The friendship between our two special writers, Alona from Ukraine, and Manizha from Tajikistan, continues through email. Both were raised in what was then the U.S.S.R. Here Alona shares a fond New Year’s Eve remembrance with Manizha. (Manizha’s story to Alona can be found here.)
Photos courtesy Alona
WHEN I was about 4 years old, I was with my grandparents in Astyur, Ukraine for our New Year’s celebration. Of course I wanted to celebrate like other children with New Year’s treats and presents. On New Year’s Eve my parents should come to Astyur but there was an awful snow storm. It was actually a blizzard. It was possible to travel to Astyur only by bus or car. But there was too much snow this night.
The closer it got to New Year’s Eve, the more worried I became. My grandfather brought home a big, beautiful New Year’s tree, but even that did not give me joy. I cried. My grand- mother wanted to make me happy so she made me a little crown for my head from a shoe box! She worked so hard to make it magical using ornaments, ribbons and all kinds of decorations. But I understood from all their care that mama and papa would not make it and so I cried even more.
As a tradition children should say some poem or sing some song for Father Frost. Only after that you can expect a present.
I remember how I tried to say a poem as tears poured down my face. But at that very moment the door opened and my mama, papa, and brother came in! Even my grandparents were amazed. It was a real New Year’s miracle. —Alona