Today, I cried. Most of the day I had been crying. Sometimes I tried to hold myself. I could not. The reason was not the ongoing effect of the death of Abkhazia's hero and symbol of independence...
The reason was not the jobs, reports and proposals I got to finish...
The reason was not the village heads that promised to call, or meet but didn't to give me the questionnaires they were supposed to fill in...
The reason was not the death of an elderly woman I knew, who had lost her son just a few weeks back...
It was a book. It was a memoir of an Abkhaz war veteran from Turkey, Bekir Ashba- I am cold (Üşüyorum)... There are so many thing to tell about it. But I would not like to destroy the feeling of it. Oh yes, it creates such a feeling that I could not leave it aside except for the minutes I looked for handkerchiefs and except for the moment I could not see anything because of my wet eyes. Don't think of this book as a book that agitates, that tries to make you cry. It is just the pure feelings and memories of a man- no I am sorry-- of a boy, who has lived SELF-REALIZATION of his Abkhaz identity, and Caucasian origins; who has become a pro-return Cherkess; who has lived the reality of WAR, death of friends; conflicts with father, family, elderly and friends; the breaking of his heart when he could not be in both with his family and with his country at once...
I could finish reading this book today. But I had to stop. To breath in the realities of the time... I stopped reading. Because I know what will come next, just with the earned victory, more loss, more pain...
Today I cried. Not for something that happened. Not for something that can happen. I cried for today I am living here in Abkhazia, free, comfortable, with hope and expectations, thanks to people like those in that memoir, who put their hearts on independence and freedom of their homeland. Yes, I cried. and I am not shamed of it.
