Once upon a time, there was a girl who, as a seventy-day-old baby, was arrested and sent into exile in the Cyclades.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who - during the Occupation and the Civil War - her family was split in two, but she never stopped loving any of them for a moment.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who - when she was born - her father was "the heroic leader of the workers" and - when she grew up - became "the traitor of the working class". Even though he had not betrayed anything he believed in.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who spent all her adolescence in deep illegality. Locked in a house, with a fake name, not going to school, not making friends. Because she knew that if the Authorities discovered who her parents were, they would execute them.
And when she returned to freedom, that girl fell madly in love, against the will and tolerance of her family.
The girl's name was Niki. And she was my mother. (But that 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, do not renounce it, but do not let it bend them either.
The people of "Niki" are the History of Greece in the 20th century.