Hello everyone, I hope you had a great weekend. When I read the post about this week's #weekend-engagement by @galenkp I was very inspired by the topics. Each of the topics awakens creativity and motivates you to get moving and think about what you could write about.
I chose the following topic.
Weekend history lesson
Find a historical monument in your area, take a photo of it and write a minimum of 250 words about it, the history and meaning behind it. The photo you use must be your own photo.
This topic motivated me to go out for a walk and photograph the monument I had in mind. But along the way, I came across another monument that caught my attention and spontaneously changed my plan and inspired me to write about it.
It is a monument to the three-year-old girl Milica Rakic, who died in the NATO bombing of my country (Serbia, former Yugoslavia) in 1999. It is a monument known as "We were just children" and it is dedicated to all the children who were, unfortunately, victims of this war, and there were 79 of them. The monument is located in Tasmajdan Park, in the center of Belgrade.
Milica died in her house when bomb shrapnel hit her while she was sitting on the potty chair and getting ready to sleep. She lived near the military airport that was the target of the attack.
The air strikes lasted from 24 March 1999 to 10 June 1999. I was 11 years old. When you experience something like this in your childhood, you grow up fast. The story behind this monument will best be conveyed by my experience because I was also just a child who was lucky enough to survive.
I remember the bombing by the sound of a warning danger siren. It was a very disturbing and loud sound, loud enough for the whole city to hear. When you hear that sound, you have to go to a safe place that is not considered to be the target of an air attack. I lived next to the bridge so we constantly had to go somewhere because the bridges were the target. There was also a siren to end the danger, a monotonous tone, which we loved to hear. Then we would regularly continue with all the activities, go shopping, play outside, and cross the bridge.
The evenings were always more stressful because then the warning siren was heard more often. After the siren, the sound of airplanes was heard and then you could feel the detonation, something like an earthquake. We glued the windows with duct tape so they wouldn't crack and we waited. The bombing was actually waiting. Waiting for something to happen and waiting for something to pass.
During the war, I kept a diary. I will share with you a passage. I rarely read it because it reminds me of the bad days when I should have been just a child but circumstances did not allow it.
From my war diary...
Here again. Six floors underground. And upstairs, outside, the night is quiet. Like yesterday. Like March 24 when it all started. It is quiet until we hear that sound again. A warning war siren and then the silence... Scary silence. Sounds of airplanes flying. What in the sky is so scary? Why are they doing this? We are afraid of the sky. The news says that an operation called "Noble Anvil" or "Merciful Angel" is being performed in the sky. They are not sure what is the correct name of the operation. But does it matter? There is certainly nothing noble or merciful in all this. The next news is that the child died in the toilet when shrapnel flew through the window. A train with passengers was hit. Maternity hospital and national television. They threw something bad off the planes. Some depleted uranium. They say we are all going to get sick.
What is this? I do not know. Maybe I will know tomorrow. Now I want to sleep. But I can't sleep. Here, 6 floors underground. People are noisy. Mom is worried. Dad is somewhere, we don't know where. Defends us. I just want to get out of here and go upstairs to my room, to play a Super Mario game. I missed two episodes of my favorite series. I want this to end. I can't listen to these noisy people. There is no air. I didn't even know that under the building we have a place like this called a shelter. I listen to what they say. They wonder what we will do if bombs fall on our building. The ruins will bury the shelter forever and we will die here. I don't want to listen to this. I want to go upstairs.
Today, after so many years, I know that when someone says "I want peace in the world" it's not just a phrase. Peace is truly the greatest value.
Thank you very much for reading.
The photo and writing are original and mine.
Greetings!
Jelena