And I used to be such a cool gal, easy going. It all started with a visit to the ‘heart of Serbia’ and some strange people taking out and selling kidneys, and lives exactly there in the ancient habitat of all Serbian (if only Serbs would decide if their ancestors were Arbanasi or Slavs).
People as people – same everywhere, some were nice, some weren’t that nice. All in all, I came home having both of my kidneys, and to make things worse, I had a nice time…Weird, everything started to seem weird, on my Facebook profile was posted a pic of Gračanica, which, thinking back, accidentally saved me from all sorts of things, at least for a while.
However in the pic, Albanians and me, impossible, and on the top of it I was posting stuff like human rights, transitional justice, became disgust with the word ‘Šiptar’, kept saying ‘Roma’ instead of ‘Gypsy’, which sparks strange curiosity with people from my surrounding. Honestly speaking, they started to provoke. For me everything was the same as before I went to Kosovo, but something around me was changing. You could sense the tension in the air, I kept responding to all sorts of questions, trying hard to be funny, not to insult anyone, but yet not to allow others to offend something they knew nothing about. I keep questioning myself, but I find nothing alarming in my actions or in my communication.
And then ‘awarding medals’ season started. Toma is awarding medals traditionally, I protested slightly, since the awardee is quite problematic persona- general Diković. Labels started piling up, my actions became more problematic than medals. Later we organized an action on stopping family and partner violence against women. No one asks a thing – my post got two likes.
Time is passing by. I work at the same coffee shop, study at the same faculty, live in the same flat, fall in love a bit. At night I give water to stray dogs since the summer from hell is on. Everything is the same, they say I am not, because I have new interests, am reading more, researching. I care about numerous things and I speak about them freely. I keep mention some Tuzla and May 25th. Tension is rising. It is time to commemorate Srebrenica genocide. I traveled to Srebrenica, with the ugliest ‘bon voyage’ in Belgrade and warmest welcome in Srebrenica since I was from Serbia. I get flower of Srebrenica from two girls who I met there – a thank you gift for being there. I cry, they cry, paradox, at least.
Came back home, safe and sound, again. To be precise, I didn’t return home, but went straight to the banned #seventhousand action. And surprise, surprise – I was lynched offline and online. They conclude I may be alive but I am not well. And as I was collecting nuisances from people close to my heart, it was time for ‘Oluja’. Posted on Facebook- one like, no one cared.
Next destination – Sarajevo, film festival, city full of people, beautiful. There is something special in that wounded Sarajevo. Yeah, right! There was some siege, lasted for 1425 days. I returned home singing, ‘Sarajevo, me amore’. They are so cool in Sarajevo.
The Middle East chaos started to affect whole Serbia. Watch out, here are the refugees. Crowds of refuges arrive and travel through our country, by the way no asylum on the sight. Hungarians are reenacting Berlin Wall, Europe fails on one more test of humanity. Just sayin’.
It is September, already, leaves are coloring in all possible nuances, from green to brown – patchwork of a kind. Sun is high in the sky when all of a sudden it starts raining – it’s Pride time. It will be warm, and I wish it to be a nice day for a walk, because everyone has a right to walk.
“ Okay, we tolerated all those Albanians, Bosniaks and Muslims and price we will pay to ISIS and their spreading of Islam in Europe, all these refugees are not here by accident. But to wave with the rainbow flag and walk with fags and shout ‘let them marry’, you are truly personification of Sheitan. Did I say Sheitan? I meant devil.’
What’s wrong with me, I don’t feel like setting mosques on fire. Really don’t know what’s wrong with me, since I don’t hate other nations. Don’t know what’s wrong with since I don’t hate gays, lesbians, transgender. Don’t know what’s wrong with me, since I want that hate from the past stop creating hate in the future. Don’t know what’s wrong with me, since I consider conspiracy theories and paranoid interpretations of the global processes to be tales for lazy people which bring nothing good. Don’t know what’s wrong with me since I think prejudices are devil’s deed. Don’t know what’s wrong with me since I think feminism is o.k.
And as I am sailing on the night bus, driving to Borča, in the Danube’s left bank, conductor approaches. Although there was a big guy standing next to me, in a t-shirt inviting to a lynch and screaming ’I am hate speech’, conductor passes him by. He probably didn’t notice him. Conductor approaches me and says, ’Where to, lovely lady ? I hope you have cash for the ticket, I only accept dinars, charm is not gonna get you anywhere.’ I give him 250 dinars and a mean look, I don’t ask for change. I wave my hand to signal him to move on. There, sometimes I stay speechless, since I really don’t know what’s wrong with you.’