In my teen years I liked to write.
...for myself and for others.
 
In the middle of a typically busy New York day I collided with a man who was in 
the refugee camp where I spent four months. It was 1981.
Cold War. Communists. Defectors from the Eastern Block.
His parting words "You are lucky to be alive" stunned me.
 
At that very moment I began to think about the events I had long forgotten. 
What I thought would be a year long writing project, developed into a fascinating travel back into history,