The Photo

Georgi knew it was still in his pocket.

When he saw the gravestone, he immediately put his hand in the pocket and picked it out. A polaroid photo, with its white frame. In it was a palace with strange roof, in red and gold, and many people were going inside of it. On the back it was written "The Forbidden city, Beijing". He had found it two days ago, while sweeping the alleys of the cemetery and had no idea where it came from nor where exactly was this palace. But when he saw the gravestone, which was covered with many photos like the one in his pocket, he knew that he found something important.

3 квадратни сантиметра свобода (thee square centimeters of freedom)

Стълбите са прашни и покрити с козината, която кучето сменя. Макар да съм измел тя все така се стеле по цимента и лепне по шортите ми. На коленете ми е чекмеджето, в което се съдържат снимките на няколко поколения Касеви, а пръстите ми жадно ровят из архивите. Множество моменти от живота на дядо ми, дълги и далечни години, години от преди да го познавам, когато косата му е била още тъмна, гъста или оредяваща, а по-сетне побеляваща. Намирам една миниатюрна снимка, може би сантиметър и половина на два, където той е застинал във въздуха точно преди да се гмурне. Впечатлява ме тялото му, грацията, която има на тази снимка и завиждам, че историята му е забулена от мистерията на незнанието ми за този негов живот. Моят дядо, моят герой, който е събирал карантиите, изливащи се в реката, за да храни семейството си. Ето го тук на тази малка снимка, направена вероятно когато фотохартията е била скъпа за излишно прахосване, във въздуха, надмогнал всичко. Той няма да плува, той ще лети...

The stairs are dusty and covered with the fur, that the dog changes. Though I've sweep, it is still covering the cement and sticks to my shorts. On my knees it the drawer, in which has been the pictures of few generations of Kasevi, and my fingers are digging thirsty through the archives. Many moments of the life of my granddad, long and distant years, years before I knew him, when his hair was still black, thick or thin, and some time after graying. I find one miniature image, maybe  centimeter and a half on two, where he was stuck in the air right before he'll dive. Impresses me his body, the grace, which he has in that picture and I'm envy, that his history is clouded from the mystery of my ignorance for that life of his. My grandpa, my hero, who had been collecting the animal insides, pouring in the water, to feed his family. There is he here on this small photo, done probably when the photo paper was expensive for needless spending, in the air, overcoming everything. He won't swim, he'll fly..

While watching old photos

We know each others by the acts, the words, the experience of being together in crucial moments of our life. But what if we know each other just from images on photo paper, black and white or colorful, single moment in time captured with the help of lenses and observing eye. And we haven't been there and then, we don't know the story of this or that photo, so we have this frozen moment to deduce the whole story about a person, who we think we know. But maybe we are wrong, we don't know the person, we know only our perspective of him or her, giving the person our own fears and dreams in reverse order or imagining that he or she will follow us in the mystery of life and death.