Western Macedonia, August 1903
Lost. A weather vane turned whichever way the winds please, that’s how I feel. Winds of life and death raging around us, shaping our lives here, high up, in this small homeland. That’s what I think as soon as I recover from the heavy, exhaustion-induced sleep. I realize that God has brought light to the world, I feel the warm rays of the sun bringing my stiff body and tight face back to life. The night has passed, another day opens before us. That’s not a small thing, not now, not here, with my ruined school behind me and the burned Rakovo, with the dense forest all around us, with the wild mountain ahead of us. My hands are tangled, my legs the same, I feel as if vices hold them clenched, it’s impossible to open my eyelids, I feel them weighed down with unbearable heaviness.
Glory to the Most High, we have made it to dawn. How many certainties, how many assurances I have lost since the day I set foot on this holy land of Macedonia. Not knowing if the sights you see today will be there for you tomorrow, not knowing if the violets you gaze at during sunset will be seen again, not knowing if this sun that set will rise for you the next dawn.
We have made it to dawn. With my eyes still closed, I praise God for His greatness, under His protection He kept us and saved us. My clenched hands, once used to carve words on paper, now carve entire mountains, dragging a little girl toward salvation. My feet, swollen but strong, once walked lightly on the avenues of Zappeion, dreaming, now tread heavily on the cliffs of Giouvista, struggling to escape from hell.