Simbellmyne's utopia

Today is the twentieth anniversary of the January Events of 1991. It was a night when thousands upon thousands of people gathered to defend freedom and truth, the right to democracy and a fragile independence of their country.

It was a night of terror and hope, of resilience and strength. A night when hundreds of people were hurriedly sworn in as soldiers in the corridors of the parliament, and thousands came from all over the country to keep vigil and stand side by side and not move an inch. A night of shielding your country with your life - the only thing you had.

It was a night when whispered prayers drowned out the sound of coming tanks.

It was a night of bloodshed and violence - a night, when crowds of people, armed only with the love of their country, were crushed beneath tanks, shot and beaten by empty-eyed soldiers. It was a night of death.

It was a night of tragedy and victory mixed together - a night, when we once again learned the fact we had always known - that freedom, far from being free, too often comes at the highest cost possible. 14 people dead. More than 600 wounded.

I wasn’t there. I was 4 years old. Despite that, and despite the fact that twenty years have gone by, I flinch every time I see the scenes from that day - the tanks, the soldiers, the people.

My country starts every year remembering that night. And hoping with all our hearts that no more such nights will come.