Kyrgyzstan was part of the USSR, and under Soviet power from 1919 to 1991. In my walks through Bishkek I saw many buildings that reminded me of the land and times I grew up in, more so even than those lands do today. It seems like time did not change this country as much as it did others. Sure there are new buildings and malls in some areas but the old communist buildings prevail. I was transported back in time not only by the tall gray cement buildings but also by the small, square brick houses, with their old wood window frames and wood doors painted blue or some white or green.
A few of those houses resembled so well my grandparent’s home that my memory brought back even the smell of the inside of their house. It made me almost cry thinking of my departed grandparents and the hard life they lived. The house I recall is long gone too. The communist regime decided to demolish the whole area and build their boring, gray, tall cement buildings. No one had a choice. They had to witness their homes bulldozed down and had to move in one of the cement boxes themselves. All this after they already had lost their first home, farmland and windmill to a war that took a part of Romania and annexed it to the new USSR. They had to flee with two small kids and whatever they could store in a horse pulled wagon. If they did not do that, my then young grandfather would have been sent to Siberia. One of my grandmother’s brothers lost this way, never to be seen again. Sure their life was harsh and their philosophy was different. How could they think the same way we do after such life experiences? Hard times, a lot of losses, hard work, and no fun; they managed to put their kids through school and even one of them (my father) through the university. Fun was, for my grandmother, a word she spoke with contempt. I miss them both so much! I hope to meet again someday. I feel like I did not even get to know my grandfather well as he was a quiet and calm man. As for my grandmother, I will always miss her, as I lived with her for a few good years- and it was good. Despise those years I feel like there is so much I do not know about their life. So much I would like to ask and learn.
On my walks through Bishkek a lot of buildings, parks and statues reminded me of those communist times. The times during which a lot of us grew up. How did that mark us? In what way has our experience then formed our life’s philosophy, and mark us now?
