I have been wanting to share my testimony for quite a while now. It is so extremely long though that it’ll have to be separated in Chapters. I hope that you’ll enjoy reading it and finding out more about how I became who I am today.
I was born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina which was part of the old Yugoslavia before the war. Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and is a very unique city. It is encircled by six mountains and split by a river very long. Life there as I remember was wonderful. My parents owned a little apartment, which is usual in Europe, since houses are very expensive and hard to come by. When I say little apartment, I mean “little”. You walked in to a hallway and on your left was the living room and on the right the kitchen. That is it. My parents slept in the living room, on a couch that folded out into a bed. My sister and I shared a bunk-bed in the kitchen. It never really felt like we were poor. Maybe it’s because my parents were loving and caring, always making sure my sister and I were comfortable. I never spent much time at home anyways. After school you would find me outside with the neighbourhood kids playing sports or all sorts of other games.
In order to go on with my story I have to introduce you to a few vital people in my life.
My Fathers name is Nebojsa. He is the hardest working man I know till this day. Sometimes that’s where I think I get my work ethic from. He was the head lighting designer at the biggest theatre in Bosnia. He was not around much because his busy work schedule. A man in Bosnia is a provider for the family and that’s pretty much it. The wife normally does everything else and most of the time even holds a job. Dad has always been a handy man. He finished trade school and became an electrician but somehow branched off into theatre work. He designed some of the most recognizable plays across Europe. He traveled to Italy, Spain, Germany, Poland, Chech Republic, Russia, Turkey, Hungry, Bulgaria, and even Israel. He went to Nazareth, believe it or not. Dad is my hero and you will find out later why.
My mothers name is Zora. She is the best mother a son could ever have. She was always there and I was glued to her like a stamp to an envelope. We were always so close and I was always known as moma’s boy. She worked as a secretary for a firm downtown. She cooked, cleaned, grocery shopped, took care of finances, and took care of us. How she did it without ever complaining, I will never comprehend.
My sisters name is Tanja. She is 29 now, 4 years older then me. She once took an IQ test and scored so high the instructor told her she was a genius. Too bad things didn’t go so smooth from there on. Tanja got diagnosed with an eye tumor at age 10. It was so serious that my parents paid a lot of money in order to find the best doctor for her situation. They traveled to Zurich, Switzerland where they operated on her. They removed 85% of the tumor. The other 15% they had to leave alone in order not to damage any nerves. Right now she doesn’t see out of her left eye and can’t drive a car. I couldn’t imagine what she went through and even worse, what she is going through right now. I have not been the type of brother a true brother should be. She still, not even for a second, has stopped being a true sister to me.
