Just Believe in Yourself

By Людьмила Крискович

This book is dedicated to you. It’s no accident that you are holding this book.
Before you were born, God planned this moment in your life. This is how important you are!
This book describes the true life of a woman looking for happiness with an open mind. This person passes all possible tests in her life, but happiness has not met her on life’s journey.
Then there are the questions: what does it mean, this elusive happiness, True Life, Love, Hatred, Resentment, and Forgiveness? They are all our feelings, and man can understand them only through spirituality.
She is on the spiritual path, but with none of the happiness she seeks so desperately. Then there are the questions:why is there a division of the Road of Life and the Spiritual Path, if a man without a soul does not exist? Only spiritual change and the merging of two roads into one path can lead to human happiness.
The book provides life examples and practical answers to many spiritual questions of life. The reader is provided with the method itself, in practice, to find his own way home; the road to an understanding of his soul; to know why his soul came into this world; to learn the truth about who he actually is and what prevents all of us from being healthy and happy; and how it can be gained.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Людьмила Крискович
• Release date: Jul 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476408712

Book preview

Ludimila Kriskovich

Just Believe in Yourself

Smashwords Edition

* * *

Copyright © 2012 by Ludimila Kriskovic

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

This book is dedicated to you. It’s no accident that you are holding this book.

Before you were born, God planned this moment in your life. This is how important you are!

This book describes the true life of a woman looking for happiness with an open mind. This person passes all possible tests in her life, but happiness has not met her on life’s journey.

Then there are the questions: what does it mean, this elusive happiness, True Life, Love, Hatred, Resentment, and Forgiveness? They are all our feelings, and man can understand them only through spirituality.

She is on the spiritual path, but with none of the happiness she seeks so desperately. Then there are the questions:why is there a division of the Road of Life and the Spiritual Path, if a man without a soul does not exist? Only spiritual change and the merging of two roads into one path can lead to human happiness.

The book provides life examples and practical answers to many spiritual questions of life. The reader is provided with the method itself, in practice, to find his own way home; the road to an understanding of his soul; to know why his soul came into this world; to learn the truth about who he actually is and what prevents all of us from being healthy and happy; and how it can be gained.

CONTENTS

Introduction

CHAPTER 1 Physical life

The beginning of my life on earth

I was born in the U.S.S.R.

My socialist childhood

First life experiences

School

Music school

The first desire to know

Sport

The wheel of life set in motion

My parents

Transitional period

A visa to enter adult life has been obtained

Student

Wife

Work

Chernobyl

Divorce

My daughter and I

New job

In search of a prince

Second husband

My second child

Business

Perestroika

Health problems

My brother

My oldest daughter

The School of Universal Energy

The last warning

Preparation for immigration to Canada

English

Closing my business

Departure is delayed

Goodbye, Motherland!

Finally, I’m home!

Life from scratch

New life experiences

My teenage daughter

Goodbye, my dearest little mommy

Long-awaited work

First Canadian boyfriend

Second Canadian boyfriend

Third Canadian boyfriend

Do I even need a boyfriend?

Learning to live anew

People always try to prove what is already obvious… or the last drop

The beginning of a new life

My children

I’m happy

CHAPTER 2 The Spiritual Path

The Beginning of a Soul’s Life on Earth

The influence of society on the minds and actions of people

The influence of family on the feelings and actions of people

Parents

Happiness and Suffering

Earthquakes, disasters, and catastrophes

What does this or that situation teach us?

What is spirituality?

What is love?

Wisdom and enlightenment

The truth

Consciousness / Conscience

We can believe or not believe in God, but we remember him

Fortune and happiness

Is it possible to bypass or avoid destiny?

Time to forgive and not be offended

Freedom of choice

Where to find help?

What to do?

CHAPTER 3

The merger of the road of life and spiritual path, or

How to act, or Change themselves, rather than waiting that someone will do it for us

Introduction

Just believe in yourself

Everything has its own beginning and its own ending, which is in itself the beginning…

When I first read this story, I cried from the beauty of it, the love, the feeling of truth. And each time I read this tale, tears fill my eyes, and I feel that inner love that connects me to God’s Source. I have given it to different people to read and its reception has been widely varied. Please try to read it with your soul, not with your mind. Neale Donald Walsch wrote this story, A Little Soul and God.

Once upon a time…

Once a Little Soul said to God:

"I know who I am!"

And God replied:

"That’s great! So who are you?"

The Little Soul exclaimed:

"I am Light!"

God smiled wholeheartedly and affirmed:

"That’s true! You are Light."

But very soon, just knowing who you were became not enough. And so the Little Soul went back to God and said:

"Hello, God! I would like to feel how it is to be Light."

God replied:

"All right. So, you are Light, but you cannot see yourself when you are in Light, so we will place you into darkness."

He continued:

"When you are surrounded by darkness, don’t wave your fists around, don’t yell, and don’t curse darkness. Be the Light in the darkness, and remain calm. Let your Light so shine that everyone will know how special you are!"

The Little Soul happily replied:

"Thank you. I must experience what it’s like to be Light!"

God asked:

"What part of light would you like to be?"

The Little Soul didn’t understand.

God explained:

"Light consists of many parts. Light can be kind, gentle, creative, patient, helping, forgiving, friendly, and attentive. At any moment, as you desire, you can be any of these parts of Light or all of them at once. This is what it means to be Light."

And so, the Little Soul, trembling with excitement, pronounced:

"I would like to be the part of Light that is called ‘forgiveness’".

"All right, said God, and added: But there is no one here to forgive."

The Little Soul couldn’t believe it:

"Nobody?"

God explained:

"Everything that I created is perfect. You could not find even one soul, out of all that I have created, that is less perfect than you are. Look around!"

God asked:

"So then who is there to forgive?"

The Little Soul sadly said:

"I wanted to experience what it’s like to forgive. I wanted to know that part of light, to know what it feels like."

And right after these words, another sympathetic Soul stepped forward and said:

"Don’t worry, Little Soul. I will help you. I can come into your next life and do something so that you can forgive."

The Little Soul asked:

"Why? Why are you going to do that?"

The Sympathetic Soul answered:

"It’s very simple. I will do it because I love you."

It seemed that this response surprised the Little Soul.

"Don’t be surprised, said the Sympathetic Soul, You did the same for me. You’ve just forgotten it!"

And so the Sympathetic Soul explained:

"I will come into your next life and will create bad things for you in that life. I will do something truly horrible, so that you have the chance to forgive.

The Little Soul asked, a bit nervously:

"But what are you going to do that is so truly horrible?"

"Oh, said the Sympathetic Soul, winking, We’ll come up with something."

The Sympathetic Soul continued:

"But you have to know something."

The Little Soul asked:

"What is that?"

"I will have to slow my vibrations and become very evil in order to do these bad things. I will have to pretend to be someone completely unlike myself. And in return, I ask only one favor," said the Sympathetic Soul.

The Little Soul said, with tears in her eyes:

"Anything! Anything at all! What can I do for you? You, who would do this for me, like an angel!"

God said:

"Of course, this Sympathetic Soul is an angel. I send you nothing except angels."

The Sympathetic Soul continued:

"At the moment I hit the hardest, when I break your heart, at that very moment when I do to you the very worst things you can imagine, at that exact moment…"

"What? interrupted the Little Soul, What…?"

The voice of the Sympathetic Soul became much quieter, and she said:

"Remember who I really am."

"Oh, I will remember! I swear! I will remember you exactly as I see you right now!" cried the Little Soul.

The Sympathetic Soul continued:

"All right. If you forget who I really am, then probably I won’t be able to remember who I really am for much longer, probably you too will forget who you really are, and we will both be lost. In that case, we will need another Soul to come to us and remind us both of who we really are."

"No. I won’t forget! promised the Little Soul again. I will remember you and will be grateful to you for this gift, the possibility to experience for myself Who I Am."

And so the agreement was made. The Little Soul was incarnated into a new life, with the desire to be the Light, the very special Light, called Forgiveness.

Each time a new Soul appeared in her life, bringing her joy or sadness, and especially when it was sadness, the Little Soul thought of what God had said to her:

"Always remember, God smiled when he said this, I send you no one but angels."

The Beginning…

I was waiting for the moment when I would be ready to write this book, when my inner world would complete the necessary tasks that would get me to the starting point. Now, I feel that the time has come. Too many people have become lost in their lives and have forgotten who they really are. I ask for all the powers of the Universe to help me remind readers of who they truly are.

Perhaps my own life experience will assure someone that happiness is possible in this world – you just have to want to find it and to believe in yourself. That is why the title of this book came easily to me: Just Believe in Yourself.

I have divided my story into three chapters: physical life, spiritual life, and the unity of the two lives. I deeply believe, and my life has shown, that only the unity of these two paths can allow a person to experience fully the happiness and joy of his life.

There is only one language – the language of the Heart. There is only one religion – Love.

CHAPTER 1

Physical life

The beginning of my life on earth

I was born ten years after the end of the Second World War in the capital of the Republic of Belarus, Minsk, one of the republics of the former U.S.S.R. I was born at a time when people had only just begun to return to a normal life after many long years of war, suffering, deprivation, and losing loved ones. Nobody talked about it, but feelings of revival were in the air. According to my very first sensations, it was a feeling of some growing happiness, like the anticipation of a miracle and gratitude for every day of life.

I don’t remember any rainy days in my childhood; they have been erased from my memory. Memory holds only sunny, summery, warm days.

My first memories from my childhood are of my yard. In the part of the city where we lived, two-storey houses were constructed for four, six, or twelve families, but there was no specifically planned-out courtyard. These houses stood around a sports field, and therefore, were close to each other. Dirt paths led to the houses, and between them remained some unused land. My family and our neighbors used this public land for gardening. At the time, each family had a small garden, growing berries, various vegetables, and fruit trees. This garden not only provided some food for the families, but it was also a good opportunity to work with the land for those people who were used to labor.

Each family in our building had a separate entrance, which created a sense of independence. My brother, who was older than me by five years, and I had full freedom of choice about where to go and what to do, like most children at the time. Nobody even thought to worry about something happening to us. This freedom probably played a role in the fact that my memories of this time are only happy and bright.

To me, my courtyard seemed a huge place for unlimited investigations and learning new things. I’d like to define my yard. It is EVERYTHING around our house. It is EVERYWHERE that it is possible to go. It is EVERYTHING that you can touch, break, or build. It is EVERYTHING that no one can restrict. At the time, there was not much variety in kids’ toys. But they were all loved and kept for a long time. I didn’t have any toys for playing in my courtyard. What for? It was so interesting there already.

Here is a meadow yellow with dandelions. They warm the eye like little suns. You can weave them into a crown and imagine yourself as a fairy-tale queen in a magic castle. You can make a magical soup from them that can heal any scratch. Here is a wooden fence, dividing who knows what, but one that you can’t climb so easily; the same fence, from which you can’t so easily climb down without tearing your clothes or bruising your legs. You must be creative. In those times, it was difficult to buy anything. All industries were just beginning to be restored, and the family budget didn’t have much money. None of that mattered, as my mom would say: Most importantly, there is no war. Or perhaps just wisdom showed itself: If you can’t change the situation, change your attitude towards it.

I don’t remember my parents fighting against the situation by asking endless questions: why is it so bad, I’m sick and tired of this, and when will this be over… This is where the miracle happens: when a person accepts calmly any given situation the way that it is and does not try to waste his energy on useless attempts to change this situation, then the person will be shown the best way to live in this situation. The answer comes naturally.

It was difficult to buy not only ready-made clothes, but even fabric for making them. But my father was a history teacher at the technical college, and he would bring home old, written-off red communist flags. My mother washed them, boiled them, separated the fabric from the backing, and sewed underwear and dresses for me out of it. Later on, this affected my oldest daughter’s clothing selection: for many years, I dressed her only in red.

I was around five years old. It was a bright, warm, summery, sunny day. I was happy, going out for a walk in my new red dress. This time I decided to explore a new territory and started walking in a new direction. Near some building, I happily discovered a huge rain puddle, and I started testing the depth of this fantastic, glittering puddle that reflected the light of the sun. But then, my leg sank into an unseen hole, and I fell completely into the puddle. My new dress! There was no end to my distress. I was sitting in the puddle and sobbing. Two kind young ladies (probably students) came over to me and started talking to me. Crying, I told them about the tragedy with my new dress. They took me by both hands and led me to their dorms. Even now, I remember that feeling of comfort and the sense of adventure I was experiencing for the first time. I sat on the bed naked, eating something, and watching my clothes being washed and then dried with a big heavy iron. What a happy moment! I was standing, like a new shiny coin, my face washed and my hair combed, in a newly washed and ironed dress. A little later, they took me home, and I never saw them again. I don’t remember their faces or their names, but I still feel the warmth of their hearts.

How often in our lives do we feel the need to help others, but unable to find a logical explanation or spare time, we find only excuses for not doing simple, kind things. And as a result, we don’t warm our own or anyone else’s hearts, we don’t give joy to ourselves, nor to others, and we don’t let our feelings express themselves.

I was born in the U.S.S.R.

At the time of my childhood, my country was building socialism and planning to start building the most enlightened communist community on earth. Everyone had roughly the same income. There was no point in comparing who had the best furniture, the best clothing or car. Everyone was equal. It was not discussed. Everyone accepted this as an undeniable fact. But I’m sure that it was only on the surface. After so many years of Stalin’s brutality, people had a deep-seated fear, accumulated from numerous dramas that had happened to them or to their loved ones. And they tried not to stand out from the crowd. To be like everyone else was a forced way of life.

My mother sometimes recalled her university years. A girl in her class wrote incredible poetry. Her poems were rather straightforward and honest. One night, a black windowless pick-up truck pulled up to their dorms, several people burst into the room where she was sleeping, and took her away somewhere. Where did they take her? Nobody saw her again or knew what happened to her after that. This was the Stalinist method. People who didn’t fit the regime simply disappeared without trial or investigation. Although I think these methods are used even today, they’re just more subtle and the actions not so obvious. This fear hovered around quite long during my childhood. I didn’t witness these times but I felt the fear when my mother told me stories like that.

That was the fear of the generation that went through this… and this fear was passed on to the next generation.

I remember only good things from my childhood, did my memory not keep the bad or did nothing bad ever happen?

I remember a summer evening. Many neighbors from the nearby houses had come out into the courtyard after work and dinner. The adults were sitting on the benches and discussing the latest (and the future) news. The kids played team games… hopscotch, jumping ropes, hide-and-seek. Someone hides, someone finds, someone makes others laugh, someone frightens, someone catches, and someone throws. There was something for everyone. Amazing memories! Kids found game partners for themselves – whether by age, gender, or as they wished. The adults had nothing to do with it – it was none of their business. I remember running around until I was dizzy, getting so hungry I could faint. And the most popular sandwich was a piece of rye bread sprinkled with sugar. Delicious! We always had a healthy group appetite. Even if you weren’t hungry, seeing the other kids eat with such relish made you drool. It was normal to share food with the other kids. It seemed like someone else’s bread smelled better, tasted better, and the sugar was sweeter. Or maybe that wasn’t the reason.

At that time, you couldn’t buy as much bread as you wanted. Families were given ration cards. This was a certain amount of groceries a family was allowed to buy each month. This wasn’t so bad, but you couldn’t always find bread in the stores. And when it did appear on the shelves, the whole family lined up to buy one loaf of bread per person in the family. The more family members were in the line-up, the more loaves they could buy. This was a highly unpleasant time for me. My father made me stand in these line-ups, taking me away from, in my opinion, much more important activities.

Every winter in almost every neighborhood, people made ice-skating areas by pouring water on the ground. In the middle of the ice rink, they would put a big real Christmas tree with paper decorations and twinkly lights. In the evenings, there was music, and whole families would come with their skates and pass the evening after work skating in circles around the tree.

My brother’s and my first skates resembled metal sleds, about twice as big as our feet and we attached them to our shoes. This was an unforgettable time for me. Imagine, a frosty evening, a huge Christmas tree with decorative lights, a waltz melody playing, the sound of skates gliding across the ice, people holding hands, moving around the tree to the tempo of the music. No rush, pure enjoyment, many pink cheeks from the cold. Why did people forget about these kinds of pastimes?

Our apartment had a separate entrance on the first floor. In front of the entrance was a square concrete porch with some steps. Every year my mother planted flowers around the porch. She loved dahlias, but didn’t neglect other types of flowers either. The flowers were always colorful, simple, and created a happy atmosphere. We made bouquets out of them when we went to visit others, for birthdays, or to bring for our teachers on the first day of school. Everyone who had the smallest bit of land planted flowers. I loved the colors, the smells, and the variety of flowers along my path on the way to school. Each time the flowers were different: sometimes budding, sometimes wilted and old, sometimes flowering, and sometimes sick. Just like people… birth, death, different ages, different stages, a constant process of change. Flowers were everywhere.

The streets were incredibly clean. Socialism had a plan for everything. The state planned in advance what to plant, when to harvest, when to clean the streets, and when to water the flower plots. The people, like instruments following a plan descended from the heavens, made it a reality. The idea behind Socialism was actually good.

Kids went to kindergarten, played sports, and got health care all for free, and adults, also received free education and health care. There was almost no unemployment. No one worried about losing his or her job; it was not too difficult to find work.

The media reminded people constantly that everything in this country belonged to everyone, and that we had to take care of it as if it belonged to us. People believed these good ideas and words. This was no different from any faith or religion. Some religious teachings also have good ideas and right words; people believe in them and follow their religious leaders. To agree with an idea and follow it is not necessarily to change yourself. To agree with an idea and to follow it is to go the path of least resistance and not to bring your new ideas to humanity.

The Socialist plan decided everything. Everything was good and correct in the plans for the creation of Socialism, but one very important thing was not included in those plans: the question of the process of individual change and self-improvement as part of the whole Communist system. Without the development of people’s creative abilities, without an internal faith in one’s own ability to create the world’s first Communist country, any idea, even the most brilliant one, hit a dead-end.

The Government’s plan forced every person to be a part of it, but not to create or to develop. This, like still water, will flower and deteriorate without movement to keep it fresh.

People believed that conscientious labor according to the Government’s plan would lead eventually to the creation of Socialism. My mother told me how she understood it. She imagined Communism like a society in which there was no money and everything was free. You go to the store and take no more than what you need. Everyone trusts each other. Everyone is equal. Great fairy tale. In this way, the government gradually made people lose their ability to think, to create. They were taught to live according to the plan that somebody had created, someone had approved, and someone had put into action. People began to understand this later, after the fall of the U.S.S.R.

My socialist childhood

As a child, I loved to watch the clouds, how they constantly shifted, changed, how they came from nowhere and disappeared into nothingness. Clouds can look like animals, like people, like flowers, or like monsters. And how fascinating it is to look at a starry sky! Where is the beginning and where is the end? What’s behind that star? How to comprehend infinity? Who keeps all of this in such impeccable order? The sky, the clouds, the stars inspired many fantasies and never gave the idea that man could control any of it.

Kids can be so fascinated by their games! And they don’t need any guidance or toys. I remember my favorite childhood game called secret. You find a piece of glass from a broken bottle, attractive flowers, rocks, sticks… anything that catches your eye. You dig a small hole in the ground, carefully arrange your finds in a pattern inside, and cover your creation with the glass. It’s so beautiful! You admire your creation and cover it with dirt, feeling completely certain that nobody will ever find this secret and only you know about it. The process was the interesting part, the result irrelevant. From birth, each person has an innate desire to create, to be a creator. Where there is a desire, there will be ability.

I went to kindergarten from age three and spent all day there with pleasure. My parents worked six days a week. My mother, on her one day off, had a huge job to complete: do the laundry, cook, sew, make pickles, patch up, clean the apartment. Why was she the only one doing it? Perhaps it’s a cultural tradition passed down through generations. Perhaps my grandmothers too took all of this work upon themselves. But what is certain is that I also took on this duty, without even asking Why? Apparently, my grandmothers gave me this infection. On the other hand, if my parents had not followed the cultural tradition and had instead done the work together, they would have probably killed each other.

I remember well how my mother was washing the sheets by hand in the big bathtub, with the help of a wooden board, when I walked into the bathroom (I was about four years old) and noticed her sweaty nose, red face, and hands swollen from the hot water. I remember how I went up to her, took her wet hand, and kissed it. I could feel how tired she was. My own kids could never notice it, feel it, comprehend it. Perhaps it’s just an experience that they need to go through, and I have already been through it in a past life.

Kindergarten – that was my job. The two-storey building looked like a small modern castle and was surrounded by a fence you couldn’t climb. Between the fence and the building were playgrounds with sandboxes, slides, and benches for kids of different ages. Parents just dropped the kids off at kindergarten and then picked them up. They didn’t pay money. The government paid for everything: feeding the kids three times a day, health care, summer camp, New Year’s celebrations, presents for the holidays, New Year’s costumes for the kids. In this way, the government cared for the new generation.

It’s difficult even to imagine in our time your child being fed three times a day for free. Porridge for breakfast – a different sort every day – bun with butter, tea or hot chocolate, and fruit. For lunch, hot fresh soup, borscht or sour cabbage soup, mashed potatoes with fish, chicken, or beef, and compote made from dried or fresh fruit. For an afternoon snack, cottage cheese cake, omelet, dessert, and fruit or vegetable juice. Even now, I wouldn’t say no to that! I’ve always had a healthy appetite, but I remember that kids without much appetite were not left hungry or ate at least a part of this delicious and healthy food.

We had an airy sleeping room where we slept after lunch. Each had his own bed with clean sheets. In the summer, when it was hot, our beds were put on the terrace, and we slept outside in the fresh air. It could be compared to a mother’s care, but it was the government’s care about the new generation. The government cared about its future work force. We always had medical personnel in the building. Children got vaccinations, dental care, yearly medical check-ups, with their blood, urine, and stools checked.

Nurses who worked at the kindergarten gave children their prescribed medication throughout the day. In the evening, when their parents picked up these children, the nurses sent the medication home with them so they could continue taking it in the evenings and on weekends.

The government took full responsibility for the medical care of the kids who went to kindergarten. Parents had no idea when and which vaccinations needed to be done. They only knew that a given vaccination had been administered and this or that side effect was possible. As for the children that were brought up at home, their parents took them to the closest free clinics, and the medical staff informed them about vaccinations or scheduled tests. How well, how correctly and carefully everything was organized!

How wonderful the New Year’s celebrations were in kindergarten! From birth I was a very organized, brave, and obedient girl, and probably for this reason, I was always chosen to be Snegurochka, Santa’s helper girl. One year, I was even invited to be Snegurochka at the neighboring kindergarten. Every New Year, a huge live Christmas tree, smelling like resin and forest was delivered to each kindergarten. It was decorated with various bobbles and toys, with a huge star topper and colorful lights. Each child received an animal costume and an accompanying poem or song that he had to perform for Santa Claus. Santa Claus had a magic wand that lit up the lights on the tree when he touched it. But first we had to shout all together: Light up, Christmas tree! I genuinely believed in all these miracles and wholeheartedly rejoiced at these incredible days.

And how wonderful was the time spent at summer camps! Kids from the kindergarten were taken to camp for a week. We lived in fully equipped buildings with hot water and toilets inside.

The magical world of the awakening forest, the singing of birds, walks along forest paths. This has stayed with me my whole life.

In the media, at any time, you could hear many speeches by the head of state, Communist party members, regulations, decisions, and so on. Of course, this was Communist propaganda. And for children from infancy were created conditions to cause them to love their country and believe that they were born in the greatest place on earth. I too genuinely believed that I was incredibly lucky that I had been born in the best country in the world! In kindergarten, we sang many patriotic songs, praising Lenin and our country that was building Communism. These were very happy songs, and I remember many of them even now. While kids enjoyed singing patriotic hymns, their parents, by their own example, showed that for them, as creators of the bright future, there could be nothing more important than work.

First life experiences

I remember, when I was still in preschool, if my father picked me up from kindergarten, I would run immediately to the bus stop to meet my mother after work. I missed her a lot and feared that something might happen to her. I’d like to focus a little closer on this fear and of how it stayed in my life almost forever.

It’s noteworthy for me to have forgotten about this event for many, many years. My desire to be free from the past uncovered this memory hidden so deeply inside me.

I was around five years old. I had always been a good girl, as parents understand it – a child who eats well, doesn’t get sick often, plays with their toys by themselves; in short, one that doesn’t bother anyone. On that day, I don’t remember the real reason, but I absolutely refused to do what my mother had asked. I remember that I got so angry with her that I grabbed her hair with all my strength to cause her pain. My mother didn’t chastise me, she didn’t even raise her voice, she simply refused to notice me from that moment, as if I didn’t exist. This lasted several days. I remember how chills went up my spine, how tense my whole body was, how deeply I felt my helplessness, how hopelessly lonely I was in the world.

Nobody had taught me how to say the simple but very important words: Forgive me, please, Mom. I’ll never do it again. I didn’t know about the existence of such a simple solution. In my country, people were not used to telling each other sorry and I love you very often. I only heard the word sorry in my childhood when my father was spanking my brother with his belt and saying, Say you’re sorry, bastard.

That was my first, and probably the most significant experience of the appearance of fear, the fear of being alone in the world. And how I catered to my mother afterwards! How afraid I was to say what I thought out loud, what if she didn’t like it and stopped talking again! I didn’t know that this was fear, what fear was… I just changed. This fear took away a part of my freedom; it started to control my actions. I hid this fear so deeply that very soon I had forgotten about it and about what had happened. And subconsciously, the fear of being abandoned, forgotten, lonely, had taken up permanent residence in my heart.

This probably explains why it was always difficult for me to say "NO’, even when it needed to be said – because of the fear of being left alone.

I remember, when I was still in kindergarten, my father once took my brother and me to the central park. This was one of those exceptional events that happens once in a lifetime, stays in your memory forever, and causes many other effects.

It was a hot summer day. Mom was at work, and Dad suddenly decided to show some attention to the children. He took us to the city park. At the entrance, he bought us ice cream, then we rode various rides, ate more ice cream, drank cold fizzy water with syrup, ran around the maze looking for each other, and ate ice cream again. Dad was always different without Mom around. I liked him like that.

At the time, you could find street vendors everywhere who sold carbonated water. Glasses were washed in a thin stream of water in front of you and then filled with fizzy water with or without syrup. It was so delicious! I never heard of anyone getting sick from it. Why? Sometimes a person can be healed of cancer with vitamin C pills, if he believes in their power. And sometimes, the fear of getting food poisoning can cause real food poisoning. Please find the answer yourself.

The day passed quickly, and we got enormous pleasure out of the time we spent together. The large amount of cold ice cream and water had cooled our enthusiasm about visiting the park. In my family, it was custom to drink things warm, no colder than room temperature. My body had gotten used to warm drinks. When you get used to something, then you begin to run on autopilot. And all of a sudden, here’s something cold, how do I react to it? You must react to a disturbance. So my body reacted too. When Mom got home, she noticed immediatelythat I wasn’t well. She put a thermometer under my arm and read the result with horror – forty degrees C. The first question was directed at my dad: What did you do all day? I don’t remember the answer because of my fever, but my fever got worse after Dad’s answer. My mom was beside herself and said that she would never entrust the kids to him again.

Unfortunately, it’s no use crying over spilt milk. That night I was burning up, and in the morning, I couldn’t swallow because my throat hurt. In the morning, the doctor came, prescribed me some medication, and said I had to stay in bed for a few days. During one of those days when I was home alone, I felt an ache in all my joints. I brought all the pillowsto my bed I could find and put them all around my legs. My legs warmed up, and I fell asleep. This is how my mother found me when she got home from work. She sensed that there was something wrong and called the emergency doctor immediately. The doctor listened to my heart, checked my throat, and suggested that my mother take me to the hospital right away. The ambulance took me to the children’s hospital, and my mother left me there. The next morning, the doctors examined me and concluded that the tonsillitis had caused some heart complications. They determined that my condition was lower than satisfactory and prescribed a three-week long hospital treatment. So, for three weeks, the hospital became my new home.

I remember that the ward was big, clean, and well lit. Six metal beds stood along the walls, and a big table stood in the middle of the room. Near each bed was a bedside table where we kept our personal belongings. Each day we had a strict schedule. A nurse came at six in the morning and woke up all the children, giving each a thermometer. After ten minutes, our body temperatures were recorded into a journal. Then we had blood and urine tests. The nurses helped us with everything. After the tests, we had breakfast in bed. They fed us very well. After breakfast, we took our medicine, and a small rest in bed before the doctor came. The doctor, armed with temperature records and our latest test results, listened to our hearts with a stethoscope, and examined the body and the throat, to continue the treatment, to make any changes to it, or to send us home. After the doctor’s visit, we had to receive the treatments that the doctor had prescribed.

The hospitals were well stocked with modern medical equipment. The government cared about the health of the people. Health care was completely free.

After the treatments, the patients returned to their beds. Lunch was served exactly according to schedule. Then our medicine and a two-hour nap. At this time, silence was strictly observed. After the nap, a snack, more medicine, rest, dinner.

We received ahealthy diet food, almost without salt, sugar, or spices. I remember how once we got mashed potatoes with a piece of salted fish. When the nurse had put a plate on each bedside table and left the room, I, noticing my bedside neighbor was absent, quickly grabbed her piece of fish and ate it. I craved salt so badly, and my one piece was clearly not enough to satisfy my craving. In this way, I experienced what it was like to be a thief. I ate my portion too. Then I covered myself with my blanket and pretended to be asleep. I was afraid that someone might find out what I had done.

It’s interesting that the taste of the salty fish is longforgotten, but the feeling of having done something bad repelled any desire to steal for my entire life. I think that if stealing, or any other act in life, brings joy, then you want to repeat it again and again. I’m almost forced to say, If you want to steal – do it, but do it with pleasure!

Visiting hours were after six p.m. Concerned moms, dads, grandmas, and grandpas rushed to visit their adored children. And the kids were waiting impatiently for their treats or their gifts. On the very first day of my hospital stay, my mom brought me several lined notebooks, pencils, an eraser, and a coloring book. This was a real treasure for me. Usually, my mom gave inexpensive, but very valuable gifts, so I was never bored in the hospital. And it was great to receive some rare attention from my mom, who worked all the time. My dad, apparently, was grounded because of his reckless behavior in the park.

The days flew by, my hospital stay went as planned, and the doctor assigned a date for my release from the hospital. The evening before I left, the doctor spent a long time talking to my mother, and based on her reaction, it was obvious that my heart problem had remained. The next day, ready to leave the hospital, I waited for my mom but she was unable to leave work and pick me up.

My mom worked at the Railway Head Office in the position of department manager. Work there resembled the military. A huge, impressive building four storeys high, regal steps leading to the entrance, columns on the sides, everything pointed to the importance and power of this societal structure. The workday began with a bell. What do I mean by that? At five minutes to nine everyone must be in their seats.Exactly at nine a.m., a loud bell rang through the building: the signal for the beginning of the workday. The second bell rang at eleven a.m.: workplace exercise. At the bell, everyone had to go immediately into the hallway, or to stand up and take their place at the desk for exercising. Once the bell had gone and all employees were in position, a recording was turned on which directs the exercises to music. It was a series of simple exercises, like lift your hands, legs hip-width apart, touch your right arm to your left leg, and so on. After ten minutes of exercise, another bell rang, signaling the end of the exercises and the continuation of the workday.

Almost everyone brought their lunch from home. Usually they brought a lot of bread, potatoes, sauerkraut, and sausages. Officially, you were allowed to have a one-hour lunch, but everyone tried to complete as much work as possible and shortened their lunch to the bare minimum. Work. Exactly at five p.m. the bell rang that signaled the end of the workday. At the bell, people stopped working, put their papers away inside their desks, and left the building. Discipline. My mother worked in a place, in a society, where personal problems had to remain personal and did not interfere with work.

For this reason, my dad came to pick me up from the hospital instead, which I was not happy about. I was seeing him through my mom’s eyes. If my mom wasn’t happy with dad, then that meant I had to feel the same way. This is the case when we gradually begin to see the world through the eyes of those we are dependent on, those we love.

It was a sunny fall day. Without holding my dad’s hand, making a face to display my disapproval of his behavior towards Mom, I walked slightly in front of him. Very soon, I felt weakness in my legs, but showing stubbornness, decided to walk home by myself, without asking for help.

I was happy to be back at home. Dad went to work; my brother was still at school. I wanted so badly to do something nice for my mom that I tidied up the house a little, but again felt pain in my legs. I went to bed with pillows all around my legs and fell asleep. When my mom got home from work and saw me in the same exact position as before I went to the hospital, she was very upset. This disappointment grew into anger at my dad when she found out that I had walked home from the hospital, that my dad hadn’t carried me home. A sick child appeared in our family –me. My mom believed that the heart was the most important organ in the human body, that it’s an engine that’s very difficult to repair. The question, How’s your heart? became a commonplace question for me. I felt healthy and perceived this question as additional, welcome attention towards me.

School

I said goodbye to my kindergarten, and my parents registered me in school. It was September 1st. I walked with my mom to school, carrying a bouquet of fall flowers, cut from our garden. First time and first grade. All the students had a uniform: for girls – a brown dress with a white apron overtop on holidays and a black one for normal days, for boys – a dark-blue suit with a white or blue shirt. Those who could afford to buy the uniform did so, and those who could not sewed it themselves. I had a brown pleated dress and a white scalloped apron that my mom had sewed for this special day. I was very anxious about the unknown but most of all, I was proud of myself for being an adult and going to real school.

It was a warm sunny day. The first-graders met their teachers in a small field behind the school. Many excited and anxious children dressed in neat school uniforms with their parents created an atmosphere of a significant day. Each knew the letter of his first-grade division, 1A, 1B, 1C… and found his teacher, holding a sign in her hands with the appropriate letter. Each freshly baked student stood near his teacher and curiously observed his classmates. And when all the first-graders had grouped themselves into their classes, welcoming music started playing, the teachers began to pair students and organize them into neat columns. Each took his appropriate place: parents in the audience, students in pairs behind their teachers.

Everyone was ready and waiting. For whom… for what? The music faded away and the principal, a VIP in the