LIFETIME moments

Dear diary,

I’ve finished with the work for today and finally I have some time for myself, for my thoughts that I usually share with you. It passed some time since our last ‘conversation’, but here I am, ready to talk too much, as always.

Today I want to speak about lifetime moments, days or hours so special for us that we will always keep alive in our memory.  I had a few moments like this that I keep in my heart and remember from time to time. This weekend I lived one of those precious instants that cannot be described by words so easily but I will give a try.

I met Fabiola exactly 11 years ago. I was travelling from Trento to Trieste where I was supposed to go to the university to matriculate myself. She was going there too, for the same reason. In that train actually began our friendship although we couldn’t suppose that at the time. The university started in October 2000 and that first year I ended up in a catholic dormitory run by the nuns of Providence where I met again with Fabiola, Faby as we all call her, and the other two girls Alessandra and Clara. We became close friends no matter the following year they moved to a flat and I stayed in a crazy catholic dormitory where I spent three years.  The guys who lived at the time in a man catholic dormitory, our university colleagues, used to call us Providence girls. I still have the habit to call us with the same lovely nick name that reminds me of good old university days.

The long weekend in Friuli – Venezia Giulia

Dear diary,

There's been almost two weeks since my last post. No, it's not that I was lazy. You know that I like to write, to open my mind and share my precious thoughts with you, but these last days I was out of town for a long weekend from 19^th until 23^rd of this month. On my way back home, I discovered that my internet was cut by my provider, for no reason at all, and the clue of the day was that I got flu! So, there was no way that I could go out and argue with the lady at Vodafone's, moreover I had 38.2° so I postponed it for betters days. However, I had to prove to myself that I was not that addicted to web and that I could stay away from my social networks, mail, motivation letters to write, job preoccupations. All that useless stress that was killing me last weeks and months had disappeared and I could finally relax with my family, and to think about the marvelous long weekend I spent with my old friends.

On Thursday, 18^th March, late in the afternoon, I took a train from Trento to Bassano and I was heading to Gorizia. A lot of things changed since I was a regular passenger on that local or should I say regional train. Suddenly, a number of intermediate stops was increased and I was obliged to change a train three times. Yes, I could take a super fast train called "Frecciarossa", without all that changes, but a price difference was quite evident so I opted for a "poor" trip version which included a change of train in Bassano, first, then Castefranco Veneto, and at last in Treviso Centrale. Years ago, while I was still a student at the faculty of Diplomatic studies in Gorizia, I was taking the same regional train, but I had to change it only in Venice, from which there was a direct inter-regional train. However, apparently since then things were quite different, so I had to accept the new situation. On the train, I met a nice guy from Senegal, with whom I had a pleasant conversation in French and who was so kind to walk me to the other train because I was afraid of some unpleasant and quite impolite foreign guy who was staring at me all the time. The next track was Bassano – Castelfranco Veneto. I do not exaggerate, but I was completely alone in the compartment! It was an old train and my first thought was: "Am I on the train phantasm?" Every next stop I was expecting somebody to step in but my prayers were not heard. I tried to relax with some music of my mp3 player, but it was useless. Luckily, there was finally a Castelfranco Veneto stop and I was relieved. Then there was other train to be taken, which was going to Treviso but this time I was not alone. I managed to relax and after last change, at eight thirty p.m., I finally arrived to Gorizia, to that town at the Italian-Slovenian boarder where I studied for almost five years, and my friend Alessandra, who was graduating the following morning, and her boyfriend Marco were waiting for me at the station. I was so happy and quite excited because of return to "good old" Gorizia after one year. Last spring, university celebrated its anniversary so we all got reunited. Unfortunately, this time I was alone, girls were out of Italy and I was honored to represent our group of friends for this special occasion of Alessandra's graduation.

The following morning, Marco came to pick me up at Alessandra's flat where I was accommodated. While we were approaching the faculty's building, my heart was beating so fast. I was so excited at idea of going back to the "red" room where the ceremony was held. Alessandra was the first to have the graduation exam. Her thesis topic was quite interesting so professors wanted to ask her some questions and she answered them all with no hesitation. She was really great and I was so moved while I was listening to her and so proud. Obviously, she got the highest mark: 110 cum lode. After the exam, we all went outside where Marco and I put on the wall the papiro. I have to explain. In Italy, they have this tradition to write on a paper panel a long poem of your life, very funny one and containing some secrets from student's life usually unknown to family members. This time, since I was alone, and besides my handwriting is quite illegible, I decided to create a collage of pictures with thoughts and messages of our friends. They all help me a lot, and the rest was a part of my favorite pc program: picassa. I like to create this kind of things, especially for my friends in occasion of their birthdays, so I had quite fun while creating it. Alessandra liked it so much. She was visibly touched while reading it. She was happy and I was even more. The surprise was perfect I'd say!

After the graduation ceremony, we all went to Nino, a bar where we used to hang out, to celebrate. My only sorrow was because the girls, Fabiola , Clara and Francesca, were not with us, but at the end, even from abroad, they sent their love and greetings. I felt like a postman when I gave her postcards Fabiola and Francesca have sent from UK. In Italy there was a TV show, conducted by a famous Raffaela Carra, who was inviting a family members of her guest from abroad, who were living far away and were not in contact with a guest, and she would say: "And now, Francesca (an example) is here!" The show was called "Caramba che fortuna", "Caramba what a fortune", and somehow I felt like I was Raffaela. We stayed for a while at Nino's, and later on, in the evening, we went to Cormons for a dinner. For two days we were celebrating: Alessandra's family, Marco's family and the guest of honor: me. On Saturday we went to Grado, at the seaside where we had a long walk. In the evening Marco's mum Anna invited us for a dinner which was very delicious and I could not do othervise but asking for the recipe. One of these days I will make it for my mum. I hope to surprise her!

I spent the entire weekend in Gorizia and beside Alessandra, I managed to meet with other old friends like Simone, with whom I took a coffee on Sunday morning, but I was most excited when I met, after five long years, my African friends: Lydie and Edwige. They are now both married and have kids. Lydie is a mum of Paolo, who has five months and is really adorable. It was so nice holding him in my arms and playing with him. Lydie was so kind to invite me at lunch, so we had time to remember old days when we both lived at the Catholic student dormitory. Edwige also has a son, his name is Eddy Francesco, and she is pregnant again. Her son is very cute, we played for some time and tried to make some photos but it was practically impossible.

After a weekend, on Monday afternoon, I went to Trieste and I stayed there for two days at Denis' place. Denis is my Croatian girl friend, although she preferred to be called Istrian, as the region she lives in: Istria. We met ten years ago, at the entrance exam, and although we were from countries which were in war, we became quite good friends. Unfortunately, although she passed exam, she was not among people who were accepted so she transferred her to the other faculty in Trieste but we remained in contact and from time to time we were seeing each other. She lives in an old building, owned by a wife of some man from Istria too, which has all inhabitants originally from the Balkans. Every Monday, this guy organizes a multiethnic parties, with food and games. So, I had to go there with Denis and her twin sister Tea, and it was nice, I had quite of fan. The only negative thing was that it was raining all the time and we couldn't go out for a walk but we spoke a lot, listened to music and she showed me her latino fitness tape. Just like me, she gained some extra kilos, and with this latino fitness program, she is practicing every day. I liked it, so Denis made a copy of it for me and I already began to practice it at home. My mum likes it too, so every evening she joins me while doing exercises.

It was really a nice long weekend, full of memories that I will keep in my heart forever. There are some pictures so I made a collage. I hope you will like it.

Good night my friends, wherever you are!

Les Providences.. good, old days I miss

Dear diary,

It's been almost ten years since I moved to Italy, as I already mentioned, and sometimes I feel like it was yesterday. No, I do not feel old, I just feel a sort of nostalgy for good old days when everything was so easy, so different, so...so... I can not find the right adjective right now but I know that exists.. You know what I mean? When you are young, you do not care about problems, you just feel happy, no matter happends. More you grow up, more problems you have. As my mum would say, small children, small problems. Big children, big problem. The fact is that I am not a child anymore, although dad says that I am acting like this. However, I would totally disagree. My only problem is that I feel so depressed, or better, I thought I was depressed, but I realized on time that I was wrong. It's easier to invent various illnesses instead to face the reality, and reality is not that noir. On the contrary. My reality is colorful. Sometimes darker, usualy very bright and to this bright reality I need to be attached to. My reality is my family and my friends, athough most of them are far away but we will be always united, thanks to common memories and where these memories will lead me tonight? Right to the convitto!

I spent my first university year at the catholic dormitory for girls, called Convitto delle suore della providenza, where I met my Providences: Fabiola, Alessandra, Clara e Giorgia, without whom my first university year would not be the same, maybe worse, especially if I take into consideration the very strict nun, suor Adeodata, who was always there to keep an eye on us. There were certain rules to be followed.... And where you are young, how can you obey rules? No way, especially if the rule says: Come back home at 10 p.m. To be honest, there were days with no rules, when we could come back at any hour, wednesday, the famous mercoledì universitorio, and saturday, but the problem was that on almost hundred girls there were only three entrance keys. Big confusion! Until we found the way out by hiding the key under a doormat. I remember, once my mum came to visit me, I was at the third year and girls at the time had their own flat, and it was an ordinary week day. We went out but obviously, when we returned home, it was almost 1 a.m. No key, no party would say George Clooney, but then I discovered a secret path from the neighbouring hospital leading to the basement of our dormitory. Actually, the girls discovered it but it was a really big invention and solution of all our problems, and not only for me but also for the following generations.

The life in a catholic dormitory was not always that bad. I liked holiday time, especially before Christmas, when we would organize a big party, with a mass. I am not catholic, I am orthodox and at the beginning I was so afraid of going into their church because I was convinced that it was forbidden. But then, I remember it clealy, it was Sunday before our first exam, my friends ask me to go to a mass with them. I was a bit confused but after a priest from the dormitory told me that we were all christians, I decided to go. First thing I noticed, everyone was sitting. At the orthodox church, during a mass, we always stand up. And the other strange thing for me it was that everybody was singing. I like a lot to sing, at school I was a membre of choir, so for me it was the best part of the mass. By time passed, I learned all religious chants and for every Christmas I was there, ready to sing. And my heart was full of happiness. Every and each time I was happy because I was surrounded with friends and they all were for me a sort of family, nuns includeed. They thought me some things for which I will be always grateful to them, especially a cooking nun.

Before coming to Italy, I was really a big disaster in the kitchen. I was not even able to prepare a simple coffee. My best speciality was the instant pasta. You know that receipe, right? You put a water to boil and then you add pasta and powder from the paper bank. In ten minutes, your lunch or dinner is ready. It's not maybe that tasty but with some parmigiano it's perfect or better say eatable. After some time time I learned to cook, I even improved myself in cooking. I won't be a super chef but my cakes are great! I like to prepare cakes and sweets. I am quite a gourmand. One of my Providences, Giorgia, used to call me diabete because of sweets, I can not say no to them. Never. Luckily, I am not a model, nor would like to be. I like myself the way I am. Although I should loose some weight. Poco.

I would like to end my story with nuns with one particular memory. I was almost to become a suora. The nuns thought that I would be a perfect nun, they even thought to convert me into Catholicism. Could you see me as a nun? In black and white? No, not me. No offence, but I am happy to be an Orthodox, although my name does not sound christian. And to be honest, I prefer other colors. And no, I am not speaking about the foodball! But if you want to know, I prefer black and blu. Whatever that means.

My favorite bureaucratic misadventure

Dear diary,

Last night while I was speaking with Piermario, it's already a sort of habit to speak with him late in the evening since he now lives in Houston and there is a time difference with Italy of seven hours, he reminded me of one episode of my life we both experienced, although in a different manner. Tonight I would like to remember that special day which was, to certain extent, also my worst nightmare.

Since I was a child, I was a big fan of music, and even now, music is a big part of me, of my soul and I don't think I would manage to live without it. One of my favorite group when I was a child was a rock group from Sarajevo called Bijelo dugme. The white button. Unfortunately, with a war in the ex-Yugoslavia, the group disintegrated and the leader, Goran Bregović, became, at international level, a very famous composer. In 2005 the group got united for the first time and decided to organize concerts in various Balkan capitals. At that time, it was a period before graduation, I had a group of friends, all of them were as much as I was a fan of Bijelo dugme, and we all were born in the country which didn't exist anymore. We all met in 2002/2003, although one of them, Bojan, was already, for a year, a student of our faculty, when my dear Balkan girls came in. Maja from Belgrade, Selma from Pula, Sanja and Selina from Rijeka (Croatia), Ira from Slovenia and Aleksandra from Ohrid (Ex Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia). We formed a so-called Balkan group and we were often hanging out together. When we found about the concerts of our favorite group, immediately we decided to go. The Belgrade concert was during a summer exam session so we opted for a concert in Croatian capital Zagreb, which was closest to Italy. Ira's brother was living in Zagreb so he bought us tickets. At the beginning my mum was contrary to send me to Zagreb, although I was not going alone there but with my close friends, because she would prefer that I was going to Belgrade and especially because I would miss her birthday. Luckily, my dad managed to convince her so at the end, on 22nd June, Bojan, Maja, Aleksandra, Bojan's girlfriend Cristina and me left Gorizia and we were heading via Slovenia to Zagreb. The others were already there, waiting for us.

The concert was amazing. We were so excited to be there and to sing songs of our days, our lives and our friendship. I still remember the moment when everybody sang in chorus: Jugoslavijo na noge, pjesme nek se čuju... Get up Yugoslavia, let our songs be heard... It was so touching. I was thinking about the war, about all innocent victims, among whom was also my Bosnian friend from a childhood, and I was surprised to hear all that people singing a sort of anthem for all of us who were born in that country. At some point, there was my mum favorite song and I took a mobile from my purse to call her and let her hear some verses of the song. Maybe if I didn't do it the rest of that evening would be better definitely. After the concert ended, Bojan, Maja, Cristina, Aleksandra and me, we went for a dinner in some restaurant and after it we supposed to go back to Gorizia. Bojan had to work the next day. At the moment of payment, I realized that my small beg with a passport inside was missing. There was also my Italian resident permit and some money I put aside, in case of need, plus my Serbian mobile card. I didn't care much about the money but I was aware that without those documents, it would be impossible to go back home in Italy. I said home because my parents were also living in Italy and Trento is still my second home.

The first thing to do was to go to a police station to declare what happened. I didn't know whether I was robbed or that I lost the bag while calling my mum. Actually, first we tried to walk back and to see if we could find the bag, but it was quite useless. A police officer made us wait a lot to tell us at the end that they could not help me and that I had to go to my embassy. It was late in the night so we had to wait until morning. Bojan went back to Italy and Maja and Aleksandra stayed with me all night long. We sat on the bench and tried to relax. Actually they tried to calm me down, I was crying all the time. I was really quite upset. Aleks, we call her like this, had a redbull, which didn't give us wings but helped us to stay awake. In the morning we informed other Croatian girls who stayed in Zagreb too about what happened and they joined us at the Serbian embassy. I was the only one who could enter, they had to wait me outside.

The woman at the embassy was very rude. I was upset so much and instead of trying to help me, she was making me literally crazy. She asked me what happened and after I finished to tell my story, she shouted at me. "How could you allow to yourself to loose a passport in Croatia!" "I didn't do it on purpose." I replied. She asked me for my dad's number and she called him immediately. "Your daughter lost her passport and we will deport her to Serbia." Deport. I felt like I was a criminal. Then she asked me to prove that I was a Serbian citizen. Since I just had in my wallet my Italian id, the Serbian one I had left at the dormitory, I was allowed to call Italy and ask someone to send by fax a copy of it. Guess who I called? Piermario! I was so upset that I could not remember where I had put my Serbian id so I asked him to search for it in my room, in some of drawers. The problem was that my id was in Cyrillic and he had problems to recognize it. Luckily, our classmate Tatiana was from Russia so she helped him. He went God knows where, at the University and at the mastercopy shop, but after some problems, he managed to sent a copy of id. And the other requirement, the certificate of birth, was sent to the embassy by our family friend in my hometown. While all this was happening, my friends outside the embassy tried everything to help me. Selina's mum tried to help with Italian consulate in Rijeka, where she worked, and they wanted to give me some document in order to pass the border and go back. Bojan, when he was back to Italy, called his friend at Serbia's embassy in Slovenia. They also wanted to help me but I was ignored of all this diplomatic involvement in my case. I found out it by the impolite woman from the embassy who informed me that I would loose my Serbian citizenship if "they continue to receive the external pressure". Finally, late in the afternoon I obtained my putni list. A sheet with which I could go back to Serbia. And I got as well a friendly warning to leave Zagreb with the first train that was arriving to Belgrade at one o'clock A.M.

It was out of question to take that late train. First, I didn't want to wake any of my Belgrade friends, especially not my cousin who was studying there and who was angry with me for not joining him at Belgrade's concert. Luckily, Sanja's friend Nataša gave me a possibility to stay over night at her student house, and the following morning I took a train to Belgrade. I was so happy when I get to train station of our capital that I wanted to give a kiss to a ground of motherland. Later on I went to my hometown. When I arrived to my aunt's place everybody was making fun of me because of that Zagreb adventure. My uncle called me Selma, by one Bijelo dugme song which says "putuj Selma... travel Selma". When I went to the police office, to ask for new documents, I received a telephone call from Denis, my Croatian friend from Trieste. That weekend she was at home in Pola. She was notifying me that my bag with documents was found and that I had to call the police headquarters in Zagreb. Luckily, police officers are not always stupid so they inserted my Serbian mobile card and they saw I had a Croatian friend, by Denis name I put the abbreviation CRO , so they called her, she called me... I called Nataša who was so kind to go to the police office, take my bag and send it to me by bus. I took a bag at the Belgrade station few minutes before my bus to Trieste had to depart.

At the end, everything was ok. I got my documents back. I came back to Gorizia. I gave a thankful hug to Piermario. I missed only my last two exams... But I passed them in the autumn session and I graduated in December. And all my Balkan and non Balkan friends were there. We celebrated together all night long but that's another story. Once maybe I'll write it. Now it's to late for it. As usual.

The Belgrade revange

Dear diary, or should I say dear Belgrade?

Strange how memories sometimes come out at the moment when we don't want them, or believe that we already got rid of them, but they are always present somewhere in our minds, in our hearts and pay us visit when we less expect them. That's exactly what happened to me today.

When I woke up this morning, the sky was dark grey and it was raining heavily. It seemed autumn, yes autumn, and inevitably, or maybe I just wanted it, the view from my window sent me back in the past. Approximately ten years ago. It was 3rd September 2000 and I was about to take a part of my new life adventure simply called Italy. The weather was pretty much the same as today's. I had a feeling that the sky was crying of sadness or those were "tears" of happiness? I had to feel happy, I thought I was happy, as a matter of fact I was happy. Italy here I come!

"Izvini, ti si iz Beograda?" A quite tall, blond girl with a strange accent was approching me ready to shake her hand with mine. I was happy to see that among all that crowd of students there was someone who was speaking my language, except for that "Are you from Belgrade?". At the sound of that name, white city, a capital of my country, Federal Republic of Jugoslavia, I got rigid, almost anoyed, not to say angry. "No, I am not from Belgrade. I am from Kraljevo, but these "stupid" Italians just know for Belgrade, like there were no other cities in Serbia. Let say that I am a temporary Beograđanka. At least during the entrance exams." I replied politely. The girl smiled. "My names is Denis. I am from Pula, in Croatia." I smiled too. From one side I was astonished because one Croatian girl was that open, she made actually the first step towards me, but from the other side I was quite happy. I had a friend, although just for one day, but that was already a plus, considering the entire situation. Unknown country. Unknown people. Among total strangers there was someone familiar, with whom I could speak the same language, and laugh, and even after ten years, almost ten years, I still have my Istrian friend. That was the first time somebody considered me from Belgrade but it was not enough to made me change my mind about it. My destiny was to hate Belgrade forever. I was not aware of the fact that "takes two for tango" and that once I would learn to "dance".

A couple days after the entrance exam I got a telephone call from Denis who was informing me that I passed that exam and that I was in. Unfortunately, that was not her case, but luckily she managed to transfer to the other university in Trieste, while I stayed in Gorizia, a divided town in italian and slovenian part, where my department for international and diplomatic studies was situated. No metter of distance, we continued our balcan friendship. After some problems, one week after the lessons at university began, I finally managed to find a place to live, and I moved from a hotel where I was to a catholic student house only for girls where already some of my female collegues were living. One day one of the nuns told me that there was a girl from my country in the room 99, on the tird floor. And guess what, Snežana, that was her name, was from Belgrade. Oh, no, Belgrade again. It was the second time in a few days and it was a really nightmare. And it was just a beginning.

One day Snežana asked me why I was so allergic to her hometown. Was that obvious? , I was asking myself. You do not hate something or someone for nothing. There must have been something. And it was. For the very same reason I refused Marina's proposal to study English together at the Belgrade university. A part of the fact I really wanted to leave Serbia because I was fed up with a Milošević regime and I saw the only way out in quitting the country. I learned Italian in six months. Yes, I wanted to study abroad, but in case that something went wrong with this plan A, my plan B would never be Belgrade. No way! Snežana thought that was some love delusion behind this Belgrade resistance, but she was quite away from the truth. I simply hated Belgrade because..yes why? Because Belgrade stole my childhood, that's why! But town itself can not be guilty. The roots of this hatred were deeper and they were even leeding to my hometown. Did I hate both, Belgrade and Kraljevo, and was I simply running away from both with that life trip to Italy?

Everything began when I got born. In winter of 1979, 4th December, in a city hospital where a so-called doctor, after beating my mum, left her at the surgery table with the words that her shift was over and that she did not care neither for me nor for my mother. While nurses called other doctor, they lost a lot of time and while my mom was dying, the doctor arrived. They pulled me out somehow and they tore some nerv of my back which caused my immobility. I was ok, I began to speak on time, but I was not able to walk. When you live in the province, when doctors can't fix things, they simple wash their hands, and they send a patiant to some capital hospital. That's how I ended up, at the age of a couple months, to Belgrade. Until I was four, when I made my first own steps, I spent some time in various hospitals, mostly at the institute for mother and child. Nobody knew why I was not able to walk and they suggested to my parents to address some "upper forces". My mum and dad brought me to various nadrilekari. We never knew what exactly happened, but on Bogojavljenje of 1984, I made first steps, thank God, sometimes miracle happends and maybe that was my cases. However, from time to time I had to go back to Belgrade, for various check ups, and I was always upset. Bad memories were stronger than I was and they guided me through entire my life and they still do. The last bad memory is of 1994, when I had a plastic surgery at Tiršova. Again some doctors made a mistake and I had to pay. It was probably my destiny but all these things made me a better and stronger person. And that was a story I told to Snežana. For the first time I was able to do it and to face all my fears. Soon, after her Erasmus ended, Snežana left and from that point, I believe, the revenge of Belgrade had the official beginning.

Last night I mentioned internet. At some point I began to chat. Something, some strange force, made me visit always the room Belgrade, and I started to chat with Beograđani daily. After every day, I was noticing that my mood was changing. It was not easy to admit why I hated that much their town, and they were all insisting on Belgrade's beauty, people. I always considered people from Belgrade uobraženima, they were full of themselves. Period. Full stop. And they were angry because of that. In that period I began to write my book and unconsciously I located the story in Belgrade I even didn't know, nor I wanted to know. It was the first serious sign I ignored. Consciously this time. In summer 2003 I came on holiday in Serbia and my chat friends proposed me to spend one weekend in Belgrade. If I had refused, they would consider me coward, so I accepted. It was my first visit in peace. I had fun, I admit, but I was far away to consider our capital a friendly town. It needed some years. Four to be precise.

In spring of 2004, my faculty organized a study field trip to Balcans. One week in total, two das, guess where, in Belgrade. It was a great week, really, except one negative note. While we were leaving Belgrade, I, for no reason, began to cry. I was shocked! Was I sad because of leaving Belgrade! Couldn't be! No way! And another year passed. Again spring, a year after. I decided to write about Jugoslavia - Vatican state relations after the II WW, that was my BA thesis topic, and my mentor had a brilliant idea. He sent me to do a research at the State archive, where? Not in Rome, for undergraduate student is not possible to visit state archives, but again where? In Belgrade! One month in Belgrade, on Medak III. This time I made a tourist. I was going everywhere with a map of town, and I discovered, peace by peace, some new Belgrade. A different Belgrade. Even lovely, to some extension. But the really conversion was possible only in 2007. In summer of 2007.

I knew Jelena from some internet forum and at some point, somewhere between 2005 and 2006, we began to chat on msn. At that time I was at MA in Forlì, and she was studying Spanish in Belgrade. We had a lot of things in common. We were studying "together" online, and chatting in the breaks. And eating, how could I forgot it? :) One day we began to call each other seko, sister, and almost for four year she is for me like a real sister I never had. Meantime, I initiated to listen TDI radio online, with a chatbox, where I "met" Marko, my dear friend, and that summer of 2007, he and Jelena pick me up at the Belgrade's airport, where we met for the first time, and it was like we knew each other for years. I still can hear the ecco of his words when he called me after I landed at the Surčin airport. "There is something tall and blond, it is waiting for you at the exit. I am waiting for you in the car." And then I saw her, holding a pink pack of pink candles, our favourite colour. We immediately hugged each other and I was so happy. My dear belgrade sister. My mum was upset. "A totally unknown gir is coming to pick you up at the airport. You are crazy!" She said. And I laughed. I knew how it would be and it was even better.

That summer Jelena had a mission. To go with me to the Hungarian embassy. One morning I came to Belgrade and we supposed to meet in front of McDonald's , at Slavija square but.... I went to Terazije. "Seko, where are you?" She phoned me. "I am in front of McDonald's." I replied. "Where? I can't see you." "You know, I am near the main entrance. There are some bikes." "Where?" "Here, near me." "I can't see them. Don't tell me that you went to Terazije!" Oh, no. It was exactly what I did. I went to the opposite side. "It seems so." We still laugh about. Now, there is no way that I would make the same mistake." Ivana, I mentioned last night, is Jelena's best friend, a dear and crazy friend I also love so much. I also met her that summer. It was nice. In summer of 2008 she hosted me, while I had some bureaucratic problems to solve at the Italian embassy and I also spent two days at her place last September. I will always blame these two young ladies from Voždovac for my "conversion". And not only two of them. But also some other people as my "addopted" child who still calls me mum. Jovana. And Nemanja. And Ida. Milica, now in New York. Marija H. Bojan, my dear friend I met in Paris. Jelena R., Ivana G., Đole, from that chat period I mentioned before. Tijana K. I met in Italy. And ofcourse, people from the Alpbach summer school. We spent great 12 days in Belgrade this autumn.

You know, I applied for job in Belgrade. I don't know whether I will get accepted or not. But I know one thing. I learned to "dance". And for me, now, there are no doubts. Belgrade is a sort of home. A place where I am happy and where live some people without whom my life would not have the same sense. Seko Jejo, Ivana, hvala!

Good-night Belgrade, I miss you!