In search of memory

by Katsiaryna Syrayezhkina (Belarus)

I didn't expect to find Belarus

A polish ’’enclave’’ at the outskirts of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, resettled community of malorosy in-between Volga and Don, cosmopolitan Baku in the early 20th century, encircled Berlin during the WWII, war-hungry years in Tashkent, slave labour times in Nazi Germany, prison camp life in far northern Russia .. Born to live, to suffer and to die. The alchemy of life. - Katia, you need to find them! Their children must be still living in Poland. My granddad’s sister’s words had been resonating in my head for years. Why me? How can it be possible to reconnect after so many years? I don’t even speak Polish.. And my mind ultimately brought me back to my 4-year old self playing with the trellis standing mirror (my personal wonderland) in my granddad’s home: everything seemed to be possible, as I was able to get anywhere from that room. Fake it ‘till you make it! This is the neat trick I was looking for. Then everything started to fall into place: an accidentally encountered article on DNA testing, a friend working in the local archives.. Shortly after those ‘’signs’’ I found myself poring over the clergymen’s creepy handwriting week after week. Ever made a joke of doctors’ hand-written notes? Oh, you have no clue.. ‘’Piotr, son of Stefan and Sofia..’’. ‘’Nawel’’ – Euh, what a strange name.. Oh, no-no, ‘’Pawel’’. Great grandfather (!) Pawel, ‘’..son of Stefan and Sofia..’’. But what is the twins’ grandad’s name?.. God damn old Russian.. Who would have thought that I would get to know 12 generations of this branch of my family tree 6 years later. Would I have continued struggling with archival documents, if I didn’t come across this tiny (and oh-so-valuable!) piece of history on the very first day of my research? More finds were coming my way, more questions were popping up in my mind: how they lived? how they met? for what they hoped?.. Nothing compares to watching the roots growing deeper and deeper: additional details, getting lost, new finds, linking information from different sources, feeling super proud of my inner detective.. and getting lost again. Leaving space for the unknown. Thousands of hours of thorough online and offline archival research and analysis, hundreds of official requests for information, 20+ archives in 6 different countries. So many people I’m thankful to. The past does not die, it always lives in our genes. The family history research took me deep into my forebears’ world - a journey through time to connect with hundreds of people living over the last two centuries, so I could encounter and embrace my own fears, expectations and beliefs, and no longer play the game of victim. We never know where a single conversation along with genuine curiosity and silent support of generations of people behind can lead us. 80+ direct ancestors in my family tree, restored biographies of all the four great grandfathers, dozens of pictures (telling small and big stories helping to understand the present) received from distant relatives.. a clear feeling of missing someone I didn’t have the chance to know. And the end of all my exploring was to arrive where I started (‘’Why me?’’) to know my(true)self for the first time, a new, grounded me. The pure joy of being myself, as if the thing I've been chasing my whole life has been a part of me all along.