I’ve never really talked to my parents about how I feel, about how complicated my childhood felt. They’ve done so much for us, and I don’t think they ever realized the impact their struggles had on me as a kid. My parents came from Albania and started a new life in Greece about 25 years ago, leaving behind a country that gave them no choices and no real chance for a future. Life in Albania was harsh, especially under a regime that controlled everything. You couldn’t keep anything for yourself; everything belonged to the government, and there was always the fear of punishment if you didn’t follow their rules.
My dad, after finishing his military service, saw no future left in Albania. It was a poor, broken country. So, despite the risks, he decided he had to leave. In 1997, he tried to cross into Greece, hoping for a better life. It took him many attempts, and it was incredibly dangerous. No country wanted us back then; even Greece turned us away. Every time he tried to cross, he had to walk for days through the mountains, hiding from border guards who treated people like us as criminals. If they caught you, you’d be beaten, sent back, and told not to try again. But he kept going. He knew it was the only way out.
Finally, after several attempts and brutal setbacks, he succeeded. He found a way to stay in Greece legally, at least temporarily, and returned to Albania to get us. I was very young, maybe two or three, but I remember that day. I remember crying a lot because we had to leave my grandmother, who I loved deeply. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I still remember sitting in the back seat of the taxi, watching her wave goodbye through the window, unsure if I’d ever see her again. I don’t remember much else from that day, but I remember feeling heartbroken.
Those first years in Greece were incredibly hard. My parents worked constantly, and my brother and I were too young to be left alone, so they had to take us with them wherever they went. My dad spent long days outside gathering olives from trees, while my mom lit fires to keep us warm through those cold days. My brother and I would sit outside waiting for them, sometimes for 10 hours or more, freezing, hungry, and just wanting to go home. When they finally came home, they were exhausted and stressed. I remember them fighting at night, probably out of frustration and fatigue, barely sleeping because they had to work so hard just to make ends meet.
The summers were a bit of a relief. We’d spend time at the beach, which was close to where we lived, and those days became my escape. I loved everything about the beach—the sound of the waves, the warm sand, the smell of the sea. Those were some of the happiest moments of my childhood. But even there, life wasn’t without its dangers. One summer, I was playing in the water when two older boys, gypsy boys, came up to me. They were strong swimmers, older and braver than I was, and they thought it would be fun to push me under the water. I panicked. I was still learning to swim, and I couldn’t fight back. I remember swallowing so much water and thinking I wouldn’t make it. I thought I was going to drown, but my dad was there and pulled me out just in time. That experience left a mark on me. For years, I was afraid to go back into the water. Even now, I sometimes feel a flicker of that fear when I’m swimming.
Life in Greece continued to be challenging, but eventually, we settled in a small village where we lived for about three years. It felt like a step up. We had a nice house, and for the first time, we even got a TV. It might not seem like much, but to us, it felt like we were finally making progress, like life was starting to get better. But then, just when things seemed stable, tragedy struck again. One day, my mom left a candle burning, and somehow it caught her clothes on fire. She was in the room with my brother, and I remember watching them struggle as she tried to put the flames out. It was terrifying. I was so young, but that moment scarred me deeply. I became extremely cautious around fire after that.
The incident with the candle had consequences. The owner of the house found out and told us we had to leave, forcing us to move again. We packed up our lives and went to yet another village to start over, hoping that this time we could finally find some stability. But stability was never part of our lives. We kept moving, adapting, starting over in each new place, never feeling settled.
Looking back, I realize now how much my parents sacrificed to give us a chance, even when the odds were against them. They endured so much hardship, and they did it all for my brother and me. They never talked about the pain they went through, and I never told them how much I appreciated their efforts. I wish I could tell them now. My life has been anything but stable, but I am grateful for the resilience and strength they passed on to me.
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