Old, worn buildings always made me nostalgic. Parts of the city that weep with history and dramas. The walls that have seen both happiness and sadness. Passing time etches its lines the most beautifuly on the man made craft, on the architecture of the city. The lasting book of memoirs.
It is a delicate, thin, gold watch I inherited after my ancestors. It was passed down in my family for generations. Girls were given this gold watch, while boys received a round, silver pocket watch. Why watches? Who knows. I suppose back in the days, when there were no other means of telling time watches have been a useful device and not only a fancy jewelry as it is nowadays. Back then people actually took pleasure in looking at the silent face of a watch, that more often than not had its own history.
Just looking at the watch makes me nostalgic as I think of all those women before me that wore the watch. I sometimes sit down, take one of the old family photo albums and look at their faces. I look at the pictures and try to imagine their lives, history, secrets.
The watch also reminds me of my family’s history. I think of my ancestors running away from the bitter, deadly snows of Siberia and am grateful that they made that big leap and decided to look for a better life in central part of Europe. I admire their bravery, resolution and will to survive.
The watches are my family’s heirloom, part of our history. They serve as a memento of another life, in not so good times, somewhere on the cold edge of the map.