My Childhood Homes — Part 2: The Hood
<p>Space was something that I and my family always craved. I love my family and I enjoy their presence, but now I always avoid sleeping in the same bed with my father during packed family gatherings.</p>
<p>In fact, sharing the bed with someone in a non-romantic way is something that I don’t enjoy very much. But it didn’t used to be like that. Back in my childhood, there was no other way around it.</p>
<p>And even if we didn’t share the bed, as I later on had my own extensible armchair, we shared a single small room all the time. There was no other way since one room was all we had.</p>
<p>I was born in one of the most notorious neighborhoods in my city, if not the whole country. The building we lived in was a gray, reinforced concrete, Soviet-style building. You know, the type that could easily be turned into an anti-atomic bunker if you sealed the windows and doors with some bricks and cement.</p>
<p>The whole neighborhood was populated by a sea of gray buildings. Maybe I’m nostalgic and subjective since it was my own crib, but not everything was as ugly as it looked.</p>
<p>Every time I came back from a few months of vacation in the countryside, there was a tinge of fresh paint over it, a few renovations here and there, and cheerful friends waiting for me.</p>
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