16. July 1945


64 years, 2 mon­ths and 19 days after my father’s fami­ly was evic­ted from the ground floor of this buil­ding in Libe­rec, Czech Repu­blic under a Rus­si­an influ­ence, I took a chan­ce and paid a visit to the house, the city and the (beau­ti­ful) sur­roun­dings. It now accom­mo­da­tes a Kin­der­gar­ten and still has the same green colour it obtai­ned when it was built in 1938.

My aunt infor­med me the other day that my grand­f­a­ther had plans of buy­ing this house, but later on dis­mis­sed them as he got trans­fe­red to ano­t­her place & the war came in-bet­ween, but still — isn’t it inte­res­ting to know whe­re your ances­tors lived befo­re and what they did for a living?

The iro­ny and my rea­son for blog­ging this is: you can tra­vel the world and fall in love with many pla­ces, but in the end you beco­me enga­ged to someo­ne who­se fami­ly actual­ly hails from the same small town that your fami­ly is from. Both their houses whe­re just 400m away.

64 years, 2 mon­ths and 19 days later on, it’s just an iro­nic litt­le detail that deser­ves a blog­post, I think.

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