Don't go back!

by Mario Loçka (Czech Republic)

I didn't expect to find Albania

I was born in the middle of violent April showers. “The son of thunder” my grandmother called me. Sky was screaming when my mother’s waters broke. But the non-welcoming nature of the environment was not the only inconvenience of my arrival. A couple hours earlier, an old lady of my father’s side of the family had passed away. In that small village, traditions were sacred and death needed to be respected and mourned. Everyone in the neighborhood had gone to pay the final dues to this respected lady from our family. Rain started when the entourage of death was climbing the graveyard hill while men were carrying the coffin on their shoulders. Back at home, my mother was alone with an old aunt to take care of her. The first lighting struck, and she screamed. The delivery was painful, but successful. When the rest of the family came back home, they were all soaked and covered in mud from the struggle of the difficult burial. My presence there lit the village up, as death was defeated. My mother told me she conducted the thunders with her screams…. I have always been uncomfortable listening this story growing up. It gave me some pressure I didn’t want. It showed the importance of giving birth to a baby boy in patriarchal societies. That is all it takes: being a boy. Your family’s legacy is safe to live another generation. But my family didn’t expect something important: I wasn’t a typical boy who aimed a life of marrying a girl and making babies. In fact, I had never shown interest of being near a girl. This was obvious during my teenage years, and because of that they labeled me as a disgrace. After the intense violence, bullying and attempts to finding a cure for my condition, I escaped from my family. I created a different life elsewhere and for a while I was happy… But a couple of years later, when the consequences of previous traumas led me to an existential crisis, I wanted to retrieve the damaged puzzle piece I had disconnected. I wanted to improve a part of me that was unfairly ruined. My insecurities made me think I broke many hearts with my way of being, and that build an irrational guilt in me. I decided to go back… It took a three days trip to reach my old village. The bus driver stopped me in the only station of the village that there was. I found myself where I had left and with a scary thought of: what if I can never leave again?! I would finally see my family, not knowing if I still would be welcomed. On the other side was the graveyard hill. After a quick thinking I decided to go to the hill first, it was just a ten minutes climb, and maybe I could see my house from there first. I went on top, all sweaty with a heavy breath. The graves were still there. As a child I always used to play nearby, but I was scared to go to see the actual graves. I walked next to them making sure I wouldn’t step any of the tombstones. There were just small piles of soil with a marble headstone craved with someone’s name and their date of birth and death. At the end, there was a grey tombstone that drew my attention. It was on the right side of the hill pointed at the direction of my house. I went by it with a terrifying feeling and my heart was beating on my throat. In large letters there was a female name craved that I didn’t knew. Date of death: 14th of April 1995. That was my birthday! “It’s that lady”, I thought. And immediately out of nowhere clouds turned gray and a dry thunder screamed painfully. I got a terrifying chill in my spine. It took a quick moment and all went back to normal. I realized that this was the sign that I needed. “I am ok”, I said. And I left the village to never turn back there again.