I’m reading a biography called “Lost in Translation.” It is written by Eva Hoffman, who
immigrated to Canada from Poland as a young Jewish girl.
She writes of how years later, in New York, she meets a woman whose father was a wealthy Asian aristocrat. She grew up surrounded by luxury, but one day, when she was 13 years old, her father’s wealth disappeared. As a result the girl felt as if she was exiled from paradise.
Eva then writes:
No wonder. But the wonder is what you can make a paradise out of. I told her that I grew up in a lumped apartment in Cracow, squeezed into three rudimentary rooms with four other people, surrounded by squabbles, dark political rumblings, memories of wartime suffering, and a daily struggle for existence. And yet, when it came time to leave, I, too, felt as if I were being pushed out of the happy, safe enclosures of Eden.
Though imperfect, Eva recounts in chapters to come the idyllic and loved life she possessed in Poland until age 11. She remembers neighborhood friends, the glorious smell of hallah baking, special trips into town with her mother, and the dear friendship between her and her maid. She had food to eat, a roof over her head, parents who survived WWII, and a sister to play with. She had everything she needed. And sometimes having one’s needs met is all that is needed. She didn’t grow up in a glamorous borough nor did she own many toys, or have the finest education.
Her life was paradise because she was loved well and, as a result, loved her life. What more could a girl want?
I recently made a move of 1050 miles. Minneapolis was my paradise. I close my eyes and in a moment I’m transported to my childhood home. A vision of my mom baking banana bread in the kitchen and the dancing scent of buttery banana goodness pirouettes in the thick, warm air.
I hear my siblings and I shrieking and crunching in the leaf piles with our Australian Shepherd. I feel the crisp air that gives your lungs a tickle when you breathe deeply and the sudden, gleeful adrenaline rush that happens upon hearing the words, “DAD’S HOME FROM WORK!”
This was my paradise: a family that loved me and resided in the brisk north of the contiguous United States. I had everything I needed.
Then I came to Connecticut. The Eden of Minnesota Nice and Hot Dish was left behind in the nation’s #1 bike city.
Here “Minnesota Nice” is not nice; it’s annoying.
Twice in two weeks, “Lady you’re holding up the line!” was shouted at me.
People here seem to have only two volumes: loud and louder.
If you’re from Jersey and you’re reading this, I’m sorry, but the Jersey accent is an auditory equivalent of having a flashlight shined in your eyes. Jarring to say the least.
She writes of how years later, in New York, she meets a woman whose father was a wealthy Asian aristocrat. She grew up surrounded by luxury, but one day, when she was 13 years old, her father’s wealth disappeared. As a result the girl felt as if she was exiled from paradise.
Eva then writes:
No wonder. But the wonder is what you can make a paradise out of. I told her that I grew up in a lumped apartment in Cracow, squeezed into three rudimentary rooms with four other people, surrounded by squabbles, dark political rumblings, memories of wartime suffering, and a daily struggle for existence. And yet, when it came time to leave, I, too, felt as if I were being pushed out of the happy, safe enclosures of Eden.
Though imperfect, Eva recounts in chapters to come the idyllic and loved life she possessed in Poland until age 11. She remembers neighborhood friends, the glorious smell of hallah baking, special trips into town with her mother, and the dear friendship between her and her maid. She had food to eat, a roof over her head, parents who survived WWII, and a sister to play with. She had everything she needed. And sometimes having one’s needs met is all that is needed. She didn’t grow up in a glamorous borough nor did she own many toys, or have the finest education.
Her life was paradise because she was loved well and, as a result, loved her life. What more could a girl want?
I recently made a move of 1050 miles. Minneapolis was my paradise. I close my eyes and in a moment I’m transported to my childhood home. A vision of my mom baking banana bread in the kitchen and the dancing scent of buttery banana goodness pirouettes in the thick, warm air.
I hear my siblings and I shrieking and crunching in the leaf piles with our Australian Shepherd. I feel the crisp air that gives your lungs a tickle when you breathe deeply and the sudden, gleeful adrenaline rush that happens upon hearing the words, “DAD’S HOME FROM WORK!”
This was my paradise: a family that loved me and resided in the brisk north of the contiguous United States. I had everything I needed.
Then I came to Connecticut. The Eden of Minnesota Nice and Hot Dish was left behind in the nation’s #1 bike city.
Here “Minnesota Nice” is not nice; it’s annoying.
Twice in two weeks, “Lady you’re holding up the line!” was shouted at me.
People here seem to have only two volumes: loud and louder.
If you’re from Jersey and you’re reading this, I’m sorry, but the Jersey accent is an auditory equivalent of having a flashlight shined in your eyes. Jarring to say the least.
However, I have decided that I can make a paradise out of
any place of residence.
Though far from family and friends, I am still loved. Though I’m not with my siblings, I can still kick the leaves and run down the hills. Though away from people who ask you four times if you’re sure you don’t want any hot dish, I will survive. Connecticut will become home, and when I move again, behind me I will leave another paradise.
To love and be loved, I have found, is paradise. You can carry it in your heart wherever you go. And wherever you go with all your heart, you will be home in paradise.
Though far from family and friends, I am still loved. Though I’m not with my siblings, I can still kick the leaves and run down the hills. Though away from people who ask you four times if you’re sure you don’t want any hot dish, I will survive. Connecticut will become home, and when I move again, behind me I will leave another paradise.
To love and be loved, I have found, is paradise. You can carry it in your heart wherever you go. And wherever you go with all your heart, you will be home in paradise.
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