If I could have a dollar for each time I heard the following questions: I detected an accent, where are you from? or How did you come to the United States or Refugee camp? You were really in a refugee camp? among other questions, I could have paid for a house in full from that money. Ever since I could remember I always wanted to come to the United States. This country was not just a dream for me; it was a reality that I wanted to accomplish before I reached age 25. The decision was easy knowing what I wanted since age 11, but leaving elderly parents behind was very difficult. However, I had parents who understood that I could not accomplish what I wanted to be, to become a writer in a country where if you were not a member of the Communist Party, your chances for success was minimal. I wanted to write things that did not please those who was part of the Communist Inquisition. I dared to escape from the poverty, the hypocrisy and oppression that were all around us. I was willing to pay the price of isolation, starvation or anything that would help me to come to America. And this is my story.
The apartment building where I grew up had peeling paint and unkempt trees and bushes. Perhaps the twenty families living in nineteen apartments didnt even notice that it was not only the walls of the building that were chipping away little by little simply because they were glad that they had a roof above their heads. As I was growing up, each family represented its own soap opera to me. As a child, I became fascinated and, as a teenager, was appalled by the people, the tenants, who lived there and the hypocrisy that surrounded my family and me in our everyday life. One could only imagine how deeply they came to be part of my life with good but, most of the time, bad intentions. After all these years, those memories are as fresh as a harvested bouquet of flowers that still had the morning dew on its buds. I had to write about them; I needed to write about them. Why? Because I owe them a great deal. For what? you may ask. The answer lies in the stories that took place at 78 Spring Street: Tavasz Utca 78.
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