Month: February 2020

“Kur giria zaliuoja, ten mano namai. Kur Nemuns banguoja, tevynes krastai.” 

Translation: Where the forest is becoming green, my home is there. Where the river Nemunas waves, there are the shores of my homeland.”  

These are the beautiful words that are sung by every Lithuanian everywhere. We all know this song by heart, and no matter how many times we’ve listened, sang, or read these words, we can’t help but cry.  This song is sung every year at the annual song festival held in Vilnius, where thousands of Lithuanians from all over the world gather in a field and sing our country’s most treasured hymns. My mother, my aunt, cousins, and many other relatives have gotten to sing in it. I never have, but hopefully I’ll be able to one day. When it is time to hear this song, the crowd goes silent and everybody in the field stands up. The director silences the choir of thousands and throws his hands up for them to begin. Lithuanians don’t need microphones, because our voices are always loud and heard. Beautiful harmonies and words are project from the arena. The soft delicate voices of the women combined with the billowing and strong voices of the men are enough to make anybody tear up . The women are dressed in traditional Lithuanian, with their hair in braids and flower headpieces. The men put their arms around each others shoulders in solidarity and belt those beloved words. It is a moment of complete unity. I will never get to know all the people in the field or the ones singing for us, but I will always feel as if they are family. No matter if you are a Lithuanian in Argentina, China, or Kenya, you are part of the family.  

This song is about coming back to your country because it is the most beautiful place in the world. The place you or your family have grown up in will always remain there, no matter how far away you live from it. The Lithuanian earth and waters are loyal to you always, and will be waiting for your return. Nothing else in the world is quite like the place you come from.

Here’s a video at one of these song festivals where “Kur Giria Zaliuoja” Is being performed. Please take a look at it. Y’all won’t understand the words but it sounds very pretty, and you’ll get to see how seriously Lithuanians care about their country lol.

 

It was the summer and instead of spending my day basking in the beautiful, Lithuanian sun or roaming the fields barefoot, I was cooped inside finishing summer assignments. I recently met my next door neighbor, a lonely four-year-old boy named Vinca, who had no siblings, cousins, or kids his age to play with. 

That morning, while I was eating breakfast outside, he shyly asked if I could play soccer with him. I knelt down to his level and told him I couldn’t because I had “big girl” work to do. A wave of guilt rushed over in my heart as he turned his back and walked away from me. 

I hadn’t done anything wrong though. I was thinking logically. Spending the day playing with him would mean I wouldn’t get my assignments done. It would mean risking missing the deadline or submitting mediocre work. My mind went through all the possible negative outcomes, and decided it was best to do what I needed to do and not think of the boy. He could find someone else to play with. 

After working for a couple hours, my aunt came inside and told me that Vinca had been patiently waiting for hours outside of our door, with freshly picked flowers in hand, asking her where the nice young girl had gone. I felt so guilty. I had completely abandoned this boy to wallow in his sadness. Even though I’d overheard him telling his grandmother how lonely he was and saw him secretly peeking through the window trying to catch a glimpse of me, I only focused on what I needed. I surrendered to my self-serving mind, and ignored his cries all day. 

Was making the deadline and submitting my best work worth the tears this boy would shed? Was a good grade worth Vinca remembering this summer as the one when no one wanted to play with him? Was my happiness the only thing that mattered? I remembered how I’d been raised to put others before myself, despite the inconveniences. One small sacrifice on my part could mean the world to someone. Someone’s joy is more important than my obligations will ever be. 

So remembering that, I closed my laptop, went outside, and greeted Vinca with a soccer ball in hand. A huge smile spread across his face as he gave me the flowers he had picked. While racing cars, hunting for the evil witch, and playing soccer with Vinca, I was reminded of the true priorities in my life. This little boy reminded me that I should always try to be a friend for the lonely, a shoulder to cry on, and unconditionally love for those who need it the most. He made me realize I should spend the rest of my life following my heart over my head.

There’s a place in Lithuania that is not apart of this world. It doesn’t exist there. Its its own separate little bubble, unbothered by the disturbances outside it. It’s the most natural place I’ve ever been in. By that, I mean that when I step foot in it, I forget technology and man made things exist. I forget that cars, airplanes, stores, and phones exist. It feels as if I’ve gone 1000 years back in the past, in a time where man did not infect the world with its knowledge. Its bare, devoid, and empty of all humans. Life rules this part of the world. Nature is the king. Stepping in its bubble, I feel like an intruder.

This place is called Cepkeliu Raistas. It’s the largest swamp in Lithuania. I’ve been there every summer since I was a little kid. Every summer it’s the same. We walk the same dirt path we’ve walked for years through the forest. We’ve memorized every tree in the place, we never get lost. We know were getting close when we start to smell it. My aunt always said that if the wind is blowing in our direction, we smell it even stronger.

It is so silent, your ears ring. You can sometimes hear the birds, but even they don’t want to disturb the peace. The wind rustles the leaves of the birch trees and gives you goosebumps, even in the middle of the summer. Staring out into the swamp, I’m always astounded at how its never been touched. I could probably count the people that have been in this place on two hands. There are areas in this swamp that have never been touched by man’s foot. Sometimes, my aunt and I like to take off our shoes and go inside. It’s a scary endeavor, as one step you might be on solid dry ground, and the next, you might be knee deep in squishy swamp moss. We don’t care though, we purposely try to walk into the muddiest parts. My aunt sometimes gets on her knees, soaks the water out of the moss with her hands, and drinks it. As a kid this used to always freak me out, but now it doesn’t. The water isn’t dirty, it’s the purest you’ll ever find on the planet. We look for unripened cranberries and try to judge how great the harvest will be in the fall. Sometimes we talk about the different bird calls we hear or the trees around us. Sometimes we just sit and listen, taking in the rare silence. Leaving this place always makes us sad. There is nothing here to bother us. No mosquitoes. No scorching sun. No howling wind. No noise. No world. Its just us and nothing else, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a place like it ever again