Vojta D

I must have been less than four years old as there existed a law in the czechoslovak republic at that time that prevented children of such age to fly abroad. As it was common at that time, my young family - my father, my mother and my brother who was and - however much I try - still is four years older than me, headed down south to the Bulgarian coast for the summer holidays. i remember myself standing on a car park surrounded by large anonymous buildings of prefabricated concrete - holding my grandparents hands with the two small hands of mine.

naturally, due to the small size of my brain and the greatness of stupid laws, I did not understand a thing. thus, i simply starred at this young familiy that was leaving to godknowswhere. i cant remember whether i was crying or not. and i suppose that does not even matter.

one year later we left the czech republic to start a new life in germany. i remember myself clinging my hands (by then a little stronger) to the wooden doorframe of our house, not wanting to go to the Kindergarten. I cried - in czech, mind you: "A NEBUDU mluvit nemecki. Ja chci za babičkou a za dědou" ("And I will NOT speak German. I want to go to my granny and granpa"). However, I went to the Kindergarten and I do speak German by now.