"Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo. Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem quia voluptas sit aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt. Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur? Quis autem vel eum iure reprehenderit qui in ea voluptate velit esse quam nihil molestiae consequatur, vel illum qui dolorem eum fugiat quo voluptas nulla pariatur?"
Many of you have been asking these last few days if I could upload all the refugee stories to a single place. I’ve done that here: http://bit.ly/1MCBR8k
(3/3) “I did all I could to find out information about my father, but it seemed that everyone who knew him had been killed. I traveled to Poland and searched records. We hired a researcher. We took out an ad in the paper, asking if anyone had information about Klaudiusz Jamiolkowski or Stanislaw Jamiolwski. But we heard nothing. The closest we came was discovering a family in my father’s village that shared his family crest. Their bloodlines crossed over one hundred years ago, but they had no direct knowledge of my father. I ended up becoming great friends with this family. Then one day, just a few years ago, I got a phone call from that family: ‘Tadzio!’ they told me. ‘The commander of the Polish Home Army just gave an oral history. And he mentioned your father by name!’ I went to Poland and found this commander. He was over ninety years old. He told me that he remembered my father well, because he’d lied about his age to become the youngest soldier in the Polish Home Army. And he confirmed every one of the stories that my father had told me.”
“I lived in Cobble Hill for 20 years. I had a rent-stabilized apartment. But I got tired of the city. I got tired of the crowds, and the people bumping into you, and nobody saying ‘Excuse me.’ So I had the idea to move to Atlanta and try to open a café. My friends said: ‘Don’t do it. You’ll regret losing the apartment.’ But I was feeling adventurous. I was tired of New York. I knew I made a mistake the first day I was there. I didn’t have a car. I had to walk a mile to Trader Joe’s. There were no cabs anywhere. No fucking cabs. What the fuck? And the hills! So many hills! And the movie I wanted to see was two counties away. Two counties! I don’t even want to talk about laundry day. I missed being able to get everything I needed on my block. I missed the sidewalks, and the tall buildings, and the half-priced Broadway tickets, and the restaurants. I can take the crowds now. I can handle it. But I lost my apartment! I don’t know where to live. An apartment that size is going to cost me twice as much now. I can only afford a room. I should have listened to my friends. Oh man, I messed up.”
“He just got grumpy at Macy’s so we had to leave.” “There’s way too many types of pajamas.”
Asi que aprendi que no era solo cuestion de espacio ni de tiempo, pero segui buscando a marisa.
Veanlo al menos una vez...
