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Epilogue 430 • E P I L O G U E much since my early days' I don't thrnk so. People don't change; they just becon1e n1ore of what they \Vere to begin vvith. Having recalled here as much as I could, I do not know to what extent I was able to uncover any hidden demons and, if I did, whether I was able to exorcise them. Looking back at my years, I think about the roads traveled; about the times I tried to hide and the times I refused to hide; about the static and the movmg; about what I loved and what I loathed. Then I ask myself How much of it was truly my tin1e and \~rho, an1ong all of the111, \Vere truly nry people? The ans\ver n1ust be that, in a sense, all of it vvas really n1y ti111e and all of then1 \.vere n1y people. More than that, all of it \vas n1y song. Zol zayn az ikh boy in dcr h~ft 111ay11c sftlcsc1~ Zol zayn az n1ayn c;ot i::' i11~l?antsn nito, In troyn-1 iz n1ir lzelc1; in troy1n iz 1nir hcser, !11 troyn1 iz der Hinil gor bloycr vi hlo. Zol zayn az kh'vcl keyn1110/ ts1un tsil nit dcrlangcn, Zol zayfl az n1ayn sh{{vet nit k1nncn ts1un hre,_o;:, mirieyt in deym ikh zol hobn dec~anxcn, i\1ir gety nor in gang O}'.f a 2:unikn ve,g Could be that my whole world is only confusion, Could be what I thought was God's word isn't true, Yet my dream is as bright as the brightest illusion, And the sky in my dream is much bluer than blue. Could be that I'll not see the fruit of my yearning, Could be that I'll never be rid of my load, What matters is not the end of the journey, It's the journey itself on a bright sunlit road. -f. PAPIERNIKOV (TRA!'SU\TED BY T. 13JKEL) ...

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