1. Resurrections
Easter in my village is a resurrection in the truest sense. Emptied, colourless, silenced streets suddenly turn green, fill with noise, and begin to breathe, providing a glimpse of what’s to come in summer, when urbanised villagers briefly return from cities.
Only my parents’ generation lives in my village now. Their parents all died in recent years, one after another. Those who could afford to rent an apartment went to work in the city, mostly in construction, planning to return in old age. Their children, though, no longer want to come back. Working the land is thankless labour, hard and undervalued.
Soon, my house, too, may no longer have a permanent inhabitant. My father, who has lived there alone since my grandmother’s death, tending to the land and the house, is aging. Yet, during Easter, the village revives, bringing hope and a sense of continuity.