There once lived a girl who, as a seventy-day-old infant, was captured and sent into exile in the Cyclades.
There once lived a girl whose family - during the Occupation and the Civil War - was split in two, but she never stopped loving any of them.
There once lived a girl who - when she was born - her father was "the heroic leader of the workers" and - when she grew up - she became "the traitor to the working class". Even if he hadn't betrayed anything he believed.
Once upon a time there lived a girl who spent her entire adolescence in deep illegality. Locked in a house, with a fake name, not going to school, not hanging out. Because he knew that if the authorities found out who his parents were, they would execute them.
And when he returned to freedom, that girl fell madly in love, against the will and tolerance of his family.
The girl's name was Niki. And it was my mother. (But this is of the least importance.)
Niki's life is the life of all children who come into the world with a heavy burden on their shoulders, they do not renounce it, but they do not let it bend them.
The people of "Niki" are the History of Greece in the 20th century.