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CRY, YOU ARE NOT A CHILD! / PLAČI, NISI DETE!

in MY BLOG

CRY, YOU ARE NOT A CHILD!

When I was little, and it was thirty years ago or more, I was not a child who could start crying easily. People would rather expect me to argue, break up a fight, or be quiet in a sulky way until I get my way or this feeling releases.

I did not cry even when in one terrible cold January of 1985, compared to which this January of 2016 is nothing, my dad came to the school during the break. I knew that grandpa passed away. The grandpa, my mother’s father, who allowed me, his nine-year-old only grandchild, to sleep in the trailer which was left at his yard in Orebic, Peljesac by a German until next summer. He died when he was only a little more than 62. I did not cry, I just yelled “Why didn’t Milena die instead of him?!”… Milena was my mother’s mother, who was 89when she died… There’s no need for tears. Anger was just enough. Back then.

And I guess that it is how things work, until you start to grow up, and then “adulthood” does not allow you to be a cry baby and shed tears for anything or anyone? Then it is not even OK to ask why someone died, and someone else did not. Also, it was wrong to ask my mom not to die before my dad, although I did. However, my Ljilja avoided that subject in her own style, with a laugh: “I don’t give a shit. When I die, do what you want… “, referring to the difficult relationship that I have had with my father from my childhood until today. A difficult man, a difficult relationship. Neither am I easy to deal with. He raised his only daughter as a soldier, and a soldier was rebelling against him … And that was the case all my life.

There were not many tears when my schoolmate Brana Milinovic was killed during protests in 1991. There was anger, disappointment, sadness, but not many tears. At 18, you are thinking about how to change things and not where to find paper tissues …

Then “adult things” started to happen. My cousin’s girlfriend went to give birth to a baby on one October day. She did not come back. They just returned us a bundle of 6 pounds that we needed to worry about because there was no one else. And how could we give that little nose to anyone?… And the first tears that are hard to stop when the bundle had cramps, and at 23 I was carrying it from door to door, in a circle around the house… in shifts with other family members.

Then one police stick from of the cordon cracks your head in Kolarčeva Street during “Counter-demonstrations”.  Blood is dripping down my neck, you do not know if you are going to stay alive, or healthy, your brain is, as in a convertible, drying out on the December cold winter day, but you are not crying. You are changing the world? Change my ass! And who knows when that tomorrow will be and if it is tomorrow any way…

You are growing up as if you are not growing up actually, although your tears are becoming the only way to protect yourself from the things that you cannot change… You also cannot make many people change, although you are trying. You are helpless with a lot of them. Anger “does not work” anymore.

You are helpless when your friend from primary school is brought back after who knows how many years from Kosovo, where he was killed. You are also helpless when you find out that your mother is ill with systemic lupus and that only about 30% of people live more than 10 years struggling with it. You are helpless when you go to the hospital and find your mother’s mother covered with a ragged blanket, in a room with the greasy paint peeling off the walls, and the door had long been taken off the hinges. You are helpless when you get back home one day and you realize that he did not leave me any choice and decided to move 1000 km away among other things because of the conditions in which your mother’s mother died 2 and a half years ago and only three months ago your mother, too. You are helpless when you see what kind of people have benefits at work. You are helpless when those who are supposed to help others are actually wicked. You are helpless when some first graders basic burn the cat in the sack and others, just a little bit older, put a firecracker in a dog’s mouth.

And what remains to you when you use up all the strength in anger, useless attempts to deal with the injustices of various kinds. In order not be get mad, you sit down and cry yourself out. It helps.

Cry, you are not a child! Then we will see what happens, with clean, washed eyes and calm head.
And with your hand on the trigger.

 

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PLAČI, NISI DETE!

Kad sam bila mala, a bilo je to pre tridesetak godina i više, nisam baš bila dete koje lako zaplače. Pre su mogli očekivati da ću se posvađati, potući ili nadureno ćutati dok ne bude po mome ili me osećaj ne popusti.
Nisam plakala čak ni kada je 1985., jednog odvratnog i hladnog januara, naspram kog ovaj 2016. nije ništa, tata došao u školu za vreme velikog odmora. Znala sam da dede više nema. Onog dede, maminog oca, koji je meni, devetogogodišnjem jedinom unučetu, dozvoljavao da spavam u kamp prikolici koju je kod njega u dvorištu u Orebiću, na Pelješcu, ostavio neki Nemac do idućeg leta. Umro je sa samo malo više od 62. Nisam plakala, samo sam vikala “Zašto Milena nije umrla umesto njega!?”… Milena je bila mamina majka, koja je živela 89 godina…  Čemu suze? Samo bes je bio dovoljan. Tada.
I to tako, valjda, ide, dok ne počneš da rasteš, a onda ti “odraslost” ne dozvoljava da budeš plačipička i liješ suze za bilo čim ili kim? Onda nije u redu ni da pitaš zašto je neko umro, a neko drugi nije. Nije u redu bilo ni da moliš mamu da ne umre pre tate, mada sam to radila. No, moja Ljilja je to u svom stilu, uz smeh, zatvarala kao temu: “Boli me uvo. Kad ja umrem, radite šta znate…”, aludirajući na težak odnos koji od svojih malih nogu, pa sve do danas imam sa svojim ocem. Težak čovek, težak odnos. Nisam ni ja laka. Vaspitavao je ćerku jedinicu kao vojnika, a vojnik je pravio pobune… I tako celog života.

Nije bilo mnogo suza ni kada je 1991. u demostracijama poginuo moj školski drug Brana Milinović. Bilo je besa, razočaranosti, tuge, ali ne mnogo suza. Sa 18 više razmišljaš kako da promeniš stvari, nego gde su papirne maramice…

Onda su počele da se dešavaju “stvari za odrasle”. Devojka mog brata od tetke je jednog oktobarskog dana otišla da se porodi. Nije se vratila. Vratili su samo zamotuljak od 3kg o kom smo trebali da brinemo, jer nije imao ko drugi. A i kako taj mali nosić da daš bilo kome? …I prve suze koje teško zaustavljaš krenule su kada je zamotuljak imao grčeve, a ja ga, sa 23 godine, nosala od vrata do vrata, pa u krug po kući… na smenu sa ukućanima.
Onda ti jedan pendrek iz kordona u Kolarčevoj na “Kotramitingu” razbije glavu. Krv se sliva niz vrat, ne znaš da li ćeš ostati živ, a posebno zdrav, mozak ti se, kao u kabrioletu, luftira na decembarskoj zimi, ali ne plačeš. Ti menjaš svet? Menjaš sutra malo! I to sutra ko zna kad je i da li je…

Rasteš, a kao da ne odrastaš, mada ti suze postaju jedini način da se odbraniš od stvari koje ne možeš promeniti… A mnoge ne možeš, iako pokušavaš. U mnogima si bespomoćan. Bes više “ne radi”.
Bespomoćan si kada ti druga iz osnovne škole vrate posle ko zna koliko godina sa Kosova, gde je poginuo. Bespomoćan si kada saznaš da ti majka boluje od lupusa, od kog samo oko 30% ljudi preživi duže od 10 godina u borbi sa njim. Bespomoćan si kada odeš u bolnicu i zatekneš majku svoje majke pokrivenu pocepanim ćebetom, u sobi sa čijih se zidova ljušti masna farba, a vrata su odavno skinuta sa šarki. Bespomoćan kada se vratiš jednog dana kući i shvatiš da te je on stavio pred svršen čin i odlučio da se odseli na 1000 km između ostalog i zbog uslova u kom je 2,5 godine ranije umrla majka tvoje majke, a pre samo 3 meseca i tvoja majka. Bespomoćan si kada vidiš ko sve ima “prođu” u poslu. Bespomoćan kada oni koji bi trebali da pomognu drugima zapravo jašu metlu. Bespomoćan kada klinci iz prvog osnovne zapale mačku u džaku, a drugi, tek malo stariji, stave psu petardu u usta.

I šta ti ostaje kada iscrpiš sve snage u besu, pokušajima Kalimera da se izboriš sa nepravdama raznih vrsta? Da ne bi poludeo, sedneš i isplačeš se. Pomaže.
Plači, nisi dete! Posle ćemo da vidimo šta ćemo, čistih, ispranih očiju i mirne glave. I sa rukom na okidaču. 😉

x
Ilustracija preuzeta sa weba (Weheartit).

 

“I GAVE BIRTH TO A MONSTER!”… AND FELL ASLEEP. (“Rodila sam čudovište!” …i zaspala.)

in MY BLOG
mamaEnglish:
“I GAVE BIRTH TO A MONSTER!”… AND FELL ASLEEP.
She gave birth to me when she was 22, out of love and desire, not by chance. She taught me to read and write when I was 4 years old, to think for myself and be myself.
She taught me to ride a bike, so I followed her arduously, but persistently, down Kneza Miloša Street to the former “Jugobanka” near the “London”, to give away all her savings. Still, she did not teach me how to manage money – I took after her for being a big spender. Beside her, as a little girl, I learned to eat olives which I still adore, then shellfish, relished whitebait in the “Polet”, roamed the city … and listened to Tina Turner, watched loads of movies with her. She used to drink bitter coffee, so I never put sugar in mine. She used to buy me a bunch of books. Because of her, at the age of 8, I read everything that was written by Branko Ćopić, and by the age of 11 everything written by Agatha Christie…
She used to be an excellent driver and she used to swear while driving, just like me. She had large almond-shaped eyes, a small snub nose, just like me … and we were always joking because only my boobs weren’t like hers, but like dad’s. 🙂
We used to fight, but as a 40-year-old woman, I would jump into her bed and doze hugging with her …
She accepted our Maria wholeheartedly, because her mom died in childbirth, cherished her until she was one year old and was proud of her every concert, success and talent. She was helping her patients lovingly, with whom she has worked for over 25 years. Always smiling, witty, with crazy jokes that had seemed so charming …
Ten years ago, she was diagnosed with lupus. She did not pay attention to her health too much, she had other things to do …
She could not walk fast, she was driving her car less and less, and eventually just fell asleep. Today.
I love you, mom. I will always want to hug you and send a message with abbreviations where “Mama” is “Wawa” or exchange with you an MMS with photos in which we loll out..

Serbian:
“RODILA SAM ČUDOVIŠTE!”…I ZASPALA.
Rodila me je sa 22, iz ljubavi i želje, ne slučajno. Naučila me je da čitam i pišem sa 4 godine, da razmišljam svojom glavom i budem ja.
Naučila me je da vozim bicikl, pa sam je teškom mukom, ali uporno, pratila uz Kneza Miloša do tadašnje „Jugobanke“ kod „Londona“, da predam svoju ušteđevinu. Ipak, nije me naučila kako da raspolažem parama – na nju sam povukla „široku ruku“. Uz nju sam kao mala naučila da jedem masline koje i danas obožavam, školjke, uživala u giricama u „Poletu“, skitala po gradu…, slušala Tinu Tarner, gledala gomile filmova sa njom. Ona je pila gorku kafu, pa ni ja svoju nikad nisam šećerila. Kupovala mi je hrpe knjiga. Zbog nje sam sa 8 godina pročitala sve što je napisao Branko Ćopić, a do 11 sve od Agate Kristi…
Bila je odličan vozač i psovala je u saobraćaju, kao i ja. Imala je velike bademaste oči, mali prćasti nos, kao što imam i ja… i uvek smo se šalile zbog toga što jedino sise nemam na nju, nego na tatu. 🙂
Umele smo da se posvađamo, ali sam i sa 40 godina uskakala kod nje u krevet i dremala zagrljena sa njom…
Punim srcem je uzela našu Mariju, kojoj je mama umrla na porođaju, gajila je do njene prve godine i bila ponosna na svaki njen koncert, uspeh i talenat. Punim srcem je pomagala svojim pacijentima, sa kojima je radila više od 25 godina. Uvek nasmejana, duhovita, sa ludim forama koje su je činile toliko šarmantnom…
Pre desetak godina dijagnostikovali su joj lupus. Nije se obazirala previše na svoje zdravlje, imala je druga posla…
Više nije mogla brzo da hoda, sve manje je vozila auto, da bi na kraju samo zaspala. Danas.
Volim te, mama. I dalje ću hteti da te zagrlim i pošaljem poruku u skraćenicama gde je “Mama” – “Wawa” ili razmenim sa tobom MMS sa slikama na kojima se kezimo.
Samo jedna slika nikada neće biti kao pre. Ostali smo tata i ja da se svađamo, a tebe neće biti tu da digneš ruku za tajm-aut i kažeš “Rodila sam čudovište!”.
Valjda tako mora.
VtT
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