The first year of my live I spent living with my student-parents in a large city.

My grandmother helped them with me often, as well as other members of the family, and many people who lived around, especially older neighbor-kids, who kept my carriage with them on the streets during the day.

Most of the girls who took care of me were about 10-13 years old at that time, and they were just hanging out with their boyfriends and other boys of the same age who lived nearby. Some of the boys were also close with my cousin of the same age.

All these teenage kids took care of me while my parent were in their universities, and my grandparents, ants and uncles were working. They remained very close to me for the rest of my childhood, even though I spend only my summers in their company. I experienced life with them way ahead my own time, they took me to cool hangout places, and only they gave me the loving making fun of and acceptance. These teenagers formed my ideal of people I wanted to be with for the rest of my life: older and smarter than me, but still full of desire, wild energy, and playfulness.

From all this I was separated at age one. According to modern science, the style of attachment is set for life by that age. So as soon my brain had settled down for life, at least with the way I relate to people, I was put into entirely different environment, with nobody of the people I knew present, and in significant isolation.

I know only a few related to me stories of that time from the family members:

  • My father told me that only he responded to my crying at night.
  • I refused to eat normal food as a baby. One of the doctors volunteered to teach me a lesson and took me for a couple of days to force-feed me Semolina porridge or starve me into submission. All I know, she did not succeed: I would not swallow. All I know, I never could stand the smell of "cream of wheat" (farina)  ever after.
  • Once, as soon as I started walking,  they left me in a room alone, and I covered all the surfaces I could reach, including the floor, with unfolded white paper napkins. My grandmother used to laugh about my delighted face for many years to come.
The first year of my life.


Lena Nechet, artist - Fine art, media productions, language.
San Diego, California , USA, 323-686-1771

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