We were in the same place but at different times.
Dedicated to the man who will never read it.
When I was 5 my grandfather told me the stories of his youth. By the beginning of World War II, he was only 19. Definitely, I did not understand what war was and it's hard for me to imagine it even now, but I always looked forward to new stories that seemed to me full of adventure. Grandfather was taken from Lithuania to Nazi Germany when he was over 20 years old. His brother and sister were with him, but at the end of the war, only two out of three children returned home.
The stories lasted for hours. They were attended only by good people of various nationalities and from different parts of the world who witnessed the brutal ideologies of that time. Some died on the battlefield for the sake of someone else's glory, others died from hard work and exhaustion, but among all this – people lived, loved and believed. Doesn’t resemble anything?
I learned the most important lesson in my life - f*ck the ideology of people who ascribe the violence of one person to the whole nation or group of people who are held hostage by the times.
Today we are alive to love and care.
We are free to rejoice and give joy to other people.
It doesn't matter what nationality we are.
No matter what colour our skin is.
It doesn't matter what orientation we are.
It's important that we are.
