My last day here takes me, quite unexpectedly, to my elementary school. It is the perfect farewell ending for my documentary and my journey this past summer. Here my grandpa Iosif, who was a writer, came to read to us in class. How did he feel seeing his grandson in the front row beaming with pride and joy? I clearly remember the feeling as I looked up at him, the softness in his voice, his glasses, the flowers he would receive. Twice grandpa Iosif was accepted to study cinema - once in former Yugoslavia and once in the Soviet Union. Both times his dream abandoned him or, perhaps, he abandoned it. I will never know as I was but a child when we parted. Now, I live grandpa's dream and often think of him - he died in 2001 when I was already in the US with no chance to see him. I remember waiting tables, getting the call he had passed, the tears in my eyes. My shift could not end fast enough, sorrow and resentment building up in my heart. It took years to realize I never really said my goodbyes. My new documentary There is dedicated to my grandpa Iosif. I love you, grandpa, wherever you are!

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