It all started when, in some state of fantasy, I thought I could do a lot because I was strong. It started the day when I convinced myself that, to achieve success, it is enough to have the strength to fight for it. Since strength can cloud your consciousness, I thought you should fight for what you wanted. I set out on a quest for winning my own better future so confidently, not knowing then that in battles the stupid were hit by arrows first and those from the infantry the fastest.
This hasn’t been the best year. To any of us. I am not saying this because I am a pessimist, on the contrary. I am saying this because I believe that better years are yet to come.
In the new year I wish you embraces that are not going to leave wounds on your skin but goosebumps, promises that are not going to remain dormant but become part of reality. I wish you to let go a bit more and worry a little less. Dream of someone so often and so intensely until you wake up next to that person, and if you already have someone you wake up next to, then I wish you to continue sharing the same dreams in the future.
I spent my childhood playing on my own. Instead of with people – I played with toys, because I did not have brothers to keep me company. When I learned how to read and my social circle expanded, I realised books understood me better. They talked less and said more. I was bothered by all the noise coming from the loud-mouthed, because in the world full of hollow hearts, it echoed even more loudly.
It is very hard for me to forgive. I do forgive, but only myself and my insomnia know how much strength and effort it requires. Especially when you do it over again. Especially when you forgive the ones closest to you over again.
Like all the other people in this world, I also have two wolves inside me. A white one, tame, strong but sensitive, strict but just, a guardian but a well-intentioned one who could forgive anyone. And a black one, a shabby, starved avenger, who’d deliver justice with his jaws, punish by his actions and only forgive those repenting on their knees. In a fierce fight between the two, the one I feed always wins. I have no way of knowing how, or why, which demons from the past raise the one starved and barely alive to its feet, the ferocious wolf, which witchcraft they employ to give it strength so that, despite being neglected by me, it still ruins my sleep…
For most people today Love means being loved, not being able to love. So much is expected of it and nothing is given to it in return, it is insulted, humiliated, misinterpreted to such an extent that due to all that lynch-mob atmosphere it has gone underground. Like a vagabond, it sneaks around in silence, lingers on street corners, listens to gossip about itself and rarely makes a public appearance. And, why would it, when it is, despite being the best, so badmouthed?
I used to think you had to be a player to succeed. I used to think you had to calculate sometimes, tolerate, keep quiet, turn a blind eye. I used to remove my piercing before entering an office, cover tattoos at job interviews, keep my mouth shut while bosses threw phones to the floor in a fit of rage, instead of holding the hands that I love, I used to clench mine in my pockets. In short – I was wrong.
Since being good and being foolish have always gone hand in hand, today everybody, trying to avoid being labelled as foolish, chooses to present themselves as evil. They claim to be protecting themselves in that way. It’s better to appear unapproachable than dumb, it’s better to be unresponsive to communication than someone who’s easily made a sucker. By way of some twisted logic, it has become better to go through life convincing others you are not that good to banish the possibility they might think you are either foolish or stupid.
Please, spare me those wussy, given in teaspoons, measured by pipette, ubiquitous kinds of love that are not real love. Spare me those instant pleasures that can only blur your mind, make your cheeks blush and cause stirring in your groin. Those so-called kinds of love with an expiry date, with terms and conditions and liabilities. Those misguided priorities solely driven by egos while everything else is insignificant. Spare me half-understood definitions, theories learned by heart and incomplete anamneses on the subject of love, and all of that without a single day of practice.
There is a curse saying that all the people born in Belgrade are forever doomed to live with Belgrade inside them. Even if they may not live in Belgrade any more. It continues to exist and grow inside them. If it has nothing else to sustain itself, it feeds on their memories. Not so much on memories of the streets, markets, steps or benches as on memories of all the people who live there. The people who are Belgrade.
Shall I make it this time? How long is life going to drive me in neutral like this? Where am I going and how long will it take me to get there? If I get off at the next stop, will it be too far from home for me to come back? What if I am already too close to the destination so I shouldn’t be getting off at all?
