The first snow has fallen in Stockholm, Sweden, and Naida is exhilarated also having just completed her semester exams at the University. She sends Part 3 of “A PLACE TO CALL HOME” for all to savor. New Sarajevo snapshots are included: Naida, sipping a coffee in Sarajevo when she first learned she had been accepted to the University, and a panoramic view of this spectacular City. - -Brought to you from Susan Sacirbey and DIPLOMATICALLY INCORRECT “A PLACE TO CALL HOME,” --By NAIDA SEKIC “May Mothers' Tears Become Prayers” Once in Sweden, a new life was to begin. A life she knew nothing of, a language she had never spoken, a culture she had never experienced and a people she had never encountered. There it lay before her to accept; she was to make a new life and new memories whilst her home was falling into a million little pieces before the very eyes of the world. My heart aches every time I recall my Mother’s sayings of her arrival in Sweden, when she speaks of how she was desperately searching for a familiar face – someone to greet her smile and speak words of comfort, even if all lies. Oh, how she faithfully longed for her home in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Yet, she stood there all alone whilst her soul was left in a place where its people were longing to taste the sweetness of death. My Father came to Sweden a year after us. She was in no position to recognize him. He had changed. Then again, so had she. The war was free to do whatever it wished to my parents; and it did indeed. Nothing would ever be the same again. “A Person Is a Person, No Matter How Small” Even though many years have gone since I attended my very first kindergarten, I remember it as if it was yesterday. Funny though, I can only associate it to the cold breeze that used to shiver my face in the early dim mornings, when my parents used to drop me off before going to work. It was horrible. I hated it. I hated that I had to say goodbye to my parents who used to stand by the front door to wave me off. I used to cry so hard every morning, longing for the touch of my Mother or the kiss of my Father. I felt so alone without them. This was seventeen years ago, yet funny how I still recall those mornings, how I still smell the leather of my Mother’s purse and the color of my Father’s bag; funny how memories master the ability to cling to one’s mind, very funny indeed. “Your Dreams Belong To You” The study of languages is a unique science as it rules so many fields of life. It raises many significant issues as the like of identity, and I often think to myself who I would be had my parents chosen not to teach me my mother tongue. Luckily they did! As a child I was busy every Saturday going to a Bosnian school where I was taught to read and write in Bosnian. I absolutely loved it. I loved everything about it. I was so ambitious in my work that I even made my own homework. Once I bought myself a proper cute bee notebook and I remember writing neatly in it just because I loved it so much. My note pad was filled with notes and writings every Saturday. Imagine my despair when I had to leave my Bosnian school. It was the hardest thing ever. I really did love it as it was the place where my love for writing began to flourish. ---To be cont’d. --From Susan Sacirbey Facebook: Become a Fan at “DIPLOMATICALLY INCORRECT” & “BOSNIA TV”” Follow on TWITTER @DiplomaticallyX More Film & Blog Reports: Part I – “A Place To Call Home,” By Naida Sekic: diplomaticallyincorrect.org/films/blog_post/more-from-naida-sekic-a-member-of-the-bosnian-herzegovinian-diaspora-from-susan-sacirbey/42329 Part 2 “A Place to Call Home” By Naida Sekic diplomaticallyincorrect.org/films/blog_post/a-place-to-call-home-part-2-by-naida-sekic/42873 Diplomatically Incorrect Channels: diplomaticallyincorrect.org/c/diplomatically-incorrect Bosnia Channels: diplomaticallyincorrect.org/c/bosnia