Bittersweet Life Stories from Australia

We can't question God, or can we?

2011-11-12T05:26:00.001-08:00

Saranda was relieved that Mrs Hysa had decided to stay with them until George, Dad Dardon come back. Mum seemed to be better with her around.

"Mum, could I go on Dad's computer to do my homework?" she enquired in the living room, where Mum was fussing around a sick Joyce. She hadn't given up teaching her Albanian and now she was able to understand almost anything.
Unfortunately Mum's progress in English was much slower. Now Joyce was showing her some photographs and 'Father' in English.

"Is this your Dad, 'Fa-ter'?" Mum tried to pronounce English word pointing at a man on the picture.

"Yep,' laughed Joyce, but it sounds silly when you said that: "Fa-ther."

"Fine, fine, I don't say anything, anymore in your English, better you talk Albanian."

"MUUM!" Saranda shouted behind her back asking for attention: "Can I use the computer in Dad's room?"

"Now, in your holiday?" Mum turned around and looked at her quizzically.

"Let her go," they could hear Mrs Hysa's voice from the kitchen, where she was baking a cake.
Her covered head appeared in the doorway: "Information technology is everything today, you know, it took me ages to learn how to use it...I own a simple cleaning business, but you can't do it without a computer."

Saranda didn't wait fro more and rand Dad's study room. They had the Internet now as Dad needed it for his studies and she loved to go online and talk to her email buddy. Now she laughed at times, when she couldn't use it. They had 'Apples' at school and she looked forward to every IT lesson. They had their Muslim's friends from different countries and Saranda had found it fascinated to have a friend from Indonesia.
Dad seemed to be pleased enough that she had a Muslim girl to correspond with and gave her set times every day to use the Internet at home, but he checked the website, in order to protect her from unsuitable images.
Tri was her name and she longed to come and live in Australia, she had four sisters and a dream to be an airline stewardess, which her family apparently discouraged her to follow. Saranda found amusing to find out that their problems were often similar, although written in funny English and from exotic country. Most of all Tri was two years older.
Saranda found herself spilling her heart to this girl, she had never met and found close bond with her. To her own surprise she found herself to write her about Jack.

"Saranda, are you still alive?" Mrs Hysa called from the door and Saranda blanked out the screen in panic. She smelt the cake behind her back and soon the tray was put in front of her: "Have some nice tea and cake, which we have made with Victor."

"Thank you, Mrs Hysa," She smiled guiltily, she had forgotten all about her home duties.

"It's all right, but you're better to be off, George promised to call us tonight, to let us know how the boys' ride is going."

When she entered the kitchen, Mum and Mrs Hysa were engaged in some serious discussion. Mum stopped abruptly in half of the sentence and looked at her.

"Where are the kids?" Saranda asked.

"Watching cartoons." Mum replied and looked from Saranda to Mrs Hysa.

Always beaming Mrs Hysa looked somehow shrunk and worried: "Let her stay, it can happen to her too in the close future, especially here, you know," she had somehow cheered up and winked at Saranda.

"Not to her, her Father wants her to marry a proper Muslim."

"What you talking about Mum, I will never marry..." Saranda objected and took another piece of cake. Then she looked at Mrs Hysa: "What is this all about?"

"I was talking about my son," Mrs Hysa sighed.

"Son?" Saranda nearly dropped her cake in a surprise.

"He lives with his father in Sydney, the man I divorced five years ago," Mrs Hysa sighed again: "It was a big mistake, my Musim-Christian marriage..."

"That's not true," Mum patted her hand gently: "I was a catholic once too, you know, no religion should be preferred, it alone is the one true religion."

"But you are Muslim now, Mum, are you?" Mum snapped at her angrily and Mrs Hysa looked up at her in surprise. Saranda blushed fiercely. She couldn't explain her adversity against Mum's passivity; she thought if she would stay Catholic maybe she could stand up for herself. Saranda expected another lecture from Mrs Hysa but fortunately she was lost in her own thoughts.

"I let him go with his father, you know, he would be an outcast among Muslims here, but I thought he could find a place in his Father's Catholic community, " she smiled painfully: "despite her mother being Muslim."

"And what about your girl, is this man her Father too?" Saranda asked enthusiastically.

"Of course, he is," Mum looked at her disapprovingly and then turn back to Mrs Hysa lost in her dark thoughts: "You've done a right thing and you still have your girl, as Saranda said."
Saranda made a grimace and finished her second piece of cake. Mrs Hysa was an expert in baking. There was a silence for a while. Finally, Mrs Hysa continued.

"Do you remember, when I went to Sydney to celebrate two days of Eid there?"

"You came back very upset, I remember, I was thinking, it would have been much better for you to stay with us to celebrate the end of Ramadan." Mum shook her head.

"I visited hime there," Mrs Hysa whispered: "I wanted him to meet his sister and celebrate with us, but..." she stopped and breathed heavily: "He wasn't interested in Ramadan. His sister and him, they had nothing in common, except their looks."

"They are siblings, they are not supposed to have anything in common, look at me and Dardon," Saranda pointed out, but Mrs Hysa took no notice.

"I sometimes wonder if we didn't misunderstand the real purpose of religion here, today."

"You see, Mrs Hysa, I was right, we can ask God if women still have to wear head covers," Saranda pointed on her scarf: "I just prefer not too."

"You can't question God, Saranda," Mum looked at her crossly, then she looked up and said: "There is only one God..."

"But you can look for him for the answers, can't you?" Saranda replied quickly.

"Yes, you certainly can Saranda, but the answer is not simple as that, the head cover is merely a custom, some Kosovo Muslim's girls don't wear it at all, do you remember the girl with a ponytail from barracks, what was her name?" Mrs Hysa suddenly cheered up.

"I know who you mean, but I don't remember her name either," Saranda now seldom thought about their first home in Australia.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Mrs Hysa stood up suddenly and grabbed Saranda's arm: : "Let's get something from my room." She dragged surprised saranda behind her and quietly closed the door behind them.

"I don't want mention Kosovo in front of you Mum, it always upsets her," Mrs Hysa whispered rummaging through her bag: "The Albanian Association received a letter from some of the Kosovo families, who had been living with you in the barracks, you know..." She finally found a piece of paper: "There was a note for you inside, from that girl with a ponytail."

"IF YOU WOULD BE A GIRL, YOU WILL GO NOWHERE..."

2011-09-26T20:54:00.000-07:00

The first light had barely brightened the window of their bedroom. It seemed to Saranda that she had
only just fallen asleep when the noise outside her window woke her. She waved Jack through the window and sleepily put her long gown on.

"Come on, you lazy bones, times for a trip..." he shouted and threw another stone on the glass.

"Jack, shut your mouth," she nervously peeped outside through the curtains: "I'll be there in a sec."
She quickly pulled on her jeans and long jumper, leaving the scarf behind. After a second thought she tied her long hair in a bun.

"Kathy forgot to wash my favourite shirt," Jack mumbled, when she met him outside.

"It's all right," she reassured him: "It's too dark to notice it anyway." He jerked and when she looked up at him, his eyes glowed strangely.

"Kathy said, no point to dress up," he smiled to himself: "She is right, you know, my Dad can see the piece of shit I am." Jack suddenly lost his balance and she steadied him in a last minute.

"I am perfectly fine," he noticed her quizzical look: "It's only little bit of dope to help me go."

They could hear some noise from inside the house.

"Hurry up," she grabbed his hand and hurried through the front gate: "Better meet him on the road."

"So 'cuuute' these little houses and perfectly cut lawns and perfectly happy families inside..." Jack grimaced when they slowly walked through her street.

Everything was dark, sleepy and cold. She shivered in the frosty morning. She couldn't use to this funny weather pattern, freezing nights and hot middays. She secretly peeped at Jack, he seemed to be warm enough in his surf shorts and sleeveless shirt. At first she could not see anything clearly in the gloom. It was not until the very last minute that they noticed approaching car. Jack had turned pale and was nervously looking around.

"It will be all right," Saranda said reassuringly and both stopped in the middle of the road.

The car suddenly stopped using brakes heavily. "What's going on here?" George pushed his door open and stepped out.

Saranda pulled Jack's shirt and they approached the car. "Hi, Dad."

Saranda looked up at Jack surprised at the gloomy tone in his voice. But George was impressed, a tear trembled on his eyelid: "JACK." He put his arms around his son.

There was a silence for a while.

"I thought, I never see you again, fearing every night..." George gulped: "Every time I have been asked to identify a body of a junkie, I was relieved it was not you..."

"I didn't come for that," Jack freed from George's tight embrace: "I just want see the oldies at York.." He stood woodenly, gazing at the path.

"Of course," George laughed wholeheartedly: "No worries!" Saranda stole a glance at her swimming instructor, trying to judge his mood. She liked him more and more. George opened the back door and gestured at them to come in: "You're bound to survive this weekend with me, I should say."

In the car Saranda glanced at Jack. Sometimes he seemed to be both sad and funny at the same time. Strange as it seemed, she imagined that Jack would grow up to be the same kind of man as his Dad. Approaching the house they saw Dardon to meet them.

"Saranda," he shouted noticing her inside. Suddenly he tore along the path, skidded and went flat.
George stopped the car and stepped outside laughing. Dardon forced himself to laugh as well as he trudged over to join him.

"Never mind, mate, it can happen to anyone," George stopped laughing and patted him on the back.

"It can happen only to HIM," Saranda laughed winding her window down.

Dardon sighed peeping inside the car: "What are you doing there, sister?"

Saranda stepped outside to reply, when she noticed Dad standing at the front porch. She felt naked under his icy look and she quickly touched her uncovered hair.

"Saranda, back in house!" His voice hammered over her and she ran as fast as she could, passing him in a sudden fright. She nearly felt over Victor near the front door. Victor screamed and grabbed her hand pointing on the car: "Car, 'brrm', trip."

"Yes, Victor, let's go inside."

"No, " he suddenly let go her hand shooting to Dad skidding next to his feet. He pulled himself up again holding onto Dad's pants and peeped curiously behind his back on the car.

Closing the door she looked back at Jack. He looked out at her through the open window with a mix of shock and curiousity. She quickly closed the door and ran to her room. She gasped meeting Mum in the dark corridor. She looked like stone statue, cold and so lifeless.

"Where have you been again?"

Saranda turned around to answer but the noise outside made her curious and she quickly reached her window to look out.
Dardon joined Jack at her spot on the back. George was talking to Dad in front of the car. Suddenly she felt Mum's hands on her head. It felt so good. Saranda tried to feel them and touched the scarf.

"No," she screamed and threw it on the floor without looking at Mum.

She couldn't hear but felt that Mum left the room. Suddenly she saw Dad entering the car with George and they took off. Passing her window George blowed her kiss from the front seat and Jack looked at her...somehow differently.
Victor was left on the porch crying loudly until Mum reached him. They both stood there waving in the car's direction until it disappeared behind the gate. Mum's grey long dress contrasted with the shiny green vegetation outside. Saranda joined them and dried out Victor's tears from his face.

"I go trip," he wiped his nose.

"Few more years and you will join them." Mum smiled at him and took his hand to take him inside.

"Not, now," he freed his hand and stomped his little foot.

"Come on, don't be baby, Victor," Saranda picked him and twirled him around: "If you would be a girl, you will go nowhere, you see, you are lucky Victor."

"They are places you bound to go," Mum said watching them. When Saranda stopped with question in her eyes she continued firmly: "Mrs Hysa's daughter is sick so she couldn't go with George, but she will be at Mosque this morning and I expect you to join us."

"Why?" Saranda asked but Mum's icy look stopped her prepared objection.

Saranda touched gently the faded carpet under her legs. Suddenly, there was silence after long periods of prayers. She breathed deeply edging closer to the fat Mrs Hysa's body next to her. For a second she dreamed that it was Granny praying there. Saranda looked desperately around. One of the covered girls in front row turned quickly back to smile at her encouragingly. It was Doha. Saranda lifted her chin and tried to grin back. The prayers started again. The strangeness descended all over her again hearing these words, which have not meaning for her.

PART THREE: STATEMENT OF FAITH 2001

2011-06-18T08:12:00.000-07:00

   The next day Saranda had no chance to sneak out. Dad didn't allow her to leave the house because of her disobedience. She moved aimlessly around the kitchen putting dry dishes away. Victor followed her closely everywhere on his wobbly legs, what he had always done when Mum got sick. Saranda looked out of the window and caught the sight of Dardon talking to a kid from the neighbourhood.
Dardon was so excited about tomorrow's trip with George that he kept boasting to everyone about it. Saranda felt awful. Victor kept taking out all the dishes she put back.

   "Victor, stop making a mess," she angrily grabbed the big pot from his hands: "Go and see Mum."

   "Mum sick." Victor looked at her with his big brown eyes.

   "Go to see if she is better, go!" She waved here hand and he ran through the corridor, but skidded on the rolled carpet and started to cry. When no one took notice of him, he stood up again on his wobbly legs and shoot straight into Mum's bedroom.
Saranda sighed with a relief and started to cut some vegetables when Dardon came in looking sweaty and hot.

   "View!"He said: "It's old in here." Then he added: "Are you really not going tomorrow?"

   "No, and you know why?" She hissed from her spot.

It was mystery to Dardon why Saranda looked so surprisingly unconcerned about missing the trip. But he knew there was no point to ask. After the conversation with Mrs Hysa she refused to take him anywhere. He felt hurt and left out and decided to watch her every step. Anyway, Dad said it is his responsibility to watch her. It doesn't matter that she is older than him. She was a GIRL.
There was a silence and Saranda watched Dardon suspiciously as he picked his drink from the fridge.

   " No, why?" He finally asked.

   "Because you are a little kid," she pointed at him with a carrot: "you can't hold your mouth shut."

Suddenly they could hear Victor's cry from the Mum's bedroom. Dardon quickly disappeared in there. Soon he was back, followed by Victor, who skidded in the corridor, got up and they ended up playing tumble game on the kitchen floor. Victor accidentally hit the chair and started to cry loudly banging Dardon with his both little fists. Dardon laughingly pretended to be hurt.

   "Stop you two or Dad will come!" Saranda shouted but they couldn't hear her. lost in their shouting. Dad informed them last Sunday that he had started Islamic Studies University course by correspondence. He spent holiday's mornings locked in his Study and on the slightest noise he came out shouting at them. Saranda left the kitchen and burst into her Mum's bedroom.

   "Mum, come and do something, they are wild again, " she suddenly stopped and looked at the pale statue sitting at the corner of the bed: "Mum, come to cook something, it's nearly lunchtime." Saranda pushed the heavy curtains to let some light inside.

   "Leave the curtains and go away." Suddenly Mum opened her eyes and said almost savagely: "Did you hear me, leave me in peace."

Saranda turned around and opened her mouth, when suddenly she noticed the pile of cut out newspapers' articles in front of Mum. She slowly picked up one and started to read the headline:
600 FOUND IN MORINA GRAVE
Nick Hawton
Kosovo
Up to 600 Kosovo Muslims are thought to have been buried in the largest mass grave found in Kosovo.
The grave holds victims of the Morina massacre, and if the estimate is correct it would be twice as large as any grave found so far...

Saranda put it slowly back, hesitated for a while and then went out quietly closing door behind her. The house was quiet. Apparently the boys went outside or been told off by Dad. Waling through the corridor she could hear dad greeting someone at the front: "Salama lejkum, Doctor Polkin, welcome in our humble home..."
Saranda rushed to the door to greet her new teacher of Science. Although he was not a Muslim but a Christian, he was well known and respected for his good humour and kindness among his students. Most surprisingly the Muslim teachers respected him too, for he was not only experienced scientist but also famous follower of Dr Pokinghornes' religious theory.

   "Saranda, nice to see you," he squizzed her hand and winked at her: "my best science student..."

   "She is very stubborn and free-minded," sighed her Dad and Saranda blushed.

   "That's what you need in science, don't you agree my friend?" Dr Polkin replied laughingly.

   "Let's go to my Study to discuss all the College matters," Dad beamed and showed the way. Saranda watched the way. Saranda watched him in amazement. He was so proud of his Deputy's position, his Islamic studies achievements, was he still proud of them too? And what about Mum? Oh, Mum, suddenly she realised that she forgot to tell him.

   "Dad!" She caught the door before he could close behind them: "Mum is...,she is not right again..."

   "Hush, not now Saranda," he whispered and closed the door. Saranda turned back when she heard the door again: "Saranda, bring us some coffee and some halal food," he turned back to see if Dr Polkin is not listening: "Better you tell Mum to get up and tell her we have a visitor staying for a lunch."

Saranda went back to kitchen and had found Mum already there.

   "I've heard, " she muttered and wiped her tears: :Take this coffee there and come back to help with cuisine," Mum passed her the tray piled with food without looking at her.

Leaving Saranda heard her praying: "Oh God, there is no God except you, please help me to get through another day."

Entering the Study she accidentally dropped the sugar bowl. She watched desperately how it hit the floor with big bang and broke into pieces, sugar spilling everywhere reaching the colourful rug where Dad and Dr Polkin were sitting. Holding the heavy tray tightly she approached them and put it on the small table in front of them. She was relieved that they hadn't noticed her at all apparently enaged in some religious argument.
Dr Polkins' voice hammered across the room: "The world is not, as your religion would have us believe," he pointed his finger at Dad, "all just and illusion."

   "How can you prove the existence of God, as a scientist?"

   "You can't prove the existence or non-existence of God, " Dr Polkin scratched his forehead thinking and continued: "the idea of existence of God in an insight, not a proof."

   "What you can't prove stays always an illusion..or the proof for non-believers..."

   "It is an insight which explain a lot more about the things are that atheism can do."

   "How can you explain the connection between religion, not only Islamic but also Christian religion and science?"

   "Religion, I believe, gives a much broader and deeper view of reality than science can do on its own."

There was a long silence as the both men were lost in their own thought. Saranda tiptoed from the room but before she reached the door, Dad waved at her:

   "Saranda tell Dardon to come here, it's time for him to learn something more about Islam."

   "Dardoon!" She was looking around the house, skidding on some spilled marbles. The house was white against the midday blue sky. It was really hot. Shielding her eyes she looked through the kitchen's window inside.

Mum was looking at her, but her eyes couldn't see hers. Holding the wooden spoon half ways in the air she was looking at something beyond, something very far from them all.
Suddenly Dad's Call to Midday Prayer entered the air outside:
God is most great. God is most great. I testify that there is no God except God. Come to prayer! Come to success in this life and the hereafter...
Saranda suddenly wished so much that Granny's God could help them, it didn't really mattered to her if he was only an illusion or a real one, only if he could help her family to find their bond and love, which was lost somewhere on their way to the freedom.

SORRY JUST ISN'T ENOUGH

2011-04-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

   "It was a car accident, Jack," Saranda whispered remembering what George had told them on their visit.

   "How do you know, who you think you are, sticking your nose into other people's business," looking at her savagely, he put his hand into his jeans pocket and took out a carefully folded letter: 'You may as well read this."

Saranda opened it with open curiosity, the top part was unreadable, there were brownish dried out patches, looked like spilled beer. She skipped with her eyes to the middle part, where the letters emerged: ...the biggest thing I have been dealing with is that she is dead and not coming back. I am so sorry but sorry just isn't enough, I just can't make up for it. I feel sorry for you, my son. I've taken her away from us. It's something I can't give back. It's impossible...the letters disappeared again but now they looked like washed by...tears?

   "Oh, again, Jacky whacky family story," Kathy boomed over them and Jack quickly grabbed his letter from Saranda's hands and put it back to his pocket.

   "So what about your bargain?" Jack glared at her angrily.

   "Bloody bastard, he chased me nearly up to here," Kathy was bubbling over with joy as she handed them the beers and chips.

   "Watch him, he's a real nasty one, you'll end up in jail," remarked Jack: "Gosh, I used to hate stealing, more than anything else..."

   "What's the matter with you?" Kathy opened the can and took a big gulp: "That's a beauty!" Her curls bounced about as she spoke.

   "Sorry, I don't drink beer." Saranda shyly handed back her can.

   "I'll be a monkey's uncle!" Kathy wiped the white stuff around her mouth: "Every child love beer in our settlement in the bush beyond Halls Creek."

   "You mean the collection of wretched caravans and iron shacks along an old creek bed in the middle of nowhere?" Jack grinned at her.

   But Kathy continued ignoring him: "Mum used to cook our tucker on the fire. Then when it came night time, she would fill an old bathtub and all the little ones have a bit of a swim in it," she stopped watching dreamily the flock of seagulls fighting over a dead fish: "As a little kid I loved the camp but as I grew up I got itchy feet..."

   "Not only feet, I can tell you that..."Jack grinned at her again and she slapped him laughingly over his head with the empty can. When she turned back to Saranda her eyes were sad although her mouth was still twitched in a disappearing smile.
   "I got really depressed there," she continued and made a funny grimace that even Saranda couldn't suppress laughter.

   "Oh, you laughing lot, I wish to see you there," Kathy waved her hand: "I remember y drunken father came to where I was sitting and slapped me for nothing. He slapped me so hard it sounded 'bam' and knocked me over so I landed in the branches of a nearby bush. Once he hit me with his fist so hard that there's still a scar on my head here. Look." Kathy showed Saranda a big red mark. A single sob welled up from somewhere deep down and shook her shoulders.

A big lump rose in Saranda's throat. She knew how Kathy was feeling. She suddenly held out her arms and hugged Kathy tightly.

Kathy smiled at her broadly and continued: "One morning a truck came by on its way to Perth. I went over to the driver and asked for a ride. I looked older than I am so he agreed and here I am, happy as Larry."

They kept sitting there, heads together. Kathy studied Saranda. She like her, like her quiet soft foreign voice, he half-shy air and the suggestion that hung about Saranda of things seen and done. Jack watched Kathy with obvious disgust: "I think I better kick off, you drama queen..."

   "Jack," Saranda suddenly remembered something: "Could you come over early morning this Saturday, it's a long weekend, you know," she handed him a scrap of paper with her address: :Here, I mean if you have time to spare."

He took the paper and put it in his pocket: "ep, why not, I have nothing against home cooked 'brekky'," he stretched lazily on the sand: "Can I stay for roasted lamb as well?"

   "Can I come too?" Kathy jumped up licking her lips.

   "Sorry guys, but my parents..."

   "Don't like homeless and especially Aboriginal ones, " Jack finished her sentence with a wink: "We heard this one so many times before, didn't we, Kath?"

   "No," Saranda shook her head, but Kathy looked doubtful. "Kathy, why you don't go to school?" Saranda quickly changed the unpleasant subject.

   "Her school days are over," Jack said. "She likes booze too much, and also..."

   "And what 'bout' you, dag, you don't?"

   "Give me something I can believe in and I'll stop."

   "Phew, what a whopper,"" Kathy sighed and then she turned to Saranda: "Look, here, I 'll show you something if you give me some dope..." she danced around Saranda holding her repaired tiny golden chain on her outstretched palm.

   "My golden sun, and it's repaired," Saranda grabbed it quickly from Kathy's hand and put it around her neck: "Look, I am really sorry..."

   "For what, I would not come anyway and him," Kathy pointed at Jack pretending to sleep on the sand: "He needs to wash somewhere anyway..."

   "What you talking about?" Jack jumped up and chased Kathy along the beach.

When Saranda came home late that day, her face was beaming. Her Dad was waiting for her at the front and told her what she had already expected. She can forget the trip to York. She didn't mind, not now when Jack was coming....

HE KILLED MY MUM (July 2001)

2011-03-31T06:44:00.000-07:00

Saranda left the main noisy road and swung into Lilly Street where the trees provided patches of shade along the way. All the same, the afternoon sun was blisteringly hot and she sweltered in her long jumper. Now she could see the weedy block of land in front, desolate and empty. Where was Jack? He promised to be here today. And Kathy? What if she will never meet her again, what if she will never return her golden sun? Suddenly she felt very weak. Half way down Saranda paused under the big eucalyptus tree and wiped her forehead.

   "What's up, Saranda?" Kathy asked sitting in its shade with Lucky by her side.

   "I hate your winter," Saranda flopped exhausted next to her: "Cold mornings and hot afternoons." Jack's blond head appeared from behind the tree trunk. They looked rested and in a happy mood, although dressed only in some T-shirts and baggy jeans.

   Kathy muffled Lucky's fur dreamily: "Soon we have to move to Uncle Toby's verandah for the nights, it's too cold to sleep on the streets."

   "Too bloody noisy for me," Jack scratched his dirty hair.

   "You can freeze here," Kathy snapped at him: "Or p.... off back home."

Then they tossed a coin for their turn. Jack won and Kathy went to find a 'ten-ounce sandwich' for them. Saranda followed Jack and Lucky heading of to the beach.

   "What about going home?" She caught up with him: "To see George and your room, you know it's the same like you have left it...your medals and everything."

But Jack ignored her and moved on.

   "There is a crab." He suddenly stopped and lifted one of the rocks on the shore. Lucky sniffed underneath.

   "Will he bite me?" Saranda leaned forward with an outstretched hand, but hesitated for a second, afraid.

   "If you give him a chance." Aware of danger, the crab shot across the stones to the sea. Jack sat down with his arms round his legs and his chin resting on his knees staring at some surfers in thermo-suits having fun in the ocean: "What a dumper!" He suddenly pointed at the big wave that broke suddenly hurling the surfers down with great force: "Dad's always told me that I would become a champion surfer one day."

   "Do you miss him?"

Jack had a faraway look on his face: "How do you know his name and my medals?"

Saranda described her first meeting with George and her embarrassing exploring of George's house. She has also mentioned the trip to York on a long weekend. Jack listened carefully without any interruption, when he suddenly blurted out: "He killed my Mum, George, he's a bloody killer..." He shouted and put his head into his hands.

So close and yet so far apart...

2010-10-05T22:03:00.000-07:00

When the school finished, Saranda saw the familiar car waiting outside her school.

    "Mrs Hysa," she screamed in panic and sat inside the car thinking something is wrong.

    "There you are," Mrs Hysa looked at her closely: "Nothing is wrong, only your Mum wants me to talk to .."

    "I have to pick up Dardon from the Upper Primary," Saranda quickly said.

    "Yes, I know, let's go," Mrs Hysa started the car and continued: "I would like you to be more considerated of your Mum's condition and also understand that you Dad is now extremely busy with his school's religious position, you have to be more helpful..."

    "More helpful!" Saranda shouted in dismay: "I have to help with all domestic chores, cooking and also Dardon with his homework, every day, while Dardon is playing soccer and enjoying himself..."

    "Everyone has different place and responsibilities in one's family," Mrs Hysa smiled at her gently: "And what about your mysterious disappearances from home?"

    "Everyone has right to breathe and find out about life, it's not fair that Dad pushing me to live up to his recent religious ideal, it's not me, I was not brought up that way!"

    "It's the religion of our forbearers, of your Grandmother," Mrs Hysa sighed, "My family left Kosove before the Communists shut all the Mosques and I grew up here, where you can take it easy and forget where you come from." Mrs Hysa turned to Saranda and then quickly checked the lights at the crossroads: "Is this Dardon's Muslim school?"

    "Yep, just turn left after the intersection," Saranda pointed her hand on the left and continued: "I know all of that, Mrs Hysa, I only feel that Mum and Dad are not like they used to be, I wish sometimes to be back in Kosove and be little again, my Mum she is so..."

    "Your Mum is really worried, that something awful may happen to you and she promised to God to tell Dad if you once more leave the house without telling her where you go," Mrs Hysa shook her head in disagreement: "Dardon mentioned a friend of yours, a homeless kid?"

    "Fine." Saranda clenched her teeth and looked out of the window thinking about her little dobbing brother.

    "Look, I can see Dardon," Mrs Hysa stopped the car and waived to the boy, then she turned to Saranda: "Try to understand, Saranda, your family clings to Islam, because there is only thing they got left," Mrs Hysa pulled at her scarf: "Your origin, your religion makes you who you are...oh, hi Dardon, how was school today?" She smiled when Dardon entered the car.

   "Gross, what's happening?" Dardon looked at Mrs Hysa hoping she takes them to some exciting place and he missed Saranda's hateful glare.

    "I'm only dropping you off home today, my little girl finishes her dancing lesson soon...but," Mrs Hysa winked at him: "Do you remember what George, your swimming instructor promised about visiting his parents in York and spending weekend there?"

    "Yeep, but that was a few monts ago."

    "So he finally asked me to arrange this long weekend's trip with your parents, unfortunatelly you Mum feels too sick, and there is Victor...your Father is too busy..."

    "But, I want to go," Dardon exclaimed.

    "Who cares, what you want," Saranda said sharply.

    "Saranda," Mrs Hysa sighed impatiently: "Your parents gave me permission to take you ont the trip, both of you of course."

Saranda nodded and looked out of the window. She thought about George missing his boy terribly and Jack, his boy, roaming streets aimlessly and sleeping rough under the bridge just few yards from his Father's flat. She imagined George looking out of the window on the dark bridge in disapearing light never realizing how close to home his son actually is. They are so close and so far apart.

DOHA

2010-09-13T05:50:00.000-07:00

    Saranda closely watched the girl sitting next to her. She was also new, in this country, in this Islamic College. Doha was her name. She was quiet and shy always hiding behind her white scarf. Sharp featured and dark-haired, Doha was aware of her fragile features and tine figure and liked to keep to herself, hiding behind other girls in their study group. Although it was well accepted in their College that girls didn't voice thier opinios only if asked, Doha avoided any opportunity to be noticed. In contrary Saranda had to often bite her lip not to shout her disagreement with her teachers.
She was often criticised to be too wordy and other girls whispered behind her back that her confidence had boosted ever since her father was appointed a Deputy Principal at the College. It surprised Saranda enormously to see Doha join her to accompany the studetns from the Lower Primary school nearby to the Perth Museum. Saranda saw it as oportunity to escape the dully routine of prays and learning and worndered why Doha had joined her. Before she had a chance to ask their bus stopped in front the Thornlie Lower Primary Islamic College. Two groups of boys and two groups of girls have been already lined up waiting excitedly and as soon as the door opened the boys came rushing inside. Saranda was asked by their Islamic teacher to show them their seats on the right side.

    "Hi, Saranda, we are going to the museum in Perth, imagine we will go to see a real skyscraper..." One of the boys shouted excitedly in her ear. Saranda smiled at him and pushed him on the the back seat. Suddenly she heard a giggling from the left side where the girls had been seated. Doha was seated among them and her face was unusually bright.

    "Now, let's go," another teacher, an English lady came last: "I'll hope we haven't forgotten anyone." She smiled and quickly hid the loose strand of her hair under her scarf.

She had to be new one, Saranda thought to herself, not used to wearing a scarf, like me. She felt a sudden empathy with the teacher, who was already walking through the bus pointing to the boys telling them to behave themselves. The bus moved and the boys yelled with excitement.

    "Come on everyone, look carefully in front of you, I wonder who will be the first one to spot a skyscraper?" She said in the microphone as the bus ran smoothly along the highway passing many suburbs with thousands of identical homes with shiny green lawns at the front.

    "I can see them, look." Once boy pointed through the front window where the three skyscrapers shone in the blue sky in the distance.

    "Huaaah, that's fantastic, look at the bright boats." Another boy exlaimed as they drove over the Swan River. White two story buildings lined the shore surrounded by fresh lush parks.

Soon they reached the city centre and every kid in the bus pressed an excited face to the glass to catch a glimpse of the sleepy capital city of Western Australia. The bus stopped at a huge car park and the teachers guided the children through the glassed in walkway, which ran over the quiet colonial streets and the bustling shopping alleys. The boys stopped every minute and looked through the glass under their feet at the passing cars and colourful shops.The English teacher counted her children all the time with a worried look on her face.

    "Saranda, please, watch out for these boys on the back," she said and then turned to Doha surrounded by the girls.

    "Don't worry Ms Page," Doha smiled at her confidently and stopped to be the last one pushing the giggling girls in front of her: "Come on you."

As they walked through a colonial train station, the boys begged Ms Page to come on the platform to see the city train. Ms Page soon realised the danger when some of the boys ran to the moving stairways blocking the way so people couldn't pass.

    "Come back at once!" Ms Page screamed in panic and rushed to bring them back leaving the girls with the other Islamic teacher. Saranda and Doha stood patiently nearby. They watched a group of teenagers gathering on the station, drinking, riding skateboards and laughing. Their clothes were fancy but dirty. Most of the teenagers were black, some whiter but with the same hair like Kathy. Suddenly two of them noticed them and started to skateboard in their direction. Saranda quickly moved in opposite direction to avoid them but Doha stood there watching them with a stone face. They circled around her pointing at her dress and scarf when the Islamic teacher approached them. They skated back, pulling faces and screaming something.

    "What did they say?" Doha asked the Islamic teacher when they joined back the group. Ms Kawa was standing there watching the leaving skate boys with a stern look. Saranda joined them and felt embarrassed at moving away.

    "I thought I could understand anything, I have been learning English for 8 years..."

    "Don't take notice of those unbelievers," the Islamic teacher patted her arm looking closely at her: "Our god always protects you."

    "I know that," Doha answered seriously: "He always did."

"Now quickly to the museum and back to school, I think I've had enough for today."

They had recess near the small fountain outside the museum. Then the museum staff took them inside. Saranda couldn't concentrate very much on the long list of information and pictures about the discovery of Australia becuase the group of boys hanged on her asking millions of questions. Later on, while the whole group admired the replica of the first ship, she slipped quietly to the other room, where their teachers decided not to take them because of some explicit pictures unsuitable for children.
In the centre stood statues of a group of naked slim, dark people with kind, smiling faces. They looked like they were on a walk. The women were holding children and sticks in their hands. The men proudly held their spears and one of them was showing a lizard he had killed. She was struck with the statues. She slowly spelled the information under it: Native Australians.
They looked similar to the people in Kathy's family, this older one could be Uncle Tom, but the statues looked much happier.

"Now we enter the old way of life of Aboirginals before the white people came. They were peaceful people who shared everything and travelled a long distance to survive in this harsh empty land. We still admire their art and special ways of dealing with people and nature..." The group of people entered the room and the deep voice of their museum curator echoed on the walls.

   "Oh, look a cave man," the couple of boys from their group had sneaked after her.

   "Come on, we have to go back," she pushed them in front of her out of the forbidden room and together they ran through the museum to find their class.

She was tired after the excursion and annoyed by the endless chatter of the children around her. Doha seemed to enjoy their company and looked more relaxed than ever. The kids touched everything excitedly in the museum shop until their teachers ushered them outside. Doha in one corner was looking at some T-shirts.

   "I wish I could buy one." Saranda stood next to her looking at one with the small painting of an Emu like from Uncle's Tom dotting picture.

    "I want to buy one for my brother, who is still in Iraq, missing, only God knows what happened to him..."
Doha sighed and looked at Saranda's choice: "Impressive, these strange paintings, but our pictures back home are more colourful and joyful."

   "I like them, they reminds me of our old legends..." Saranda touched the empty spot on her neck and reminded herself to find Kathy. Suddenly someone grabbed her hand. It was one of the lower school's boys.

"Come on, Saranda, we are leaving, the bus is here," he pushed her long school dress impatiently: "Come on you two or you will be in trouble."

Saranda looked at Doha, who smiled at her mysteriously: "I will be there in a sec, just make some excuse for me, will you?"

KATHY - AN ABORIGINAL GIRL

2010-08-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

Just as the first light appeared in the morning, they heard a scream.
   "That was Mum!" Saranda cried, jumping up from bed. "Something's wrong!" She ran to the door.

   "It's one of her bad dreams," Dad noticed her in the doorway of their bedroom.
He was bending over Mum, who lay stretched out on the bed talking fast: "They are all dead, the village is on the fire...heelp!" Her eyes were closed, and she fell asleep. Before leaving Saranda checked Victor in his cot. He snored peacefully.

   "What's going on?" Dardon's figure in long pyjamas appeared in the corridor.

   "It was only a nightmare," Saranda pushed him back to his room: "Go back to sleep, today Mrs Hysa will take us to the museum."

Saranda went back to her room and sat on her bed looking around. The dawn made everything misty and unreal. Her small room with a built-in-wardrobe, a simple desk and a tiny side table was full of shades. Suddenly she remembered the place, Jack had told her about. It took her only a minute to pull on her pants, long sleeve shirt and sneakers. She picked up her scarf and thought for a while. Finally she let it drop on the bed and tiptoed out of her room.
Passing the main bedroom, she could hear Mum's quiet weeping. She hurried up to the front door. Outside a balck cat was crossing her path. It made her shiver. Saranda watched from their doorsteps as the edge of morning was beginning to break in the East. For a second or two she stood there sniffing the fresh air. She could tell that it was going to be a warm day. The front gate squeaked, so she turned back and listened. The simple white house was quiet in the dark.

When she entered the deserted station, the first train had already been there. The view from the fast train gave her a sweaping picture of the old sleepy port ahead and the dark ocean beyond it.
Saranda enjoyed being out in Fremantle alone. It made her feel part of real Australian life, and she started to wish secretly that she'd been born here. But then she touched her golden sun and felt guilty. Approaching the centre of town she felt like a ghost. The fancy apartments and colourful shops were dark and quiet as was the whole city.
Only a few joggers passed her by. Saranda left the main street and swung onto a small side street. It was all a bit vague and hazy. Slowly she passed through it and found herself near the ocean. Saranda felt a sense of gentle peace under the rising sun. She sat down on the deserted beach. Nothing could have been more peaceful that the gentle waves of the Indian Ocean under that huge wakening Australian sky.

    "Lucky, come back, Lucky!" A big dog came dashing across the sand and leaped around her legs. Saranda froze looking into his huge curious face.

    "I don't know whether she is scared or not...what do you think, Lucky?" Kathy chuckled behind Saranda's back and hugged the dog tightly.

   "He gave me the creeps." Saranda smiled and patted his huge hairy back.

   "That's the point." Jack came and scratched the dog's ear gently. "He is our new guard dog, we found him a week ago, and he was starving and lucky to meet us."

   "Let's have breakfast." Kathy flopped next to Saranda and handed everyone hamburgers, including Lucky, who finished his in one bite. "There was good deal at Mac's today, one 'buck' only, she tried to explain with her mouth full.

   "You had no money." Jack pointed out.

   "So what, I pinched it from a tray," she winked at Saranda and then burst out laughing, her curly hair danced around her round, dark face.

The breakfast was gobbled in bites between bursts of exciting talk. Saranda hadn't felt so free and happy for a long time. She touched her neck but the golden chain was not there. She rubbed her forehead with a worried hand.

    "Where is my chain, where is it?" Saranda burst out and jumped to her feet. Then as if she regretted the outburst, her voice became calmer. "It must be somewhere here..." They watched curiously as Saranda was digging in the sand.

   "I know who this golden thing belongs to?" Kathy started to laugh holding the chain above the dog's nose.

In sudden anxiety Saranda turned and rushed at Kathy: "You are a thief, give it back," she grabbed the chain.
"It's broken, my Granny, I have broken my promise." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

They looked puzzled. Kathy sat next to Saranda and hugged her. A single sob welled up from somewhere deep down and shook Kathy's shoulders: "Sorry, don't have anything so..." A big lump rose in her throat: "So posh, I wanted only to try..."

   "It's supposed to bring me good luck," Saranda sobbed.

   "Luck," Jack said, "only helps people who knows how to use it." He took the chain form her hand and looked at the golden sun closely.

   "The golden sun has been bringing life to the people of Kosovo for hundreds of years. When winter ends over there and spring is coming, the golden sun brings warmth, good spirit and life back to the mountain villages. It's a special sun. Magical." To her own surprise Saranda found herself telling them the old Albanian legend about the golden sun.

   "It's like one of the Kathy's Aboriginal stories," Jack said handing her back the broken chain: "I can't fix it."

   "Come on." Kathy said abruptly pulling Jack's back. "Maybe uncle Toby can fix it, come on, Lucky, let's go home."

After they left the beach, Jack shot up another street and fetched four cream buns from a shop and they munched them siting on the pavement near the Fremantle Market. The entrance filled up with first people looking for some fresh fish and vegetables.
After a while the first families appeared, strolling by in the sunshine, stopping occasionally to chat to some friendly faces enjoying their breakfast on the cafe strip.

   "I hate these Sundays, can you imagine, me as a boy, doing the same with my Dad and Mum, when she was alive..." Jack spat on the pavement and chucked his half finished bun in a nearby bin.

   "I think I can see my cousin playing the Didgeridoo inside," Kathy jumped out and Lucky waved his tail ready to follow her. "You stay here!" Kathy pointed at him and ran inside the market.

Jack and Saranda turned around to see playing dark figure in the middle of the shopping hall surrounded by a few tourists. He was blowing into a long wooden tube making strange deep music. Some of the shoppers stopped and put some coins into his old hat.
Kathy bent next to his ear and he made some signs with his fingers without stopping to play.
Soon she was back and waved them to follow her. When they reached the bus station a group of Aboriginal women and children were sitting and chattering on the benches aside. the little ones had round cheeks and curly hair and they could never keep still. Kathy and Jack joined them but Saranda stayed aside watching them with open curiosity.

Suddenly an old yellow sedan stopped next to them. A driver, an old man in tattered T-shirt, started to shout at the group. She heard hurrying footsteps and someone grabbed her hand. They all managed to climb in and the vehicle took off with a roar. Saranda found herself squished between two jolly women, one had a restless baby who jumped on her knees. The car echoed with singing and laughter. She couldn't understand their strange English, but she didn't feel uncomfortable.
The car suddenly stopped and the women hurried out picking up their shopping bags and babies. The rented house was surrounded by ground overgrown with weeds. There were some old men sitting on the shabby verandah. Their boisterous noise and laughter knew no end.

   "Now, let's go in." Kathy said after she hugged half of the family. The inside was as crowded and noisy as the outside of the moderate house. Saranda tried to follow Kathy through the living room full of smiling children and surprisingly found Jack and Lucky playing with them happily.

   "Uncle Toby, uncle Toby," Kathy screamed as they entered the small backyard. The old, dark man was painting something on the ground.

   "Hullo, Miajna Kadi, your uncle is happy to see you." He turned around and smiled so brad that they could see his missing teeth. he held a small stick in his hand as he raised his dark arm in greeting.

    "What does it mean...let's me guess, a myall on some walkabout and there...there he found a waterbird's egg." Kathy pointed excitedly to a colourful picture full of white dots.

    "He lived a long time ago on his tribal land, before the white fellow came and started to live on this land that didn't belong to him..." the old man sat with his legs crossed, his eyes closed and started to talk in broken English.

In some way Saranda found the story similar to the tales from her homeland, which she had lost. Suddenly the kids came screaming outside chased by Jack and Lucky. realising that it was the Dreamtime story time, they sat down around Uncle Toby and stayed quiet until he finished.
Jack found a place on the doorstep. Soon a tall boy about his age joined in with a didgeridoo: "Come on, Tajurra, you haven't practised it for a long time," he handed the instrument laughingly to Jack.

Jack tried to blow it and managed a couple of deep sounds. When the boy started to play, a powerful and strange music filled the whole area. The children started to move with the rhythm of the music pretending to be an Emu picking some seeds and a hopping Kangaroo. Saranda kept sitting next to Uncle Toby, who was starring now curiously at her jeans. She smiled shyly and noticed that a piece of her long-forgotten scarf popped out from her pocket. He gestured to her to give it to him.

    "Interesting," he exclaimed studying closely the details of the Islamic design on the scarf: "Made in Pakistan, hmm," Uncle Toby looked at her again with a broad smile: "I think, I will take it."

    "Fine," Saranda shook her head in disbelief, what in earth he could see on this piece of head cover, "I have plenty of them at home."

    "Tajurra, Miajna Kadi and your friend, if you need a lift, I'm leaving now," someone yelled next to the outside door. Kathy jumped and took the golden chain from Saranda's hand.

    "Oh, Uncle Toby I need you to fix this, I'll come back to pick it up later, thanks." She put the chain in front of him. He put it in his pocket and continued to paint.

    "Let's go." She pulled a surprised Saranda and they ran until they saw the moving car and Jack trying to jump in.

   "Wait, waait for us." Kathy waved and soon they squished into the crowded car. saranda was sweating and the heat outside reminded her that it was almost lunchtime.

   "Thornlie, could you please tell the driver to take me there," she shouted in Kathy's ear over the noise.

Soon she saw familiar train station and one of the streets close to her house: "Hey, stop here." Saranda shouted from the back and turned to Kathy: "My house is on the next street, thanks for the trip and..."

    "See you next time 'somewhere in the great outdoors', " Kathy winked at her as she jumped from the moving car. Saranda waved until the Aboriginal singing and laughing disappeared with the car and she suddenly felt very lonely.

She entered their front yard. There was no one there. The clinking of the cutlery inside reminded her of lunch and their prayer time. Saranda entered the house in a sudden panic and ran through the corridor as fast as she could. At the end she bumped into Mrs hysa, who was holding Victor in her arm: "Where've you been, you're lucky your Dad huried to Morque early morning and didn't find out..."

   "Saranda, we were supposed to go to the museum and because of YOU..." Dardon peeped out of his room at her but Mrs Hysa patted his hair: "It's OK, Dardon, we can go next time, anyway, your Mum doesn't feel very well," she looked back at Saranda: "You better go and help you Mum with lunch, you Dad will be here any minute."

WELCOME TO DARK AND SHADOWLESS WORLD

2010-07-08T18:04:00.000-07:00

   The sky was dull and grey with black and purple tingles. Saranda felt along their low spiky fence with her hand till she found the gate. The front litghts from Mrs Hysa's car outlined the path to their house. They had moved
one week ago to Thornlie, closer to Perth and the Muslim College, where Dad was teaching. They were part of
Muslim community now, but Saranda still missed Mrs Hysa's house on the outskirt of Fremantle.

    "Saranda," Mrs Hysa's whisper was uncertain in the darkness of the car. Saranda craned around, trying to see
her. Suddenly Dardon got out off the car. He almost fell over her. It was still pitch black. The moon had not yet risen. "Watch out, that's my foot!"

    "Did you find it?" His voice sounded sleepy.

    "I think, I did," she muttered touching th smooth cold handle and pushed it. Mrs Hysa's car smoothly passed
them inside and they both closed the gate behind it.

Saranda had persuaded Dad to allow them to visit Mrs Hysa in Fremantle on the weekend. They had intended
to go shopping together, but Joyce was sick, so Mrs Hysa let them to go by themselves. Saranda found Kathy and Jack on their usual weekend spot in the park opposite the Esplanade hotel and together they went out to spend Saranda's shopping money.

    "It was the most irresponsible thing to do, leave Mrs Hysa to worry about you and cause her troubles by your late arrival," Dad's sharp voice hammered at them from the lighten verandah.

     "Look, just take it easy for a sec, they are safely back," Mrs Hysa got off her car and patted his arm.

     "It's my responsibility to be sure they don't do it again." Dad's said with a stone face. Mrs Hysa blinked in surprise and looked at them doubtfully.

Saranda blushed fiercely as they followed them acorss the front room full of Muslim men, their neighbours. Dardon stubled as he entered. She took his arm to steady him as they greeted the visitors with little bow and pray: "Salama Lejkum..."

Mum looked up quickly as she entered the room with a pot of tea. Saranda's tongue felt thick and dry in her mouth, as she looked desperately around the room at all the silent and unproachable faces.

    Mrs Hysa waved to them from the corridor to follow Dad into his Study. Saranda hoped she would stay with them, but she disappeared inside the kitchen.

    "You know very well how to behave when you are somewhere on a visit and even more if you are supposed to look after your younger brother." Dad shook his head and turned his back to them. Saranda bit her lips, willing her father to hug and forgive her.

    "Did you buy what you were asked to?" He turned back and looked at her sternly.

    "We have been at 'Quazar' and the Ice-creamery shop, it was so exciting...all these laser machines...boom, boom and we have real big friends..." Dardon tried to explain, but Saranda put her finger on her lips and he suddenly stopped.

     "No, I forgot all about school stuff, I am sorry." She looked at Dad who didn't seem to notice Dardon's talking. He pointed him to leave the room. Dardon bowed his head and quietly closed door behind him.

    "Give me my money back!" Dad opened the palm of his hand in front of her.

    "I don't have it any more. It's entirely your fault. Why can't you, just once, help with shopping, Mum can't speak English and ...it's unfair always ask Mrs Hysa for help," Saranda shouted back noticing too late the anger in his eyes.

He hit her hard with his fist. She stumbled and landed on the sofa.

    "Don't talk to me like that ever again!" The tone of his voice told Saranda that was the end of the matter. He left to join his guests.

Disappointment sobbed inside her as she picked up the torn golden chain. It was almost impossible to fix the part with her shaking hands. She hastily put it on and touched the golden sun. If only she could ask Granny. She would know what to do. She always did.

That night Sarnada had a strange dream. She watched herself, Mum and Dad walk along their path to a road. Then they parted and went their separate ways. Dardon sreamed, took Victor into his arm and run from one to the other, then he followed her. She could hear his crying closer and closer so she started to run. FDinally she lost them. She was there all by herself, all on her lonesome. It was a terrible feeling. The world was dark, shadowless and cold.

She turned back and run as fast as she could...back.

UPDATE IN THE CONTEXT OF THE WARS IN THE FORMER YUGOSLAVIA

2010-06-30T21:06:00.000-07:00

During the final months of the Bosnian War, nearly 8,000 Muslim men and boys were systematically killed in the fallen U.N enclave of Sebrenica - the worst European massacre since WWII. On June 10, 2010 tow high ranking Bosnian Serbe were convicted for those 1995 killings. Their Judge said: "In the context of human history, these events are arrestive in their scale and brutality. These acts were committed with intent to destroy in whole or in part a national, ethnical, racial and religious group."

Many high ranking officers responsible for massacres in previous Yugoslavia are still in hiding and many will never be caught. Justice will never be served as it always happens. Writing Saranda's story I realized it. She survived and grew up to help her people and her nations.

IGNORANCE IS HUMANITY'S GREATEST ENEMY. Therefore it is important to remember these modern day attrocities which are happening now as well in different parts of our ustable world, we live in.

YOUR CHARACTER IS YOUR FATE. I have an urge to remind people about attrocities so we can together work on more peaceful and stable world.

Thank you for listening to me...next chapter of Saranda's story will continue next week:)

LOST June 2000

2010-06-25T00:48:00.000-07:00

     It's still too hot, Saranda thought as she walked next to Mum and Mrs Hysa through the narrow crowded South Terrace and listening to their conversation about Islam. She was mad at Mum, who didn't allow her to leave the house without a scarf and a long sleeve shirt any more. Mum, pushing the pram with Victor, was apprehensive about meeting another Muslim women in a nearby Tea room. She pulled nervously her scarf and asked Saranda to be nice and polite when meeting the ladies.

Saranda looked at her pale face and suddenly felt sorry for her Mum. She was lost just like her. Islam was just a safety net, thrown to her by her husband, something to hold on to. Still boys have it so much easier. Saranda looked behind to see Dardon running and bumping into people.

     " And what about him," she pointed at Dardon: " he wants to go to 'Time Zone."

     " But, please Mum, I want Saranda to go with me, instead of Mrs Hysa," he caught up with Mum and pulled at her sleeve pleadingly.

     " I thought you go with me, Dad would be pleased and Mrs Hysa is not really interested in Islam, you know..."

   " Me neither," Saranda interrupted Mum: " I have already learnt a lot at College and anyway I need to go shopping first...I need some stuff for school tomorow..."

     " Let's go shopping then," Mum turned and pushed the pram back to Wolwoorth store, leaving them catching up.

Inside the Shopping Centre it was cool and noisy. Mum dragged them behind Mrs Hysa caught in a shopping spree. Mrs Hysa loved bargain. As they waited patiently until she chose what she wanted, Saranda noticed some girls in shiny minidresses, who seemed familiar. These awful girls from her previous High School!

    " Quick, have a go, there is the exit," she grabbed Dardon's hand and they ran out into the full car park.

    " Are we going to run away?" Dardon asked excitedly as he noticed the free map of Fremantle in her hand from the shopl

    " Of course not, you silly," she turned her head resolutely, " go back and tell Mum, that we meet her in the Tea room, tell her I know the way and ask for some money to Time Zone, " Saranda watched him to leave and shouted behind him: " She always gives you, what YOU want, you spoiled brat."

She took her scarf and folded up her sleeves. Suddenly she felt much better. Dardon came back and blinked but Saranda stopped him before he could ask: " If you open your mouth, it's last time I take you somewhere, you dobby, dobby," she looked at him and then back at the map: " I can't find the 'Time Zone".

Dardon lowered his head in disappointment.

    " Don't worry, we'll find the way."

It was a hot day. A crowd of strangers walked nearby as they reached another and another street.

    " Saranda, I am thirsty, are we lost?" Dardon sat down on a bench in front of one of the old houses with a broken white picked fence.

    " Stop whinging..." Saranda clutched the map in her hand: " Wait, what's the name of this one, L-i-lly Street."
She looked around. Lilly Street was dotted with old residents of all origins leaning outside their brightly painted houses. Saranda spotted a dirty vacant land between two properties. Another home for Kathy and Jack, she suddenly thought.

    An old lady was watching Dardon from her flowered tiny verandah: " Poor boy, you look thirsty, wait right here," she turned back and murmured something on her way inside. In a little while Dardon held in his hand a cold glass frull of icy water.

    " Thank you," Saranda said joining Dardon on the bench, but the lady shuffled back. The tiny door banged behind her. They left the empty glass on the bench and moved on.

At the far end of the street they were stuck in the middle of traffic noise and rushing people. Among the strangers Saranda recognised a boy.

    " Jaack, Jack...!" Saranda rushed after him leaving Dardon behind.

    " Hey, kid," he was starring at her now and she felt stupid.

    " I don't know, if you remember me, we met about a month ago and you lend me some money..and you said I could stick with you and Kathy..you know...to survive."

    " Survive," Jack repeated in his absent minded voice and his blue eyes looked somehow darker: " In fact you could survive almost anything if you put your mind to it, I've tried to explain this to Kathy...anyway do you know where she is?"

    " No, me and my brother, where is he?" Saranda turned aroudn in panic: " He wanted to go to 'Time Zone' and..." She searched the crowd behind her when Jack suddenly caught her arm.

    " Hey, that's look like him..." he pointed at a scared boy standing on the opposite road to them. He caught their eyes and Saranda waved at him. Jack stared at them when she introduced Dardon. For a long time he was silent as he forgot the world around him.

Saranda took the note from Dardon's pocket and gave him warning look to stop his complaining: " Jack, that's yours, thanks."

    " 'Quazar' is better than 'Time Zone', I haven't been there for ages," he suddenly cheered up: " Let's go, now we have some money to spend."
He left and they had to run to catch up with him.

It was fun. Jack often burst at laugh watching Dardon's play: " He is so scared, I love it!"

    " Dardon, stop acting like idiot," Saranda felt ashamed for her younger brothe, who patted himself proudly on the chest after he hit Jack, but he didn't mind.

They nearly missed Mum and Mrs Hysa, who waited impatiently in front of the already closed 'Tea Room' for their return. Saranda in a hurry put beck her scarf and warned Dardon not to open his mouth. Approaching them, she saw Mrs Hysa's frightened look and she met Mum's tired eyes as she took the screaming hungry Victor from her arms. Saranda knew that Dad would be again mad at her, but it didn't matter at all. She had found Jack!

ALBANIANS AND AUSTRALIANS - What do they have in common?

2010-06-11T06:06:00.000-07:00

     Next Sunday morning they went to visit George. Mrs Hysa offered to take them there in her big, white Holden as Dad's old car broke down. Slowly moving through the inner city they passed many restaurants and evening entertainment places. All which were now closed and quiet. They passed a couple of bar girls walking home from their niht shifts.

    " Oh, I don't know how these girls can dress so immodestly," said her Mum watching them from the corner of her scarf. After that she gave her full attention to Victor, who woke up in his 'child safety seat' and demanded his bottle.

    " Here we are," Mrs Hysa stopped the car in front of a inner Fremantle apartment: " It used to be a warehouse here and now look..."

     " Very interesting.," her Dad looked up at the two-storey iron-and-glass building: " You can sqeeze a hundred people here."

     " I don't think so," laughed Mrs Hysa: " Australians like their space, mostly singles live here, just like George."

When George saw their car from his glassed first floor, he came rushing down the sairs and opened his sliding door: " Hello, nice to see you," he squeezed Dad's hand and turned to Saranda: " My sweetheart, translate to your Mum that I am very happy to see her."

    " Gee, you live in a submarine," Dardon screamed in excitement as they entered the down-stairs living area made of black steel and glass. He examined for a while a big shell and then stopped in front of a huge aquarium.
There was a colourful wall painting of the sea above it: " Look, Saranda, what do they call these in the English?...Merr...

    " Mermaids, you silly billy and stop shouting," Saranda pushed him forward and they followed the others upstairs.

The family was standing at the massive iron windows admiring the panoramic views of the city. Dardon, in the meantime touched the mirror and..." Look, Saranda it's a sliding mirror door, let's see, what is behind." He had already disappeared behind it.

" Wait, Dardon, you can't go in there..." She pushed the mirrror and entered a big main bedroom:
" Dardoon, where are you?"

    " Come here, it's a boy's room, gee, he is surely lucky to have all this stuff..auch." Something hit the ground with a big bang.

    " Dardon, what are you doing?" Saranda followed the noise through a luxurious bathroom. Finally she had found Dardon in the end room behind a huge surfboard.

    " Saranda, please help me out, it's really heavy, I don't know how they use it. Oh, that's better ugh..."

    " Are you O.K.?" Saranda asked as she looked around. It was surely a boy's room filled with stuff that any boy would long for...at least any boy in Kosovo.

    " Look, a new skateboard and computer...have a look, there is a TV with Nintendo, could we play, please?"

    " No, we have to go back, come on..." Saranda turned around to leave the room, when she noticed a big photograph of a blond boy on a surf beach. He had a gold medal around his neck. There was something familiar about his face. She went closer. It was Jack.

    " Saraaanda, Daaardon, where are you?" Mum's worried voice echoed in the room. Saranda quickly grabbed Dardon's hand and rushed out through the bathroom and bedroom.

    " There you are, you cheeky monkeys!" Mrs. Hysa met them near the mirror's door.

    " Sorry, Mrs. Hysa..." Saranda was too tongue-tied to say anything else.

    " Where have you been?" Dad looked sternly at Saranda.

    " We, wee have been looking for toilet, yes, Dardon needed to to, so..."

    " No, I didn't," protested Dardon at once and Saranda slapped his hand secretly. Why her brother never gets anything, she thought angrily, while Dad kept watching her sternly under his dark thick eyebrows.

    " To tell you the truth, Saranda, I don't believe you any more..." Dad pointed to the corner of the sofa:
" You will sit there for the rest of this visit and don't you dare move."

    " There is always trouble with you kids, oh, may god help us." Mum added sadly and patted gently Victor's head, who fall asleep in her arm.

    " We forgot about our religion, about our tradition..." Dad stormed at Mum: " We forgot how to raise them properly, like Granny wanted us to do, according to the Koran."

    " It's not late, we can still do it," protested Mum weakly.

Dad looked up at Saranda coldly: " And we will, be sure of that."

George asked Mrs. Hysa to translate to him what all the fuss was about. All he could do was take another beer from an esky on the bar and scratch his head: " You know, Mrs Hysa, I have lost my wife in a car accident two years ago, which was caused by me. My son ran away from home and I barely noticed, too depresssed to care about anything anymore..."

    " I'm sorry, George, really sorry," said Mrs Hysa and then she turned around to translate it to Mum.

They looked at him in amazement. Finally Dad said: " That's horrible, George, but it's not your fault, maybe it was God's will, but in our culture children have to obey their parents no matter what."

George passed the kids some icy orange juice looking at them with deep understanding: " Everyone has something new to learn, doesn't matter which country they come from, agreed, mates?" He winked at them. But Saranda kept her eyes on the carpet, where Victor, freshly awake, was crawling following its geometrical pattern.

Then George turned to their parents with a full plate of chicken rolls: " My perents were strict with me too. I had to work hard on the farm in York, do you know where that is?"

    " I have no idea, I haven't been anywhere yet, but I'd love to see some farming here, we have..no, we had a small farm back home." Dad nodded.

    " Oh, it's a pity, I'll take you there, my parents still live there in an original Australian farm house."

    " That's great, George, you and farmer?" laughed Mrs Hysa taking another roll from the plate: " If I put on weight, George, it will be all your fault."

    " I am a fifth-generation Australian. My family started farming in York in the 1880. Unbelievable, and you see I am obsessed with the ocean."

    " The Albanians in Kosovo have a long tradition of farming too, but the conditions are very, very poor there," Dad suddenly added.

Joyce twirled around the room singing a catchy song in Albanian.

Mrs Hysa clasped her hands happily: " My daughter can speak Albanian now."

    " I taught her this song." Dardon joined her proud as a peacock and they swirled fast around the room. Suddenly Joyce lost her footing and fell down crying.

George picked her up quickly and handed her a big lolypop. For that he was rewarded by a big smile.

   " That's better Joyce," he laughed and sat her down on the couch next to Saranda, then he turned to Dad and handed him another Coca-Cola: " I bet the country, you come from has some pretty long history, not like here.."

" You bet, George," Mrs Hysa said proudly: " We are the direct descendents of the Illyrians who held vast territories covering all of the Westeren Balkans in 2000 B.C."

    " That's true," added Dad: " The name 'Albania' comes from the name of the ancient Illyrian tirbe who lived in Albania and Kosovo in 200 AD and now Serbs tell us we have no right to live there."

    " English is..." Mum had no idea what they had been taling about and tried to join in.

George noticed her embarrassment and quickly joined in to save her: " ...terrible language to learn, I totally agree," he winked at her: " I have been always bad i nspelling, I can tell you that."

    " I can help you to learn Albanian, George," Mrs Hysa laughed: " if you teach me how to do these amazing chicken rolls."

George spread his arms laughing: " One language is more than enough for me, I am still not very good at it anyway."

Everyone cheered up. The little Victor giggled happily when Joyce handed him a bag of chips. Saranda sipped a little bit of juice and started to feel better.

    " Saranda, ded yhou hear, George is a farmer and he has problems with spelling, just like me." Dardon whispered to her ear but she turned her back to him.

It was all his fault anyway. She was alswyas the scapegoat because she was the eldest, and a girl. It was not fair. But neither was it that Jack ran away from home and left geroge grieving alon. Saranda couldn't stop thinking about Jack for the whole week.

DO YOU REMEMBER THE FREEZING, SNOWY WINTER IN KOSOVO?

2010-05-19T22:12:00.000-07:00

    Saranda peeping out the widnow and touching her golden chain whispered to the darkness: " If I were a golden ray of ligth I could see you Granny up in the sky..."
Then she turned to Mum lyaing the table in the dining room: " I wonder what she is doing there?"

    " Poor Mrs Hysa is trying to prepare tradtional feast, you know, she is so bighearted for allowing us to stay
for so long in her hours..." her Mum muttered assuming that she asked about their hostess: " Where is Dardon
so long, he went to find Dad and ...?" she peeped into the coridor, where Joyce was pushing Victor in his pram.

    " Our Dad is no the verandah like always talking about Islam and doing nothing..."

    " Saranda, watch your mouth, who are you to be making judgment on your Father?" Mum eyed her sternly:
" It is so hard to find a proper work here."

Saranda opened her mouth as though to answer back, suddenly shut it again to smell the fresh baked cake from the kitchen opposite.

    Mrs Hysa peeped into the dining room: " Come on, girls, our guests will be here in a minute." She put more plates on the traditionally set table, where Mum was standing lost in thoughts: " I know you feel you can't cope, but it's not going to get easier if you don't start to learn English, your husband speaks pretty well..."

     " You know what my husband thinks now: " Muslims have religion always uppermost in their minds."

    " God help me, but sometimes I am relieved that my husband is in heaven," Mrs Hysa shook her head: " You can still help me in my cleaning business, you know extra hands are always needed, but..."

    " You helped me a lot already," Mum touched Mrs. Hysa arm: " My husband has been offered a teaching position at the Islamic College so we are going to look for a house to rent somewhere close by..."

    " So therefore he is so absorbed in our religion, now, hm.." Mrs Hysa laid the bowls full of nibbles on the table: " It's good for me and Joyce to have your company, we miss you, you know?"

Mum smiled and nodded sadly.

     " But still, you should go out more...you know visit the Play Group near us with little Victor, he needs to play with other kids and you need friends too..." Mrs Hysa refused to give on the matter, but Mum shook her head and wiped the sweat from her neck.

     " Oh, I can not stand this hot weather," she changed the subject quickly: " Saranda do you remember the freezing, snowy winter in Kosovo?"

    " What is the point of being cold?" Saranda interrupted her and turned back to the window. It was pitch black outside.

Joyce came to sit next to her. The car's headlights shone on their driveway like two small stars. " The first visitor is coming! " She jumped from the sofa.

    " It's good to be here. Oh, and that smell from the kitchen, what it is...a national surprise?" Their Australian neighbours and friends came in holding the esky full of beer and beef sausages fro a barbie. Then others kept coming, the Kosovo's migrants holding plates full of meat dishes and their kids...a lot of new people Saranda could not recognise. Among them she noticed some Islamic teachers in headscarves and long sleeve dresses from her new College.

     " Boy, I am sick of so much food..." The pale Serbian boy with big curious blue eyes grinned across the table. Saranda smile back.

    " Don't at him, he is our enemy, you remember back home...Serbs..." Dardon's usually dark face was pale with anger.

    " What's the matter with you?" Lisa approached them. " I want to meet you Ilja Iljovic, the son of friends of mine. He could not wait to meet you Dardon and he has something for you."

Dardon's face was expressionless, when the boy handed him a model of a sport car. Saranda just sat around watching and listening. People mingled and talked to each other in three different languages but no one seems to mind. She could hear Arabic from the teachers' corner, where her Dad passionately discussed his new knowledge of religion. Dad has changed so much from their Kosovo years that she barely recognized him anymore. She had no chance to sneak out and return money to Jack. Now she attended the Islamic College instead of that awful High School. But she felt alienated even more, unable to speak Arabic and forced to wear a scarf at school?

Saranda went outside where the night breeze was mixing with the smell of grilled beef and lamb. Suddenly she thought about her Granny again and her special dish, she used to prepare for them on special family occasions. Maybe Dad was right, maybe it's the best way to remember Granny by following her Islamic traditions. She always wanted them to believe, but not this way...Granny's religion was different.

     " Come on sweetheart, you have to try the real Aussie barbie," Dardon's swimming instructor with the unshaved sunburnt face winked at her as he handed her a plate.

She nodded gratefully and took it when suddenly Mum was standing next to her, holding the screaming Victor in her arm: " I can't make the special Granny's desert, it looks so different, what a shame, she would not be pleased with me..."

     " Come on, Mum, Granny would not care...sorry, my Mum can't speak English," Saranda turned back to George, who was standing there not understanding a word.

He took Victor on his strong arm, who stopped crying and look at him with big, scarred eyes: " It's all right." George smiled and Saranda was not sure if he talks to Victor or to her.

    " She worries all the time, my Mum," Saranda said in a matter of explanation.

    " Tell her to take it easy, she in Australia and you know what, " George's eyes suddenly twinkled:
" Tell her to come over next weekend to my place, she needs to get out of this house..."

     " Thanks George, but Dad will come along as well, he will not let her to go by herself, you know ..."

George waved his hand and laughed: " Fine, Saranda bring them all along..."

While Saranda turned back to Mum and translated what George said the window opened above their heads and Dardon's voice broke through the chatter: " Saranda, Ilja taught me new Aussie words: ' Do you wanna play footy, mate?'.."

Saranda laughed and everyone started to giggle, even Victor cheered up and started to pull George's nose. Only her Mum stood there confused and lost in her thoughts. Saranda knew she is back in her freezing and cold Kosovo at least in her head.

Saranda shrugged her shoulders and put the juicy hot meat in her mouth. It tasted delicious. Then she grimaced at her brother: " Sure, mate."

I ONLY WANTED TO SEE THE CITY

2010-05-13T06:16:00.000-07:00

    Mrs Hysa jumpped from her white Holden and hugged her tightly: " Sweetheart, we have been thinking
about calling the police."

    Saranda smiled at her apologetically: " I only wanted to see the city, I mean Perth, we haven't ben there yet."

They made their way to the house without meeting anyone. All was still and hushed when she dared to go inside after Mrs Hysa opened the front door.

    " Where have you been?" Mum looked up and continued to change Victor: " Your Dad is very upset and look at your dirty clothes!"

    Joyce was standing next to her holding a baby bottle: " Is it warm enough?"

    Mum looked at her blankly and then pointed at the bottle: " Try to say it in Albanian, it is your native language."

    " You say, bottle, bottle," Joyce shouted in her ear and handed the bottle to Victor, who stretched his arms to catch it and missed. The milk spilled all around him.

    Mum quickly caught the bottle and pretended to be cross: " Look what you have done you little princess. "
Joyce sat in her lap and Mum showed her how to hold the bottle so Victor could drink.

Saranda watched them and remembered the time when she was so close to Mum. What had happened to them? Mrs Hysa disturbed her thoughts as she ushered her to Study room: " Go to see your dad, he is helping Dardon with his homework."

Dad didn't say anything, when she entered, but she could tell he head been worried. There was an open telephone book on the table next to a pile of Islamic books. He had returned to Islam after Granny died and he kept studying it all the time.

   " You just disappeared," her brother sniffed once or twice like a child looking up from his maths sheet.

    " Saranda!" She saw the sudden fear in Dad's eyes. " It's time for you to grow up as a proper Islamic girl, "
he paused looking at her closely: " We will talk about it tomorrow, you have already missed our dinner time, so now come and help Dardon with his homework, I will call you for pray when the time comes."

When Dad left, Saranda stretched and opened her mouth in a great wide yawn. Dardon disappeared too and soon was back with some biscuits from the kitchen. She took some and pulled a face at her brother: " It's so good to be with you, little goody, goody..."

    " Of course, it is." Dardon grinned so sure of himself that she burst out laughing, then he asked her quietly:
" Have you really been in the city?"

    " Yep, in Northbridge, it's an really exiting place....but kids, you know, we don't have a whole lot in common, but, well, you sort of know them...."

    " Oh, I want to go to TIme Zone in Fremantle, could you take me?"

    " Sure, but now check this mistake...I'm so tired."

    But that night she couldn't sleep for thinking about Kathy, Jack and her own life. She couldn't walk out and leave her Brother, Mother and also her Father, like they had done. She touched her tiny golden sunflower and fell asleep.

SARANDA MEETS JACK

2010-04-29T06:02:00.000-07:00

   The sun went down, the stars came out. She touched her tiny golden sun. Which one is her Grandmother's star? Her heart thumped from the effort of running so long and her legs ached too. There was one more street to pass. Further along stood the newly built house of their Australian friends.

A car suddenly stopped along her and a kind woman's face appeared in the window: " You are the girl living in Mrs Hysa's place, would you like a lift?"

Saranda suddenly realized just how much she wanted her mum to learn to drive, to learn English and that she didn't want to go back to Mrs Hysa's place...not now. After a short persuasion the kind neighbour took her to the train station and she was free to go. Where?

Saranda waited until the car drove off. The noisy dark station surrounded her. It was a wonderful feeling to be treated with respect. Saranda hesitated for a while and then got in the train. She sat next to a window. The coloured lights outside were vivid, fresh, as if the paint had just dried. Oh, if she could just remember which part of Perth was the most exciting...the popular girls from school had always boasted about having being there.
Suddenly she noticed a man in blue uniform checking some tickets. In panic she jumped out in the last minute before the door slammed behind her. She looked around. The city was much bigger and noisier than their quiet suburb. Beep! Beep! The big headlights illuminated her figure and she jumped frightened back on the path.

The loud music from open bars and cafeterias mixed with laughter and talk of hundreds of people. Happy people. Saranda felt lost in this alien crowd parying carelessly around her.
Passing by she noticed a loud group of teenagers about her age drinking and hanging around one of the small street. The picture reminded her those awful girls from her school and she quickly turned back.

    " Hey love, try this stuff, it's good but expensive..." One of the boys jumped in front of her with a small parcel in his hand.

Saranda ran off. She ran and ran. Finally she reached a small dark road and sat down on a path, totally exhausted.

    " Hey, he kicked you out too...no money, no honey..." Someone whispered behind her.

Saranda was almost too tired to talk in English but managed to turn around and see a dark girl: "What is the name of this place?"

    " What you meaaan?" The big smile with snow white teeth lits up her black face: " You hear this, Jack?" The girl chuckled: " She is so doped, she doesn't even know where she is?"

     " Northbridge," Jack loomed up tall and solid against the night sky-line: " The only place in this damn backwater where you can hang around with your friends."

Saranda sat still, not moving even an eylid as she starred into the the bright blue eyes of a boy about fifteen years old.

     " And this is Kathy, the Abo, the wicked girl from the edge of city." He pointed at the dark tiny girl.

    " Welcome to my home." Kathy laughed as her dusty coloured hair danced on her head.

    " Home?" Saranda looked around at the mess lying everywhere on the piece of no-man land behind her.
She picked up the old screwed can and ...a needle?

     " Got yah, " Kathy laughed triumphantly dancing around the shiny sign with 'Vacant Land' written on it:
" It's our hide-out for a while."

     " You hide, from what?" Saranda asked confused if she understood properly this pidgeon English.

     " This whole crappy world full of grown ups trying to put things over ya," Jack sat next to Saranda offering her his can of beer: " So the only thing to do is run away and enjoy life with your mates."

     " This stuff has really made me tired..." Saranda watched as Kathy's face suddenly relaxed in a heavy sleep.

     " What's happened to her?" Saranda looked back at Jack.

     " What do you think?" He had a peculiar look on his face: " What are you hanging round here for?" Jack looked annoyed and upset.

     " Me?" Saranda paused, " I just want to go ...home!"

     " You reckon?" His eyes were full of sadness. " Your folks probably wouldn't even notice you'd gone...."
Jack just sat, shoulders hunched not knowing what to do. " Gosh, I feel so crook," he stood up and dropped a couple of coins.

      " Could I borrow some?" saranda picked them up: " your know for a train ticket to get back."

      " Whaaat?" He looked down at her: " Yeep, here you have some more, " Jack pulled out some dirty notes and let them to drop around him. " Go to find your sweet home."

    " No, that's enough," Saranda stood up holding the coins in her hands: " I will return them, soon, I promise."

       " Just piss off, will you?"

   " Bye-ee, " Saranda said, but she continued to stand there, gazing at him trying to understand what he said.

        " Nick off and leave us alone." Jack whispered savagely.

Saranda looked at him sadly for a moment, then turned and walked off. A brisk, little wind scurried along the empty side street. Saranda had a feeling as if something was creeping up on her in the dark, while she hurried along. At last the train came to the empty Fremantle train station. There was only one thing she could do.

BULLYING ON A SCHOOL YARD

2010-04-13T22:03:00.000-07:00

    The siren went and all the students rushed to their lockers. Saranda kept gazing at the book. She couldn't
understand it. All the work and the effort turned out to be no more effective than doing nothing. She spent
all her spare time doing her essay all over again.

    "Are you all right, Saranda?" her English teacher peeped inside: " I can go over the lesson again, slowly with you, if you like?"

    " No, thank you, Ms Shine, I am OK," Saranda hastily packed up her things.

    " The modified English class will help you, don't worry, you'll soon get it right."

    " Yes, Ms Shine," Saranda nodded and left the classroom.

The school was quiet and empty except for one little group of girls waiting outside the entrance. They all wore incredibly reveling outfits and were incredibly popular, especially among boys. But they were always in trouble with teachers. Her new school friend, her only friend told her about them just today during the Recess time.

    They stared at Saranda: " Look at the goody, goody...." one of the girls with a pierced nose copied her talk
and others burst out laughing: " Oh, plese, Ms Shine I don't understand 'anyting' and I want to learn 'eeeverything', another mouth pierced girl jumped in front of her and shouted in her face: " What about f........g,
would you like to learn that too?"

Saranda pushed her away and start running towards the carpark.

    " I'll teach you, for freee..." She heard them laughing behind her back.

Saranda blushed. That was odd. It had never occurred to her before that they laughed at her because of 'HER'. She had only thought that her name was funny to them. Suddenly she looked up. Her dad was leaning against the old car he bought from their allowance. She noticed his disaproving and horrified expression eyeing the girls in the background.

She reached the car, sat down and urged him to go.

    He caught sight of her face and muttered in their language: " What happened to you?"

She did not say anything just looked down at her sweaty palms.

   He continued putting his seatbelt on: " Just remember, God is here, even in this strange land and watching you, judging you..."

   " Just shut up and drive," she blurted out in English without thinking.

They found themselves just looking at each other for a second. Dad looked as if he didn't believe what she had just said. Saranda thought he would probably feel better if she apologized.

   " I am really sorry," she whispered.

Looking very angry he leaned forward and opened her door. Saranda felt Dad's hand on her shoulder pushing her out of the car: "Out!"

He drove off. Saranda stood there. The girls were gone. She looked expectantly around the empty carpark and imagined that he might come back and she could explain everything. But could she? After a while, she began to feel foolish for even emagining that and decided to move on. It took her a good two hours to walk back to Mrs Hysa's house.

PART 2: SARANDA'S LIFE IN WESTERN AUSTRALIA

2010-03-11T05:54:00.000-08:00

     THE CALL TO PRAYER /February 2000/

    The waves washed in and out, people slopped and slapped on the shore. The air smelt of salt and fish. Saranda could feel the sea breeze tickling her wet skin. She laid down onthe hot sand to warm up. Dardon was running towards her, carefully not to spill the water scooped in his hand. With a cunning smile he bent down and...

    "Ouch," the cold drips caught the light as they dribbled on Saranda's T-shirt. She set up and grimaced angrily: " You idiot..."

    Dardon quickly stood up with a laugh. " Do't be a chicken, it's only.." he stopped and waved to the approaching boys from his ESL Primary School.


    " Hey, Dardon, come and have a dip with us," they called and jumped in: " If you not scared ..."

   Dardon stared at them for a while. " Me scared?" with a big scream he jumped in next to them.

    " Dardon, please come back, you can't swim!" Saranda was running against the waves which were now higher, washing over the swimming boys more often. She could hardly find Dardon in big whirls of bubbling water.

    " Heelp!" Dardon was trying to stay on the surface hitting the water hard with his fists, but another big wave came and swamped him.

Oh, here you are. She was trying to get close to Dardon when his fist hit her on the forehead. The water grabbed her like a paper doll, whirling her out deep. She wanted to scream. The water filled her mouth, her eyes and her lungs.

     " Saranda, are you OK?" She could hear Dardon's voice full of anxiety.

    " She will be all right, only needs to get over this watery vomiting, that's what I reckon." A man with a cheerful face, in a lifesaving jacket was holding her. He was watching Saranda so closely that she could feel his unshaved face on her cheek. She breathed deeply with exhaustion and fell down again.

    " You need to learn to swim properly." The man was talking to someone. Saranda turned her head curiously to the left.

    Dardon's face was full of guilt: " I swam once in...in how to say in English ...small creek, back in Kosovo." He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

The lifesaver burst out laughing and looking straight at Dardon he added: " Young fellow, this is the ocean, you should ask your mum to enrol you in the swimming lessons."

   " What do you reckon, sweetheart?" he bent over Saranda, who still felt too weak and sick to sit up. " I have a boy about your age, he left home ...I don't know where he is...what he is up to." The lifesaver whispered and suddenly his kind face was full of sadness.

Saranda did not know what to say. Finally she burst out: " Thanks for saving us."

    " No worries, it is my job, I mean weekend job anyway, we have a young ' Lifesaving Club' here."
He put his arm around Dardon's shoulders: " You can join in, I mean once you learn to swim, we are looking for boys your age, you know what, bring your parents here tomorow to see the practice."

Dardon helped Saranda to stand up and the lifesaver turned to leave: " So tomorow guys, just ask for George."

OUR BRIEF EXISTENCE, HERE ON EARTH...

2010-02-20T04:40:00.000-08:00

     Next morning some strange men waited for Mum and Dad in the entrance hall. They had tired looks on their faces and held many forms.
Mum quickly ushered Dardon and Saranda outside to play with Victor. After they saw the men leaving in a
shiny car, Dad found them under their favourite Eucalyptus tree.

He hugged them all tightly and said: " My Mother always taught me that the most important thing is the peace
and security for ones' family."

    " Do you have some news from Albania about Grandmother?" Dardon asked eagerly.

Dad looked absent-mindedly at the golden sun around Saranda's neck. Then he picked up Victor from her lap saying: " She has found her peace, you can always remember her in the prayers she taught you."

     " Is she really dead?" Dardon asked. " And what about our cousins" I haven't found the beg shell for them yet."

Dad gently touched his head: " It's an opportunity for you to remember that our brief existence, here on earth is not of great importance."

Another few weeks past, the barracks were nearly empty except for few families waiting for their Permanent Residency applications to be considered. Saranda felt lonelier than ever before. The English Classes stopped. Most of the staff left. Sometimes she helped Lisa to clean up empty rooms or helped in the canteen to make herself busy. Now she hated the empty lounge room and preferrred to push Victor outside in a pram. Suddenly a small bus appeared from the corner and stopped at the front. she rushed to the porch to meet little dark woman approaching her.

     " Saranda, nice to see you, do you remember me?" the Albanian lady asked in Australian English.

Saranda looked blank.

    " Saranda, this is the kind lady, she gave me a welcome teddy bear for you, do you remember, ou our first day?" Mum apeared behind her back talking Albanian.

    " Mrs Hysa from Western Australian Albanian Club, I come here to welcome you." The lady smiled at her.

     " I am sorry, Mrs Hysa," Saranda felt embarrassed, she could remember the people welcoming them on the airport, coming to their barracks occasionally to cheer them up, but she had hardly talked to anyone.

    " And if God helps us, I soon welcome you in my home," Mrs Hysa continued, when she suddenly turned back. A little dark girl was hiding behind her back: " This is my daughter, Joyce, she doesn't speak Albanian very well, but she understands."

    " Hi, I am Saranda, " Saranda knelt down holding Victor in her arm.

Joyce handed her a funny banana in pyjamas: " It's for Victor, I don't need it any more. His name is B2."

Saranda hugged her hard. She was a real Australian, speaking in English without thinking. She had nothing to do with the war and her old home.

How Saranda wished to be the same.

WE ARE ALLOWED TO STAY

2010-01-18T23:50:00.000-08:00

   A few weeks past, Saranda was doing her everyday paraying, English studying and looking after Victor with absent-minded care. her thoughts were back in Kosovo. There was a talk that NATO had launched an air campaign and that the war would be soon over. Some families had already started to pack some clothes while other families were hesitant to go back at all. Every night the dining room was full of disagreements about what would happen next. There was a notice on a board in their language from the Australian Government saying that soon it would be safe to go back.
Finally, one warm pleasant day at the end of April, all the children were awarded an excursion to the beach for their effort in their English lessons. There was not one big enough shell to be found, in which one can hear the ocean.Saranda and Dardon sadly brushed the sand from their feet and followed everyone back to the barracks.

    Saranda's lettter came back, torn apart; Dardon's colourful shell culd be seen through the hole. The short notice stated: ' The house was bombed. No one at this address survived.'
Saranda felt numbed. She stopped praying, there was no point in it, whatever Mum said. There was no God's will what happened to her Granny and her cousins. Dardon asked questions, which no one could answer. Then he stopped thinking about it, it was too confusing for him. Mum seemed more content, busy with her regular prayers and looking after Victor. Dad started to sit alone, further from others, lost in his thougts. Finally he asked the barracks staff for help to look for his remaining family through the Red Cross agency. They were willing to help and Dad kept his mind busy with the filling of requested forms.
One night in June the busy talk in dining room was disturbed by an announcement from the barrack staff that serbia had finally agreed to sign an UN-approved peace agreement with NATO and the refugees were free to return home. In spite of the noisy celebration outside, the atmosphere in their rooms was quiet. Dad received the series of letters from the Red Cross Agency. It was stated in every one of them that at this stage, unfortunately, none of his relatives were accounted for. Mum could not understand what 'accounted for' meant. She was angry, after all people are not bricks to be counted and it was God's will for them to be found safe. She hated the Red Cross, the Australia...the formal letters...

     " It was not God's will, accoding to Islam to marry you, a Croatian non-believer in the first place, but my Mum always trusted you and she was right," Dad said and then looked at Mum sternly: " But now you have to trust me, I know what is good for my family, the only one I have left."

After this discussion Mum never complained again nor she asked what Dad was planning to do.

Next few weeks the barracks were buzzing with people's energy. Some families, especially those without children and those, whose relatives had survived, had already left leaving empty rooms an dunanswered questions. Others had complained that it was too early and unsafe to go back. One day Saranda met the girl with the ponytail near the entrance, the first one she had met after her arrival to the barracks.

She showed her airline ticket and smile shyly: " Good bye, I hope we can stay in touch."

Saranda hugged her, feeling tightness in her chest: " Me too, I can write Pristina, if you give me your address."

She shook her head sadly: " Pristina doesn't exist any more, my Father has told me," then she looked up with expactation in her eyes: " But maybe I can write you here, how long are you staing?"

    " I don't really know, but we are not allowed to stay here any longer. Lisa told my Dad yesterday, that everyone has to leave. Only people with the exemptions can stay here, but not for very long. Saranda looked at her not knowing what else to say. She hugged her one more time and quickly ran upstairs.

The group of the kids giggled as she passed them. Dardon was running opposite her screaming: " We are allowed to stay."

A picture of a colourful shell to send home

2010-01-13T23:56:00.000-08:00

Sarnda burst into her Mum's room. Mum was reading a lettter and two more were lying on her knee. Victor had already grabbed one and put it straight into his mouth.
Saranda, twisting the lock of her brown hair painfully, asked: " How is Granny, is she all right and the others?"
Suddenly she fetl guilty that she hadn't thought about her Granny for so long.

    " What?" Asked Mum, looking up with delight, a far-away look on her face. " Oh, yes, there is a letter for you and Dardon. She took gently the letter from the Victor's mouth. " There is God's will in everything."

Saranda fingered the envelope happily. The stamp was dated only one month ago. She walked out of the Mum's room. In the privacy of the empty living quarters she tore open the flap.

Dear Dardon and Saranda,

   We'l hope you are happy. Although you are so far away from us, we still talk about you. What's it like to swim in the ocean and sunbath in the hot sand? It must be fantastic! Don't forget to bring us some shells, you know, a big one so we can hear the ocean in it. Granny's told us that the war will sooon be over and you are coming home..and we will go home too. She is looking after us now because Mum has gone to find our Father and Uncles. No one knows where they are. We live in a Macedonian village, in an old house, which we have to share with a lot of people. There are plenty of kids to play with but not much space. Some of them you know from school. There is no school here so we have nothing to do. We are not allowed to leave the house, because there are plenty of Macedonians who don't like us. She still watches us and locks the doors and windows when it is dark. She prays a lot and repeats: " God has no mercy on one who has no mercy for others." What means 'mercy', Saranda? We bet you know, you knew everything at school.

    Nothing has happened yet, only some foreign soldiers passsed to go and help us fight in Kosovo. Outside it's freezing cold and muddy and Granny gets really mad when we get dirty, as we have no spare clothes. So we usually sit on the log and at the boarder to Kosovo or talk about food.

    When we complain that we are hungry or too cold, Granny only repeats: " God does not judge according to your bodies and appearances but He scans your hearts and looks into your deeds." But we think, God is not here with us, is he? Otherwise if he is so kind, he would bring us something to eat.

    We don't know if you will get this letter. We haven't got any message from you but someone told Granny that it was on TV that you were all right. We don't know how long we stay here, Granny's told us that we have to move somewhere else soon. Hope it will be warmer there and more food. Maybe we'll go to Albania.

Love from all your cousins. Petrushka is writing.

Saranda stared at the letter for a long time. THen she replaced it in it's envelope, smoothed it thoughtfully and put it carefully away in her shelf next to the picture of Granny and her Australian Welcome Teddy Bear.
She took the pen and tore one spare page from her schoolbook. As soon as she wrote first word on the paper her thoughts an dfeeling of last year rushed out to fill the whole page: Dear cousins, we miss you so much. Although I am not sure if this letter can catch you in Macedonia, I want you to know that we haven't forgotten you and home. We wish you and Granny were here...we are not allowed to go out but I see ocean from my window and I have new brother and...

Dardon entered the living quarters quietly and watched her writing for a minute. He took the letter from her shelf and kept reading it, over and over for some time. When she finished writing, he handed her a picture of a colourful shell without any words.

OUR WAR IS OVER. /March 1999 - June 1999/

2010-01-05T06:47:00.000-08:00

     Saranda felt awful. She lowered herself into the beanbag in the empty communal room and absent-mindedly watched 'Neighbours'. She always came here at this time when other kids were engaged in sports and craft activities. She couldn't concentrate on anything except her English classes. She really didn't like studying English but Dad was strict and checked all her progress.

She needed time to think alone.

    One year had past and they were still waiting for something to happen. They had joined others to pray five times a day on Mum's request and she and dardon entered their first fast in the month of ramadan in December 1999 of thier own free will, so they could be together with those who were hungry at home.

She supposed she was happy because she had another brother, who was now four months old.

Mum had cheered up and their room was now full of refugee women fussing around the baby. Dad celebrated that he had an Australian son who he had named Victor in the hope that one day soon there would be a victory in Kosovo and Kosovo will win it's independence.

He studied every day to improve his English and spent the rest of his time discussing with the other refugee men the situation in Kosovo.

In spite of her few lucky escapes from the barracks to visit her Mum and Victor at the hospital in Fremantle, there were only a few occasions where they had been allowed to go out. Last week some of the refugee's women got the permission to go shopping. Saranda persuade Lisa to take her with them.

What a trip that had been! It was like taking a fresh breath after being in a dark room.

She repated to herself the sentences from her English schoolbook: " For most West Australians, Fremantle is a city to which they can share and relate. Its multicultural population, vivid history and colourful architecture has made it a tourist heaven," while she followed Lisa through the bustling streets. There were never ending questions on her return from the kids and Dardon, who had not been so lucky to go out: " Were you really outside and did you go to Time Zone it must be really weird there ? Could you take me next time, could you?
She smiled at the thought of that and looked back at the TV screen.

Dardon came in and disturbed her thinking like always. He looked sweaty and stank a little.
    " Whew!" He said. "It's still hot." Then he added: " We have won 3:6, that is one advantage of this place, that is always enough boys to play Soccer with."

     " So, why don't you play and leave me alone." She hissed from her spot.

    " If you are so grumpy, I won't tell you about the letters Mum got from home..."

    " Which letters ?" Saranda jumped from her seat but her brother was gone. The door shut behind him with a big bang and she was alone. Again.

THINGS WILL SORT THEMSELVES OUT.

2009-12-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-30T04:12:00.000-08:00

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 ?

2009-11-22T06:36:00.000-08:00

" 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

2009-11-13T05:55:00.000-08:00

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...'

2009-10-31T05:09:00.000-07:00

" 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

2009-10-17T21:05:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-10-12T01:23:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-10-10T06:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-02T06:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-29T07:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-21T07:53:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-21T06:52:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-15T02:50:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-07T17:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-07T08:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-05T22:27:00.000-07:00

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.