Saturday, October 17, 2009

I'M EVER-CHANGING YET THE SAME








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

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


Who is Saranda?

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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