Not everyone likes taking the family photo. There’s usually one or more. However, I’ve learned a great deal with photos they capture moments and moods of many faces. Whether good or bad. Indifferent or sad. We’d come gathering all our emotions on the stage. It may not have been the best of times, yet we’ll remember this one. In love, when some of us are so very young. Some were tired and ready for the day to be done. Some not so sure what to be, even the in-betweens are okay.
It’s a cold October day the temperatures finally cascade into the mid-forties. At 7:25 am in my view the brown leaves scatter along the pavement and the cold wind has found a gentle resting place on our faces. Maybe my place of residence spills deeply in absence of satisfaction. The cumbering roads and missing lights. Street corners and bodegas are quiet for now.
Yet there is a taste for hope. It would be soft and wise to feel hope once more. Surely Hope is salt in the wounds, where we the wicked have crippled ourselves. Surely Hope would bleed the towers of darkness. Surely hope to shelter the pain in our lives that fall like flesh. And hope sharp as a knife. Cooling safe passage, surely hope will strengthen us.
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.