect their children against hunger, discomfort, hardship, sadness, frustration...

How can you empathise with someone's longing and desires if all your needs and wants have been always met without any personal effort? How can you resonate with the suffering of the hungry people of Africa or with the sadness of vanishing species and the emptiness of destroyed environment if you never felt that kind of emotions.

Empathy has its price, the sadness, suffering, hardship, longing, frustration and desires of others resonate deeply within you however only a close, empathic connection with another person makes you fully human.

HAPPY AND SAD, FULL OF FRUSTRATION AND FULL OF DESIRES, FULL OF SUFFERING AND FULL OF PLEASURES, BITTER AND SWEET, THAT'S HOW MY LIFE IS AND I WOULD NOT HAVE IT OTHERWISE.