Crimea by Inha Marchenko

Dad was laughing loudly, and Mom asked him to be quieter.

My sister and I were holding hands. When I wanted to run towards the toy gnome that stood on the lawn near someone's house, she loudly shouted, «Kitty!» We immediately ran to it, tightly holding each other's hands.

I was always warned that I could get lost if I walked alone, but I couldn't imagine how that was possible. We came here every spring and summer, so even as a little girl, I knew every path. It was my favorite place on earth.

As we walked down the road, we quietly complained because the sun was incredibly hot. There wasn't even a bit of shade, and the lower we went, the fewer trees and more simple bushes there were. My white cap didn't help at all, and the water bottle had long since warmed up. I was about to complain to my parents again that we were walking too long, but then I smelled it — the scent of salt. It's hard to mistake it for anything else; it hits your nose with freshness and moisture. At that moment, my sister and I let go of each other's hands and ran. We knew what that smell meant: freedom and fun.

When we turned the corner, we saw the sea. It seemed to glow in the daylight. Even though we were in a hurry, at that moment we just stopped in front of this view, even though we had seen it every day for the past few weeks. I felt Dad finally put his hand on my shoulder, saying, «You didn't need to run, the sea isn't going anywhere.»

Back then, I couldn't believe him. Now, as an adult, I still don't believe him. Standing on the shore of another sea, in another land, in another country, with different people, I realize I was right to hurry. Even though I can now feel a similar sea breeze, all it does is bring back painful memories from the past, but it's not the same. Today, I would give anything to run towards my native sea again.