And that was the actual start of the war. Of course, people in my town still hoped that violence would not come to our neighbourhoods. And then one spring morning in 1992 I was awoken with phone call from my mother. She had to start working every morning at 7:30, long before I was even out of bed. She called to tell us not to leave house. The town was full of army. We did not know why.
As the day progressed we heard some rumours that several trucks full of explosive and weapons were stopped from entering town. And so army was on the streets to protect us from attack from vicious separatist.
I was confused. That day I did not leave home. Several days later I left to library. I was preparing an entrance exam to the university and I was still hoping that there would be classes; that this will stop soon. The army was still on the street. They were soldiers guarding the bridges. They were stopping trucks and checking cars that wished to pass the bridge. Not that there were much of them. Town was strangely empty. I remember that day because I bought the journal and my first story was published.
That day I was happy and confused. But as everyone else I still hoped that those troubles will be over soon and we’ll be able to continue with our lives. To do those ordinary things, like find job, go to university, spend evening with friends, listen to a music, watch nice film….
But that was only a hope.