Where we come from

I know nobody likes to hear anyone complain. Equally no one gets excited by another's reminiscing. I guess people are so busy with their own lives and those of celebrities they don't have time for other normal people's memories. I've always been interested. Not to the point of being nosey. It can almost seem like I don't care if I'm honest, but that's not true. People have a back story, and a unique view of things and it that story I'm fascinated by.

I was always interested in where I came from, learning a foregin language and finally getting to know one of the most fantastic people I have ever had the pleasure to meet. My grand mother. Hers was a story of pain and suffering through the occupation of her country by the Nazis, the fight to survive that period, and ultimately finding love. 

The part where I come in was insignificant in her life, or so I thought. Likewise my mothers. But that isn't the way it was. My mother and my grandmother are dead now, but their pride in me does me good. They're gone, but that bit lives on. Speaking to my grandmother and my mother for hours on end gave me a real sense of my origin. It's important. The Internet is a fantastic resource for information, but it doesn't do emotion. People are more than numbers and lists, so listening to others can give us clues to our own history.