The Life of My Father“The truth is that the life of an individual is no more interesting than the life of an entire nation. And another truth is that not everyone is able to describe their life the way great writers do. This was my father's first response to my request to know more about his past life. My father, Ruben Aslanian, was born on April 12, 1951 in a small village in Abkhazia called Mteesoubanee. Abkhazia was part of the Republic of Georgia in the mid-19th century, and Georgia was one of the fourteen republics of the former Soviet Union. The village where my father lived has nothing in common with the villages of today. One of the main differences is that these villages were extremely far from the main cities. Another major distinction is the fact that the roads in these villages were not clean and covered with asphalt and the houses were not equipped with electricity, telephone or water supply system. The villagers had to draw water either from a river or from a well that they had built and to light themselves at night, they had candles. There was one store for the entire village, which sold everyday consumer items such as soap, candles, matches, canned goods, etc. Each village had a kolkhoz where large fields belonged to the government. Villagers worked in these fields and sold their produce to the government at low prices, almost for free. In addition to working on the collective farm, each villager had his own field, approximately 3,000 square meters in size, which required care. The government also owed these fields, which belonged to the villagers as long as they lived in the same area. The difference between these fields and the kolkhoz was that the villagers chose to either sell the product or keep it for themselves. The villagers didn't even have passports. The government did not give them passports voluntarily because they did not want them to leave the villages and try to live in the cities. Without a passport, one could not obtain a city visa and without a visa; we couldn't find work. This system forced people born in villages to live their entire lives in the same village or move to another village. Regardless, villagers were unable to survive in the cities. In other words, if someone was lucky enough to be born as a villager, they had to die too. "I have mine...... middle of paper ...... their goal was to avenge the people who put them in prison and ruined their lives. Unfortunately, one of those people was my As a picture in my mind, I still remember the criminal with a mask holding a gun to my father's head. I remember my father begging them not to do anything in front of his children and my mother trying to. away so we wouldn't witness the murder of our own father. Fortunately, they didn't kill my father. I don't know the reason. I still think it was God's will. just can't explain it. The next day, I found myself on a plain, fleeing my homeland to be safe. “I always remember my house, my garden, my neighbors and every town. Abkhazia, where I spent a long part of my life I would like to admit that I live a much richer life in America today than in Abkhazia. The purpose of our life is not to be rich; the purpose of this life, in my opinion, is to wake up in the morning and be able to see beloved relatives and friends. It's not just my misfortune; it is the disaster of every human being who, at middle age, loses the environment of his life.”