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They say it’s darkest right before the dawn. Is it? Wait, let me rephrase the question: Does the dawn ever come? I went high that day. Visoko, it means ‘high’. I arrived right after the storm, hiked in the night, to wait for the longest day of the year on the place that was built for that particular day. Because of all the traveling, barely sleeping a little in the bus, climbing a pyramid and freezing in the dark, the shortest night of the year felt like the longest. But the longest day after that also felt the longest. Long and high… Visoko… When I try to feel love, I feel Visoko… And this year was supposed to be about love. Did I find it? I kind of did. I kind of didn’t. I have no idea. I loved my friends, I loved my family, I loved my “enemies” and yes, I even loved myself. Maybe I even fell in love. But was love the answer? Was it enough? Hardly. Was I loved? I don’t know. But that day, the longest day, I felt loved. I was found. I was at home. I was complete. And I threw all that into the fire. Or it threw me into the fire. Or the fire just burned it all together without asking my permission… The solstice fire. The solstice day. Summer solstice. After the sunset, heavily blocked with chemtrails, there was just this fire, another night and me, kind of drunk and kind of depressed, wishing for my lies to come back, because truth felt unbearable. The truth, spit in front of me, destroying everything and eating me alive ever since… That truth is simple: Your life sucks. So the summer began, but what actually happened was the return of darkness. Days were getting darker again, my hearth with them, my soul with them… If there was a way out for me, I haven’t found it. I was just watching my life falling apart and that question screaming in every part of my being: ARE YOU GOING TO CHANGE AT LAST?!? Or are you going to make the same choices as before? Yes, I will change! I’m ready. I’m ready. I kept saying that while climbing to Rtanj, yet another pyramid. I’m ready. I’m ready! But ready for what? I had no idea. I still don’t… Where do I go from here? Where do you go when you know you can’t go on like this, like you used to, but that’s just about everything you do know. You don’t know another way. You don’t know anything, just like you never did. How do you even begin searching for the answers when you don’t know the questions anymore? Lock up in your home, read some books, watch some movies, go for a walk on your eternity-shaped forest path, cook and wash the dishes. Don’t look for a job! Not the same kind of job! Please, not again! Try to come up with something else. I know trying doesn’t work, but keep trying. Exercise. Believe you have what it takes! Even when you don’t… Keep believing anyway. The purpose of your life can’t be not having a purpose! Can it? Just believe… Please… Believe… Just like all those dead looking plants with buds all over them. The winter is not yet here, but they already believe in spring! They are getting ready for it. Forget the summer solstice! There is another one coming! Winter solstice. Days will begin getting longer again. New Year will come. You’ll figure it out, everything! The dawn is approaching! Is it? I don’t know… Just keep believing. It’s all you have left… |
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„Home is not a place, it's a feeling“ I guess I found that statement on facebook… It sounded interesting, something worth clicking ‘like’ and even ‘share’. Now, it even evolved into a blog post. Home… It’s not an easy concept when you are conceived in one place, supposed to be born in another, but end up being born in third one, just to be taken back to the first one for your first three years, unreachable by your memory but alive in your subconscious, and after that you grow up in the third place after all… So you call that third place your hometown, but none of your parents where born or even originated from there, which makes you a lifetime traveler to very different, mostly summer homes… Even the politics involves, moving your city from one country/union/bullshit to another, all the while making new enemies for you, which you can either hate or be declared one of them… To make things even more complicated, because you are always complicating things more than anybody around you is able to handle, as a student living in a n-th place (n-th home), you suddenly decide you like to travel after all and you are surprised that all the places you visit also feel like a home to you. Going back to a once visited foreign country truly feels like going back home… But this is not a story about me. It’s about my grandparents, my mother’s mother and my father’s father. It’s them who thought me that home is really a feeling rather than a place, because it was them who showed me what happens when you loose that feeling… My grandfather is very old and very ill. No one really understands how is it possible that he’s still alive, but he is, despite all the odds against him. Sometimes he recognizes other people, sometimes not, he sleeps a lot and never complains. He was never much of a talker, so nobody really knows what he’s going through. Sometimes, he wants to go home. We try to explain him that he already is at home, but he doesn’t believe us, he wants to go anyway. The house he built himself doesn’t feel like a home anymore. Nothing does. I know that by now. There’s no point explaining when the feeling is lost. So, rather than trying to convince him that he’s at home, I ask him to wait for my father to come so he can take him by car because it’s getting too dark for walking. Or something like that. It usually works, at least until my father comes, with no intention of driving anybody ‘home’… My grandmother was a much more talkative person, so we knew a lot more of what was going on in her head. She lived alone, even though at the end someone was always with her. When she lost that feeling of home, she tried to explain it with a crazy story. She was sure that she’s been moved to another apartment, but one that looked exactly like her apartment! She kept talking about that and no one could convince her that she wasn’t moved anywhere. She didn’t know who moved her or why, but she knew for sure it happened. Sometimes she would look at a piece of furniture or just a floor and tell me: “Look, this is the same floor as I had in my apartment! Everything’s the same. It’s interesting how they make those places look exactly the same!“ Once she told me that in her other apartment she could see the church from her balcony, but in this one she can’t. I took her to the balcony and showed her the church, trying to prove her wrong. After that she was so confused that I decided never to do something like that again. She lost the feeling of home, and she had to somehow explain it to herself. And to everybody else… It wasn’t a bad explanation, after all. I don’t know if I could come up with a better one. I hope I’ll never have to… |