Oct 2012
To my old School Teacher and a historybook….
At primary school, I must have been 10 or 11 years old as I saw an image on the page of a history book.
A map of ancient Mesopotamia.
….
From that moment on I had the book with the map right in front of me every day as to get power from the image of the Land of the Two Rivers.
I was a wallflower….living in an almost autistic little world of my own…
My teacher knew I was unlike the others, so much different from all other pupils....
He knew about my thing with 'Mesopotamia'.
He knew about all my fantastic, crazy dreams, my drawings and my incredible stories...they were my only way to escape all the daily misery ....
He knew how my parents neglected me at home, my ferocious dad- always drunk with liquor and my hostile mother whom I seemed to annoy every single minute of her life….
And defendlessly bullied day by day in classroom by the other kids.
He knew so very well how I used to escape in my dreams of remote, imaginary worlds…and how I felt protected by him, my teacher and by that old history book as it laid just in front of me on my desk….open on the page with the map....
And now, as years have passed by...
The school has vanished long ago, the old school building was demolished, as a matter of fact replaced by apartments and a parking lot….
My beloved teacher has passed away years ago and the book with the map has gone too...
But the precious, dear memory is still here….
I will cherish it for as long as I live....
At primary school, I must have been 10 or 11 years old as I saw an image on the page of a history book.
A map of ancient Mesopotamia.
….
From that moment on I had the book with the map right in front of me every day as to get power from the image of the Land of the Two Rivers.
I was a wallflower….living in an almost autistic little world of my own…
My teacher knew I was unlike the others, so much different from all other pupils....
He knew about my thing with 'Mesopotamia'.
He knew about all my fantastic, crazy dreams, my drawings and my incredible stories...they were my only way to escape all the daily misery ....
He knew how my parents neglected me at home, my ferocious dad- always drunk with liquor and my hostile mother whom I seemed to annoy every single minute of her life….
And defendlessly bullied day by day in classroom by the other kids.
He knew so very well how I used to escape in my dreams of remote, imaginary worlds…and how I felt protected by him, my teacher and by that old history book as it laid just in front of me on my desk….open on the page with the map....
And now, as years have passed by...
The school has vanished long ago, the old school building was demolished, as a matter of fact replaced by apartments and a parking lot….
My beloved teacher has passed away years ago and the book with the map has gone too...
But the precious, dear memory is still here….
I will cherish it for as long as I live....
