Information
Firmin
Legacy Name: Firmin
The
Glacier HarvesterOwner:
TilcaraAge: 12 years, 4 months, 5 days
Born: December 11th, 2011
Adopted: 11 years, 9 months, 3 days ago
Adopted: July 13th, 2012
Statistics
- Level: 6
- Strength: 15
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 21
- Books Read: 16
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Sales Associate
"What is it ?"
"A memory box. each year you put an object inside. And when you're older you open it so you remember how it was like when you were a child."
"It's stupid, I wouldn't forget these time we have together !"
"That's what I said, but grown-ups say we will forget. And mom says they don't have the right to open the box either."
"Really ? It's like a super secret box ?"
"Yes but we can't get back an item when we put it in there."
"Grown-ups have weird ideas."
"Why not give a try ? Imagine in 30 years !"
"Woah we will be so old at that moment !"
"And we will be married."
"To a girl ?"
"Yuck it's disgusting !"
"I won't open mine until I'm 40 years !"
"And me 70 years !"
"And me 100 years !"
"Nobody lives 100 years."
"I'm sure Mrs Obadiah does !"
"Yeah but she is a witch it's not the same."
The school bell rings and children quickly gather their belongings before lining up to resume classes.
Ignace feels something strange in his stomach. He is 70 and has opened his memory box. He doesn't know if his friends lived long enough to open theirs. Or if they managed to keep it. It was so easy to lose contact. They couldn't have guess a civil war would change their little world of playing marbles and jacks. With a smile, he spreads the box contents. Various objects, papers, sometimes objects with a paper wrapped around it. His life. Summarized in only a few trinkets...
Grandmother sent us a postcard. I hope she is alright. She says this postcard is sold to raise funds for an association who works to relocate people living in the slums. She thinks it never freezes here in Algeria, but it does sometimes. I miss her.
(postcard by Poulbot, sold in 1940)
Today I won some marbles. Then I traded them with Amir, Jawed and Nadir . It was great. I'm learning Arabic slowly to speak with them. Luckily, I don't need to know much to play marbles !
Mother said we had to leave quickly. Someone told her there was something planned for tonight. She fears it may be the same thing that happened to Victoire and her parents. I heard they were tortured and killed. Nadir said it wasn't true and it was the French that were torturing people. Am I with the bad guys ? I'm afraid.
I am back in metropolitan France with mom and dad. We couldn't bring anything as we left so quickly. The attempts were in the newspaper, in a small article. Nobody cares about us. Nobody cares about Algeria. I thought it was part of France, but it appears it isn't. Or at least, not for long
Mom hid to cry today. She says the government forgot about us. It's even worse for Rachida. Her father fought for us, but he isn't acknowledged, and is labelled a traitor in his country. I hate the government. I hate France, who wants to bury us with her guilt over her past actions.
I don't know where I belong nor who I am. I am supposed to be French, but people say I'm not since I come from Algeria. For Algerian, I am the oppressor. I feel rejected by both countries. Hated by both countries. Because we remind them of suffering and a shameful past. According to the side that tells the story.
Latifa died yesterday. She passed away in the night, in her sleep, like she always wished. I entrust you her favourite brooch.
Today I met a young Algerian. His parents are from Tenezera too. I am sure life changed a lot, and that the village from my childhood doesn't exist anymore but I still long for this life. Maybe when we get used to each other we will talk about it. He is the new cook and is rather good, I think I'll see him around for some time.
I'm turning 70 next year. I will open this box at that moment. I know I didn't put something every year, and there are years I put more than one thing. For others only a paper. This year, I'm putting Ras el hanout Ignace brought me. This smell is so nostalgic. I feel a part of me stayed in Algeria when I left.
"A memory box. each year you put an object inside. And when you're older you open it so you remember how it was like when you were a child."
"It's stupid, I wouldn't forget these time we have together !"
"That's what I said, but grown-ups say we will forget. And mom says they don't have the right to open the box either."
"Really ? It's like a super secret box ?"
"Yes but we can't get back an item when we put it in there."
"Grown-ups have weird ideas."
"Why not give a try ? Imagine in 30 years !"
"Woah we will be so old at that moment !"
"And we will be married."
"To a girl ?"
"Yuck it's disgusting !"
"I won't open mine until I'm 40 years !"
"And me 70 years !"
"And me 100 years !"
"Nobody lives 100 years."
"I'm sure Mrs Obadiah does !"
"Yeah but she is a witch it's not the same."
The school bell rings and children quickly gather their belongings before lining up to resume classes.
Ignace feels something strange in his stomach. He is 70 and has opened his memory box. He doesn't know if his friends lived long enough to open theirs. Or if they managed to keep it. It was so easy to lose contact. They couldn't have guess a civil war would change their little world of playing marbles and jacks. With a smile, he spreads the box contents. Various objects, papers, sometimes objects with a paper wrapped around it. His life. Summarized in only a few trinkets...
Grandmother sent us a postcard. I hope she is alright. She says this postcard is sold to raise funds for an association who works to relocate people living in the slums. She thinks it never freezes here in Algeria, but it does sometimes. I miss her.
(postcard by Poulbot, sold in 1940)
Today I won some marbles. Then I traded them with Amir, Jawed and Nadir . It was great. I'm learning Arabic slowly to speak with them. Luckily, I don't need to know much to play marbles !
Mother said we had to leave quickly. Someone told her there was something planned for tonight. She fears it may be the same thing that happened to Victoire and her parents. I heard they were tortured and killed. Nadir said it wasn't true and it was the French that were torturing people. Am I with the bad guys ? I'm afraid.
I am back in metropolitan France with mom and dad. We couldn't bring anything as we left so quickly. The attempts were in the newspaper, in a small article. Nobody cares about us. Nobody cares about Algeria. I thought it was part of France, but it appears it isn't. Or at least, not for long
Mom hid to cry today. She says the government forgot about us. It's even worse for Rachida. Her father fought for us, but he isn't acknowledged, and is labelled a traitor in his country. I hate the government. I hate France, who wants to bury us with her guilt over her past actions.
I don't know where I belong nor who I am. I am supposed to be French, but people say I'm not since I come from Algeria. For Algerian, I am the oppressor. I feel rejected by both countries. Hated by both countries. Because we remind them of suffering and a shameful past. According to the side that tells the story.
Latifa died yesterday. She passed away in the night, in her sleep, like she always wished. I entrust you her favourite brooch.
Today I met a young Algerian. His parents are from Tenezera too. I am sure life changed a lot, and that the village from my childhood doesn't exist anymore but I still long for this life. Maybe when we get used to each other we will talk about it. He is the new cook and is rather good, I think I'll see him around for some time.
I'm turning 70 next year. I will open this box at that moment. I know I didn't put something every year, and there are years I put more than one thing. For others only a paper. This year, I'm putting Ras el hanout Ignace brought me. This smell is so nostalgic. I feel a part of me stayed in Algeria when I left.
Pet Treasure
Bucket of Polar Water
Rocking Horse
Ziaran Lady Model Airplane
Wild Ace Model Airplane
Vegetable Tajine
Tomato and Lentil Soup
Spicy Onion Msemen
Couscous and Perfumed Fruit
Hummus and Pita Points
Fighting Fester Model Airplane
Jolly Roger Model Airplane
Soaring Mallarchy Model Airplane