If I were to color the book of my life, I'd mix up a barrel of red and one of white to get as much pink as needed to paint the first sixteen years. Thinking on it, a barrel would not be enough, a tanker would be the correct measurement! When I heard Edith Piaf's song, La vie en rose, I foolishly assumed she had composed it for me. You Frenchie, you knew what you knew! Naturally, my French was lacking at that time so it didn't occur to me that it's a love song. The exact lyrics were of no importance! Everything that described life in pink belonged to me. And do you know what pink means? Living in a place where everything is green. It seems impossible to bathe in green when you live in the heart of a capital, but I had this great privilege. I lived in the proximity of Linden-Tree Park. When your nearby environment consists of a grand park, a lake, a church, a monastery, the school on the other side of the road and trees wherever you gaze may drop, it can only be called, in as simple terms as possible: HEAVEN. Lady Ghica Street was a paradise. A paradise that today, as troubled as I am, I can't walk through without sinking in the depths of sadness.I left my childhood there, my teen years, my entire spiritual fortune that I now hold somewhere deep down inside my soul like a veiled secret, all these are on Lady Ghica Street. No matter how much I'd try to speak about the bliss and beauty of those days, not even the best words of a true writing craftsman would be able to vividly express that happiness I was living in.