Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Would you please correct the mistakes in the second part of my text?
I dress warmly and go out into the cold. The snow crunches under my boots as I trudge forward into the all-pervasive whiteness. The winter here is long and cold. I have never got used to it. It slowly eats at my soul just as osteoarthritis destroys my cartilage. I believe that many of my compatriots all over the world go for a stroll, taking refuge in their memories. Your mind goes back to your beginnings no matter where you have moved. Your homeland is like your passionate first love. If it ends abruptly and then you find a new one, you will still compare it to the first, and you will return to it in your thoughts even if you try to put it behind you.
Once you have been uprooted, you will never find joy again, no matter how wealthy you will become in another country. That is the curse impossible to take off, although many are under an illusion that a new beginning will bring them the same happiness from the past. I have seen people who pretend nothing extraordinary happened to them. They have convinced themselves they are not refugees. They just moved from one place to another to start a new life, and they try to obliterate their memories. They keep themselves busy all the time, working often 12 hours a day, and even at weekends. Anything is better than pondering over the past.
You buy all kinds of things: large TVs, expensive stereos, designer clothes, luxury goods and cars. You go to the bank, borrow a large amount of money and buy a flat or a house. You travel to faraway countries and go on pleasure cruises. Capitalism likes your hard work and encourages your spending, and it will help you to buy again all those material things you lost in the war. But despite all that running after money and products, your mind suddenly catches you unawares. You wake up and smell a freshly baked cake as if your mother has just taken it out of the oven when you were a child. You lie sleepless in dark nights and a picture appears in your mind of you and your friends sitting beside the river on a sunny day. You drink beer you have chilled in the water; you play cards and chess, or just chat idly. The river is crystal clear and sparkles in the sun. The banks swarm with bathers, and you think life is wonderful, even if you have no money in your pockets.
Another time, while you are commuting in your mind’s eye you see yourself as a child travelling with your parents to the coast. You are playing in the hot sand on the beach, building castles, digging and searching for shells. You are splashing in the waves and hear your mother warning you not go far away from the beach. You get salty water into your eyes, but you don’t care because you enjoy every moment of your holiday. It also happens that while you are listening to the radio, suddenly an old song brings back your memories from your teenage years. You sit on a bench with your friends, singing songs accompanied by a guitar. You are in love with one of the girls, but you are too shy to tell her. You don’t know where she is now or if she survived, but the thought of her fills you with nostalgia. You push aside those memories, but they return when they are least expected, and they make you uncomfortable.
You believe you have been done with the past, but it catches up with you, reminding you of the futility of your present life. Your wardrobe is bursting with clothes, you have dozens of shoes, and you have an expensive car in your garage and all modern gadgets in your home. You have everything what you dreamed about, but when the memories come to you, you know you have nothing. Your illusion bursts like a balloon and you stand alone like a solitary, stunted tree.
TO BE CONTINUED
I dress warmly and go out into the cold. The snow crunches under my boots as I trudge forward into the all-pervasive whiteness. The winter here is long and cold. I have never got used to it. It slowly eats at my soul just as osteoarthritis destroys my cartilage. I believe that many of my compatriots all over the world go for a stroll, taking refuge in their memories. Your mind goes back to your beginnings no matter where you have moved. Your homeland is like your passionate first love. If it ends abruptly and then you find a new one, you will still compare it to the first, and you will return to it in your thoughts even if you try to put it behind you.
Once you have been uprooted, you will never find joy again, no matter how wealthy you will become in another country. That is the curse impossible to take off, although many are under an illusion that a new beginning will bring them the same happiness from the past. I have seen people who pretend nothing extraordinary happened to them. They have convinced themselves they are not refugees. They just moved from one place to another to start a new life, and they try to obliterate their memories. They keep themselves busy all the time, working often 12 hours a day, and even at weekends. Anything is better than pondering over the past.
You buy all kinds of things: large TVs, expensive stereos, designer clothes, luxury goods and cars. You go to the bank, borrow a large amount of money and buy a flat or a house. You travel to faraway countries and go on pleasure cruises. Capitalism likes your hard work and encourages your spending, and it will help you to buy again all those material things you lost in the war. But despite all that running after money and products, your mind suddenly catches you unawares. You wake up and smell a freshly baked cake as if your mother has just taken it out of the oven when you were a child. You lie sleepless in dark nights and a picture appears in your mind of you and your friends sitting beside the river on a sunny day. You drink beer you have chilled in the water; you play cards and chess, or just chat idly. The river is crystal clear and sparkles in the sun. The banks swarm with bathers, and you think life is wonderful, even if you have no money in your pockets.
Another time, while you are commuting in your mind’s eye you see yourself as a child travelling with your parents to the coast. You are playing in the hot sand on the beach, building castles, digging and searching for shells. You are splashing in the waves and hear your mother warning you not go far away from the beach. You get salty water into your eyes, but you don’t care because you enjoy every moment of your holiday. It also happens that while you are listening to the radio, suddenly an old song brings back your memories from your teenage years. You sit on a bench with your friends, singing songs accompanied by a guitar. You are in love with one of the girls, but you are too shy to tell her. You don’t know where she is now or if she survived, but the thought of her fills you with nostalgia. You push aside those memories, but they return when they are least expected, and they make you uncomfortable.
You believe you have been done with the past, but it catches up with you, reminding you of the futility of your present life. Your wardrobe is bursting with clothes, you have dozens of shoes, and you have an expensive car in your garage and all modern gadgets in your home. You have everything what you dreamed about, but when the memories come to you, you know you have nothing. Your illusion bursts like a balloon and you stand alone like a solitary, stunted tree.
TO BE CONTINUED
