Tag archive


Anniversary / Godišnjica



Every morning when I open my Facebook to see if my acquaintances are alive and kicking, to see if the Third World War has broken out and if Aleksandar formed a new Government, the very Facebook opens that option “on this day” to me and catapults me to the past … a past as such can paint my day in various colors.

This morning I was served to some joke about Mrs. Merkel, shared only 4 days after my significant other had packed and went without any agreement to the country of the above mentioned Mrs. Merkel so that he would not watch us rot here, having no patience to wait for me to figure it out if I am tied to Serbia with a chain or a thread. And so this anniversary reminded me of the anniversary of the day when Marko really went away. It was not a nice day. Dad was alone then and he was not happy; mom had passed away three months before that to a little better, but an unearthly place; and then I was also alone, no matter that I was not alone actually … Anniversary. Whatever that is.
And then I realized that my birthday would be in 20 days. I will turn 43. Anniversary. A substantial one, isn’t it?

This morning, while I was scrolling through that awful Facebook option, I realized that almost every anniversary is a wound, never healed completely. Then, that day comes, rubs salt into the wound, picks right and left, the wound bleeds, you feel pain in your chest, your eyes filled with tears, you take a deep breath and wait for the following day. Next day – next anniversary.

The older you get, the more you have … Anniversaries. Marriages, divorces, second marriages, births, break-ups, beginnings, breaks, new jobs, finishing school, PhD thesis, deaths of acquaintances, deaths of relatives, wars that we survived, anniversaries of those wars that we did not survive, then departures, arrivals, returning, subtracting, giving, everything has its own place in time. Everything has its own date in the calendar. Its birth and its death. It is awful that these are all anniversaries. And yes, the older you get, the more you have those that started and ended. Just like me. Like you. Whenever that one date comes, and the damn technology reminds me of it, it hurts.

Anniversaries should be abolished. Please, let me know if there is an application for deleting anniversaries which forces the calendar to pass to the 367th day and none of them, not a number, and no feeling will remind you about the previous one. You go on, as if there was no yesterday… and there are not any anniversaries to pick your wound and blur your eyes with tears that do not drop.



Svako jutro kada otvorim Fejsbuk da pogledam da li su moji poznanici živi i zdravi, da proverim da li je izbio treći svetski rat i da li je Aleksandar formirao vladu, meni taj isti Fejsbuk otvori onu opciju „na današnji dan“ i katapultira me u prošlost… a prošlost kao takva može mi dan ofarbati u razne boje.

Jutros mi je ispod nosa servirao neki fazon u vezi Merkelove, podeljen samo 4 dana nakon što se moja jača polovina spakovala i bez dogovora otišla kod te iste Merkelove da nas ne gleda kako trulimo ovde, nemajući strpljenja da sačeka da se i ja smislim da li sam lancem ili koncem vezana za Srbiju.
I tako mi je ta servirana godišnjica zamirisala na godišnjicu kada je Marko zaista i otišao odavde. Nije to bio lep dan. Tata tada sam i ne baš sjajno sam; mama otišla tri meseca pre toga, na neko bolje, ali nezemaljsko mesto; a onda ostadoh i ja sama, bez obzira što zapravo i nisam,… Godišnjica. Kakva god da je.

A onda shvatim da je i moj rođendan za 20 dana. Punim 43. Godišnjica. Pozamašna, jel` da?

Jutros sam skrolujući po toj gadnoj Fejbuk opciji shvatila da je skoro svaka godišnjica jedna rana, nikad zarasla do kraja. Onda dođe taj dan, gurne ti prst u ranu, pročačka levo – desno, rana malo prokrvari, tebe zaboli u grudima, oči ti se napune suzama, udahneš duboko i čekaš sledeći dan. Sledeći dan – sledeća godišnjica.

Što si stariji, sve ih više imaš… Godišnjice. Braka, razvoda, drugih brakova, rođenja, raskida, početka, prekida, novog posla, završetka škole, doktorata, smrti daljnjih, smrti bližnjih, pa ratova koje smo mi ovde preživeli, pa godišnjice onih koji te iste ratove nisu preživeli, pa odlasci, dolasci, vraćanja, oduzimanja, davanja, sve ima svoje mesto u vremenu. Sve svoj datum u kalendaru. Svoje rođenje i svoju smrt. Gadno je samo to što su sve to godišnjice. I što si stariji, da, više imaš onih koje su i počele i završile se. Kao ja. Kao ti. Kad god dođe taj neki datum, a prokleta tehnologija te na njega podseti, mene zaboli.

Godišnjice bi trebalo ukinuti. Javite ako postoji aplikacija za brisanje godišnjica koja tera kalendar u 367. dan i ni jedan te, ni brojem, a ni osećajem, ne podseti na prethodni. Teraš dalje, kao da juče ne postoji… i nema ni jedne godišnjice da ti pročačka ranu i zamagli oči suzama koje ne cure.


Tears should not be inherited… (Suze ne treba naslediti…)



Child that I do not have … I admit that, despite all the troubles in my life, I often think about why, how, whether … what kind of a parent I would be?
Since my twenties, I have been asked why I do not have a child. Is it just me? Yes, certainly. But the problem is not in my body, or even in my head. I just do not have a child. My mom always used to say that in my case, as with many people, it goes “from the center”, but I control “the center” badly, … I might have one someday, it is said that women now give birth to children till the age of 45. Maybe I will adopt one. Maybe I will take a little gipsy kid from streets, as I now collect abandoned animals. I do not know. But I know that being a parent is not an easy role … and that a parent has to protect you from a hornet in a meadow.I grew up with my mom and dad, but most of the time I spent with my aunt, my mother’s sister, who is still being asked: “How is your elder daughter?”, even though she has only one child, 9 years younger than me … My mom worked in what later became the Emergency Center, my dad used to work in the police, and I belonged to them between daytime and night-duty work, travels, driving me from Belgrade, where we lived, to Pančevo, where mom’s family lived … over the summer at Pelješac at my grandfather’s, where I was taken to by different people.

Today, I am 42, mom has been gone for a little more than 4 months, and my dad will soon turn 67.
These days, I am pondering about myself and my own essence, deeply affected by various emotions, I am also reading various letters, pictures, documents … and I came across the letters to my parents. Since I was 24, when I left their home in shorts and slippers with a wallet in my hand, slamming the door, until recently we would not speak for 3, 4, or even 6 months during the year. Those were minor things, sometimes even bigger than that but our explosive characters would not let things turn out other way. Hornets flew across the meadow which I used to cross barefoot as a child, and my dad used to say it was good for me to learn to defend myself.
Nowadays, I am prone to idealize them. My parents. Because mom is gone, and my father was left alone with me in this world. Have I ever been disappointed in them and has it made me a better or worse person? Yes, I have. I have been disappointed, as they have probably been disappointed in me, too… but it hurts children more than it hurts adults. Adults find an explanation, children take pain through life.

When you are a child and the world is one large field which you are running across, tripping over stones, running away from a dandelion you are afraid of, you live without the presence of people who gave birth to you or made you, you are a net for butterflies … into which sometimes, even often, an uninvited hornet flies. You expect your parents to kill hornets … and that does not always happen. And the field that you are running across and tripping over stones turns into a vast field full of hornets and large stones, and on the top of a rock is one of your parents who nods and says: “Get stronger. Nobody has ever fondled me either. “… and then you turn 42, being thankful because they made you stronger, taught you … but the same place where I was stung by the hornet still hurts. And the tears flow. Because when I close my eyes, I feel my mom only when she is moving the fringes from my forehead. And we are silent.

If I had a child (just as I do not have one), I would never let myself disappoint him/her, I would rather swallow a hornet … Maybe it is an unattainable ideal in life, I may be unrealistic, perhaps because I do not have a child, but it hurts when I see and understand that people make children stronger, for higher goals, reasons explicable only to them, that they cannot make the slightest sacrifice for a creature that is their body and soul, that they let children look upon them as gods, and they behave just like average people … Life makes you strong enough, the parents’ role is to be the ideal role model, pride, to cuddle and keep promises.

If I had a child (just as I do not have one), he/she could rely on me. As much as it is difficult, impossible, childish, unjustified for me…
It is wonderful to be an adult and feel that support, even when you do not have a physical support any more.
It is not wonderful to be a grown-up and suffer for a piece of parental love.
If I had a child (just as I do not have one), he/she would be a person who would not write letters to his/her parents in which one of the main sentences would be: “I feel like an orphan.”
If I had one someday, one way or another, he/she would never be disappointed in me. Because tears should not be inherited.

Note: This post does not refer specifically to me and my parents or people and their parents familiar to me. Post was created just like brooding over coffee. That is what blogs are for, aren’t they? 🙂



Dete koje nemam… priznajem da često razmišljam, pored svih peripetija u životu, o tome zašto, kako, da li,… kakav bih roditelj bila?

Od moje 20 i neke pitaju me zašto nemam dete. Da li je problem u meni? Jeste, sigurno. Ali, nije u telu, a ni u glavi. Prosto nemam dete. Mama je govorila da to kod mene, kao i kod mnogih, ide “iz centrale”, ali centralu slabo kontrolišem,… Možda ću ga jednom imati, kažu da žene sada rađaju i do 45. Možda ću ga usvojiti. Možda ću uzeti ciganče sa ulice, kao što sada skupljam napuštene životinje. Ne znam. Ali znam da biti roditelj nije jednostavna uloga… i da roditelj mora da te zaštiti od stršljena na livadi.

Odrasla sam sa mamom i tatom, ali sam veći deo provela sa tetkom, maminom sestrom, koju i danas pitaju “Kako ti je starija ćerka?” iako ima samo jedno dete, mlađe 9 godina od mene… Mama je radila u preteči Urgentnog centra, tata u policiji, pa sam im pripadala između dnevnih i noćnih dežurstava, putovanja, prebacujući me iz Beograda gde smo živeli, u Pančevo, gde su živeli mamini…, preko letovanja na Pelješcu kod dede, gde me je vodio kako je ko stigao.

Danas, imam 42. Mame nema nešto više od 4 meseca, a tata ima još malo pa 67.

Vrtim se ovih dana oko same sebe i svoje suštine, enormno pogođena raznim emocijama, prebiram isto tako razna pisma, slike, dokumenta… pa nailazim na moja pisma roditeljima. Dešavalo se, počevši od moje 24. godine, kada sam u šortsu i papučama, sa novčanikom u ruci, otišla od njih zalupivši vrata, pa sve do skoro, da nismo pričali po 3, 4, pa i 6 meseci u toku godine. Bile su to minorne stvari, ponekad i veće od toga, ali eksplozivni karakteri nisu dali da bude drugačije. Stršljeni su leteli po livadi po kojoj sam kao dete hodala bosa, a tata je govorio da je dobro da naučim da se branim sama.

Danas sam sklona da ih idealizujem. Roditelje. Jer mame više nema, a tata je ostao sam sa mnom na ovom svetu. Da li sam ikada bila razočarana u njih i da li je od mene to napravilo boljeg ili goreg čoveka? Da, jesam. Bila sam razočarana, kao i oni, verovatno, u mene,… ali decu to više boli nego odrasle. Odrasli nađu objašnjenje, deca bol ponesu kroz život.

Kada si mali i svet ti je jedna velika poljana kojom trčiš, saplićeš se o kamenčiće, bežiš od maslačka kog se plašiš, živiš bez prisustva onih koji su te rodili ili napravili, ti si jedna mreža za leptire… u koju ponekad, pa i često, upadne nezvani stršljen. Očekuješ da stršljena ubije tvoj roditelj… a to se ne desi uvek. I tvoja poljana od poljane kojom trčiš i saplićeš se o kamenčiće, postaje nepregledno polje puno stršljena i velikog kamenja, a na vrhu neke stene stoji tvoj roditelj koji klima glavom i kaže “Čeliči se. Ni mene niko nije mazio.” … i onda napuniš 42, zahvalan si što su te očeličili, naučili,…ali te boli i dalje ono mesto gde te je izujedao stršljen. I suze teku same. Zato kad zažmurim mamu osetim samo kako mi sklanja šiške sa čela. I ćutimo.

Da imam dete, kao što ga nemam, ne bih nikada dozvolila da ga razočaram, pre bih progutala stršljena… Možda je to ideal neostvariv u životu, možda sam nerealna, možda baš zato nemam dete, ali me boli kada vidim i shvatim da ljudi čeliče decu, zarad viših ciljeva, razloga samo njima objašnjivim, kada ne podnose ni najmanju žrtvu za stvorenje koje je njihova duša i telo, kada dozvole da deca gledaju u njih kao u bogove, a oni se ponašaju samo kao prosečni ljudi… Život dovoljno čeliči, uloga roditelja je da bude ideal, uzor, ponos, da mazi i ispunjava obećanja.

Da imam dete, kao što ga nemam, ono bi na mene moglo da se osloni. Koliko god to meni bilo teško, neizvodljivo, detinjasto, neopravdano…

Divno je biti odrastao čovek i osećati taj neki oslonac, čak i kada ga više fizički nemaš.

Nije divno biti odrastao čovek i patiti za mrvom roditeljske ljubavi.

Da imam dete, kao što ga nemam, ono bi bilo čovek koji ne bi pisao pisma svojim roditeljima u kojima bi jedna od glavnih rečenica bila “osećam se kao siroče”.
Ako ga budem jednom imala, ovako ili onako, neće biti nikada razočarano u mene. Jer, suze ne treba naslediti.

Napomena: Ovaj post ne odnosi se konkretno na mene i moje roditelje ili poznate mi osobe i njihove roditelje. Post je nastao samo kao razmišljanje uz kafu. Za to služe blogovi, zar ne? 🙂


Go to Top