Time is a very complicated and deep concept. Different experiences change our perspective and some years feel longer, depending on how much we grow.
As we research the past and listen to stories, time fades. Story telling is so powerful that it can erase the distance and unfamiliarity of time.
I am reading Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago, and one sentence particularly stood out to me:
“Here the snow came down like a white stage curtain as wide as the street, slowly descending and swinging its fringe round the legs of the passers-by, so that they quite lost the sense of moving forward and felt they were marking time.” (From Chapter 7: The Journey)
Marking time means waiting, and marching without moving forward. What if it actually means marking the time, leaving a trace behind…
I believe that a particular time is marked by our grandmothers’ family and now we are discovering that time. What we are writing is fiction, not a memoir, but we want to capture the feeling of that time and the journey of the turmoil, uprooting, longing, love and family.