Edina

Sometimes life hits me with the full force of memories to the softest spot. About 15 years ago I was at a small radio station in Tuzla in northern Bosnia. Sitting behind the mic was a young anchor in her early twenties with dark eyes and hair, wearing bright red lipstick. In those times of war and military colors, that was the brightest red I've seen in days. She spoke in a melodious voice and without interruption flashed a warm friendly smile and pointed to an empty chair in the corner. I sat and kept quiet until Edina finished talking and muted the mic when the music came on. Strangely, although I spent a big portion of that evening in the radio station, my memory empties after this scene. Edina became a friend, and often after work joined me and the rest of photographers' gang for drinks. I also remember her commenting us guys with her girlfriend in English. That was the way they usually talked in front of the local guys who didn't understand English. And I remember how they blushed when an American colleague joined us at the bar and we all switched onto English.

When I moved to Canada 13 years ago, I lost all contact with Edina. Then yesterday I found a message on Facebook and a familiar face grinned at me from the web page. Years have been kind to her, she changed very little. But, to prove that time inevitably changes all of us, a miniature version of the same smile flashed beside hers in the picture - her adorable 3-year-old daughter laughed at my fallacy that things haven't changed much in Edina's life.