My father was a quiet man, smiled only with his eyes under his bushy eyebrows. He was short but walked very tall, head up shoulders straight. He wore a ‘sapka’ most of his life. I remember him standing in front of a broken little mirror combing his hair and then putting it back on. He was skinny, never saw him with an extra gram of fat. He was a very serious man. We would watch what we said and how we said it. He smoked like a chimney. Our little house was like under the smoke most of the year, we only didn’t have a button to call for the fire brigade. Once I criticised him for his smoking habit, worrying about his health and he got offended. Smoking was part of him, part of the culture. How dare I wanted a separation!

He was a generous man, he would share his last penny with others in need. He would lend money to others and then would be embarrassed to ask for it to be returned. He was naive and uneducated. He was away most of the year due to what he did and one time we didn’t hear from him for six months. Some villagers considered him dead and offered help to my mother. We didn’t have phones back then and he was away on some very mountainous country. And then he showed up. I watched him walking home on the horizon getting closer and closer. The whole world would light up in his silhouette. My father loved us, we felt we were being adored in his presence. My father gave me a man’s strength and put his faith in me. My father was only 48 when he passed. I still remember the day I received the call. The earth had a big, dark hole in, that I thought would never recover. I did. I moved on. I travelled. I lived. I had two children of my own and last July I even forgot it was his anniversary. It pained me but I consolidated in my children…We humans have some indescribable strength in us, shows itself where it’s needed…