My happy place, or, one of my happy places, is at my grandparent’s home in a small village in the country side of Romania. It was here that I spent many of my childhood memories running barefoot on the one and unpaved road they had, hearing my grandfather whistle and hum while he worked around the courtyard, and eating my grandmother’s delicious food she would cook for us every meal. Even now, I still play hide-and-seek with the kids when night falls upon us. We lived life without a care, without a worry of what tomorrow may bring. We would ride our bicycles for twenty kilometers to neighboring villages, laughing and screaming of pure joy with the wind blowing through our hair as we would watch the sun set behind us, lighting the road ahead of us. Hide-and-seek in the pitch black darkness was a usual game for us, though once we were bold enough to go to the cemetery one night, none of us dared to ask to play there again. We went out to the open fields and admired the innumerable stars and would see the Milky Way on a nightly basis. Side by side, we would lay there talking about everything and anything that pops into one’s mind. We would discuss our fears, our goals, our dreams, what motivated us, what discouraged us. These “kids” sometimes seemed much more than simply just that to me. They taught me more than I have learned from some adults, as they faced their daily obstacles and leaned on each other for support through life. Every evening, the neighbors would each sit outside on a bench and wait for the cows to come home before the sun set, all while sharing stories and laughing with one another. This was the life my grandparents lived. This was the life my parents lived. I am blessed to have this be the childhood I lived. My grandparents didn’t have the world to give us, but they gave us their world, and that is something I will forever be thankful for.