Bio je neka vrsta poznate ličnosti u njihovom malom mestu.
Ono se jedva varošicom nazvati moglo, i svako je svakoga znao; uobičajni pozdravi "O dobar dan komšija! Kako su Vaši?" "Dobro, hvala! A Vaša majka, da li i dalje ima problema sa zdravljem?" su krili znanje o rečima izgovorenim ispod glasa po čaršijama i ispred ulaza o životima njihovih komšija, prijatelja i poznanika, i duboku isprepletanost njihovih života. Svi su znali svačiju porodičnu istoriju, neuspešno sakrivene tajne, a, s obzirom na to koliko su bili upućeni jedni na druge, verovatno i misli.
Zato je on bio jako neobična pojava. Stigao je skoro, i zvali su ga Čovek sa šeširom, ni ime mu nisu znali. Bio je visok, uvek lepo obučen, i niko ga nikada nije video bez njegovog smeđeg šešira. Pričao je ljubazno, ali distancirano; jedino što su uspeli da saznaju o njemu je da je pisac i da je kod njih došao da "malo promeni sredinu". U njihovim umovima, naviknutim samo na ono poznato i uobičajno, on je stvarao zabunu i metež.
•
Čovek sa šeširom je svako veče u isto vreme dolazio u njihovu malu kafanu, naručivao piće ili dva, a zatim se vraćao u sobu koju je iznajmljivao. To je činio svaki dan, pa i taj poslednji.
Seo je za svoj sto, koji ga je čekao, i naručio. Ubrzo potom, došli su apotekar, dva trgovca i krojač, koji su svakog četvrtka tu igrali karte.
Bili su za stolom pored njegovog. Kontrast između vesele družine koje se kartala uz vino i smeh i zamišljenog Čoveka sa šeširom je bio očigledan, ali ne i neobičan; tako je bilo svake večeri.
Malo bi popričali sa njim ili nazdravili, ali on bi se brzo vratio svojim mislima.
"Mogu li da vam s pridružim?" pitao ih je večeras.
I tako podeliše i njemu karte, pokušavajući da se iznenađenje ne vidi na njihovim licima.
Prvu partiju je dobio.
Zatim i drugu.
"Dugo nisam igrao karte", reče.
Odmah zatim i: "Večeras odlazim".
Dugo su njih petorica razgovarala nakon te izjave, a najviše je pričao Čovek sa šeširom. Preko dana je pisao roman, uveče bi razmišljao o porodici koju nije imao. A mogao je, kako je tvrdio. Bio je vrlo neobičan čovek; što je više pričao o sebi to su ga njegovi sagovornici manje razumeli.
Posle nekog vremena i treće partije karata, koju je izgubio, zahvalio im se i otišao.
I više ga niko nije video.
•
U centru velikog grada, između dva moderna butika, bila je ušuškana mala knjižara osvetljena toplim žutim svetlom, i u njenom izlogu knjiga smeđih korica. Onaj ko bi je otvorio, našao bi divno napisane, smešne i poučne priče o životu jednog malog mesta i njegovih stanovnika.

Za ovih 20 godina, koliko sam stanovnik ove planete, mnogo toga se promenilo: vek, milenijum, ime i površina države u kojoj živim, stanovi u koje smo se doseljavali i iseljavali (ukupno četiri, za sada), ljudi prisutni u mom životu. Sve to dolazi i odlazi, ali dve stvari su konstantne - stari crni fiksni telefon kog imamo od kad znam za sebe (i dalje odlično radi) i da se polica sa knjigama nalazi odmah levo kad se uđe u dnevnu sobu i prostire se preko celog zida. Knjige na njoj je tata pažljivo razvrstao tematski ili po autorima i njihovim nacionalnostima. Tako postoji polica sa putopisima, sa knjigama američkih, francuskih, španskih, italijanskih pisaca, Andrićeva polica, Kišova polica, polica sa dečijim knjigama, i tako unedogled.
Iz ove perspektive, mogu da tvrdim da je kriva upravo ta polica sa knjigama. Prvo su me privukle šarenilo korica, radoznalost me motivisala da krenem da sričem prva slova, i onda, petnaestak godina kasnije, evo me kao studenta, između ostalog, (italijanske) književnosti. 
Postoji jedan citat Silvije Plat, jednostavan, bez velikih i komplikovanih reči, i ne postoji nijedan drugi koji bi me bolje opisao:

"Nikad neću moći da pročitam sve knjige koje bih želela; nikad neću moći da budem sve osobe koje bih želela i nikad neću moći da proživim sve živote koje bih želela. Nikad neću moći da naučim sve veštine koje bih želela. A zašto sve to želim? Želim da živim i osetim sve moguće nijanse, tonove i varijacije duhovnih i fizičkih iskustava u svom životu. A užasno sam ograničena".
(P.S. Nije najlepši prevod koji ćete ikada pročitati, ali prevođenje mi nije jača strana, ne zamerite).

Omiljene osobe i autori su mi oni kao Silvija, koje, kao i mene, pokreće strast za životom. U životu želim sve osim monotonije (i prevelike patnje; malo patnje je okej, to ne može da se izbegne); najveći strah mi je da shvatim da život nisam živela, nego tek životarila.
Čitajući, bila sam i skitnica u Parizu i Londonu, i balerina u Beogradu između dva rata, i čovek koji se jedno jutro probudio kao buba, i genijalni detektiv, i nesrećna, zaljubljena žena u carskoj Rusiji, i svih 10 osoba koje su pobegle iz Firence zahvaćene kugom i krate duge letnje dane pričanjem priča. Živela sam u skoro svim evropskim zemljama, nekoliko američkih država i na par mesta u Africi i Aziji, dvema distopijama (trima, ako računate voljenu nam zemlju leta gospodnjeg 2017.) i paklu (i to više verzija - od Danteovog do gradskog prevoza leti u podne).

Naravno, osećati morske talase pod nožnim prstima, uz miris soli i kreme za sunčanje i slušati galebove nije isto što i čitati o tome; neke stvari treba proživeti. Ali možda upravo zbog toliko pročitanih stranica naučiš da ceniš stvaran, trodimenzionalan život. Kad pročitaš toliko priča o protraćenom životu ili pak o toliko srećnih, ne ostaje ti ništa drugo nego da se potrudiš da ne protraćiš svoj i da ga učiniš što vrednijim življenja. Čitati, bar za mene, ne znači napraviti utvrđenje od knjiga i ne provirivati napolje - već obogatiti ponekad neizbežno monotonu svakodnevnicu.
Onda ćeš moći da, pred kraj svog života, vratiš film i zaključiš da si zadovoljan. I da ne bi ništa menjao. I da je sad pravo vreme da se opet posvetiš polici sa knjigama, koja se nalazi odmah levo kad se uđe u dnevnu sobu i prostire se preko celog zida.

• Tranquility - I love how that word sounds, but above all, I like how that word feels.
It's listening to the rain outside when you're cuddled up in the blanket in your warm home.
It's finally making that bubble bath and lighting up lavender scented candle.
It's dedicating time to make art.
It's lying in the grass in the summer with your dog.
It's hearing your old favorite song after a long time.
It's finally seeing the ocean after a 10 hour road trip.
It's the sound of the waves.
It's making breakfast in your pajamas while singing along to the radio.
It's sitting outside, drinking coffee and feeling the sun on your back.
It's the smell of tea and books.
It's falling asleep and not setting an alarm for tomorrow morning.
It's listening to the sound of your best friend's voice talking about your memories.
It's finally hugging your pillow after a long day.
It's believing, even just for a moment, that every little thing is gonna be alright.

• I watched a Woody Allen's movie (Hannah and her sisters, if someone wonders x) and one thing he said hit me:
"I was so happy this morning, and then this happened!"
"You were miserable this morning."
"No, i was happy, but i didn't realize it!"
Logically, your next - or at least mine - thought is: am I happy (but i haven't realized it yet)? There could always be more money on your bank account, your skin could always be clearer and your waist smaller, you could always have better relationships and more friendships. You want more. And that's great. Being ambitious is great.
But after coming home frustrated because your car broke down, who thinks "Hey, at least I have house, and a car, and healthy legs that brought me home after that damn thing stopped working, and family that annoys me even more with million questions about what happened but they love me, and after all, how lucky I am to lose my mind because of something like this? Someone is worrying about how to stay alive". I don't think that. But I should. And you should too.
Gratitude is the key, folks. It could be better, yes, but it could as well be much, much worse. These are supposed  to be happy thought, i should stop being so cynical LIFE IS GREAT WHEN YOU CHOOSE TO LOOK AT IT FROM THE BRIGHT SIDE AND START REALIZING HOW MUCH YOU ACTUALLY HAVE ♡

15.11.2016.

Volela bih da imam brod. Ne mora da bude veliki, dovoljan je i mali, taman da je stanem u njega (i još neko, ko je zaslužio da ga povezem).
Izgledao bi kao stari jedrenjaci, sa velikim jedrima koja su toliko bela da ne možeš da ih gledaš bez žmirkanja jer se sunčevi zraci odbijaju o njih i izrezbarenu glavu morske nimfe na pramcu.
I, u stilu Letećeg Holanđanina, ne bi plovio nego leteo.

Mogla bih da odem do Venecije bez čekanja na aerodromu i pasoša. Spakovala bih stvari u moj brodić a onda bih, u udobnoj maloj kabini u koju staje samo krevet, radni sto od orahovog drveta i stoličica sa štofanim sedištem (da imam gde da vodim dnevnik plovidbe), spavala dok ne bismo stigli (jer bi postajao i automatski pilot; kad je bal nek je maskembal). Sleteli bismo pravo u neki od mnogobrojnih kanala, zapljusnuvši gondolijera koji je sa bogatim francuskim ili engleskim turistima prolazio u svojoj gondoli. Prekinuo bi pevušenje neke stare italijanske pesme da nas opsuje.

Mogla bih da otputujem u Njujork, letuckam oko najviših solitera i mašem ljudima koji bi me videli kroz prozor.
Mogla bih da provozam decu iz ulice jedan krug i obećam da ću doći i sutra, da ih provozam još malo.
Mogla bih da, kao u filmovima, spasim nesrećnika koji je skočio sa mosta i da mu kažem da ima i boljih rešenja.
Mogla bih da izignorišem ceo svet, pustim muziku i plutam nebom.
Mogla bih da plovim Karibima i da mi u dokumentima piše "pirat" kao zanimanje.


Ako znate gde da kupim ovakav brod, javite mi!

D.J.

Ukoliko niste, obavezno prvo pročitajte prvi deo ove priče (inače ovaj tekst neće imati nekog smisla).
“Šta misliš o njima?”
“O kome?”
“Pa o ljudima, generalno.” Uvukao je dim, a onda dodao “One koje tako skoncetrisano promatraš”.
Podigla je obrvu. Šta ovaj čovek želi? Sedam ujutru je, nije joj padalo na pamet da se upušta u filozofske rasprave.
“Ne mislim ništa. Ne znam ih i ne želim da ih znam. Ne zanimaju me činjenice. Više volim da im zamislim život onako kako ja želim, eto.”
“Deluješ jako društveno” nakezio joj se.
“Sam si sebi najbolje društvo.” Tu je nameravala da zaćuti, ali nešto ju je povuklo da nastavi da priča sa ovim previše znatiželjnim čovekom. Bila je svesna da je to nešto usamljenost i želja sa ljudskom interakcijom koja se ne svodi na razgovoranja tek da bi se ispunila tišina i čekanje na red da govoriš umesto pažljivog slušanja. A i lakše je otvoriti dušu strancu.
“Ne uklapam se baš dobro sa ostalima. Rekao bi čovek da štrčim, ali zapravo baš suprotno. Uvek sam bila neprimetna i negde u pozadini. Svi koji poznajem bi me opisali kao “okej”, ni kod koga ne izazivam neku jaču rekaciju. Prosto sam tu i to mi je u redu. Niko ne očekuje ništa posebno od mene. Jedino što želim da me neko razume, da me stvarno razume, ali možda kod mene ni nema ništa specijalno da se razume.”
Tad je procenila da zvuči previše patetično, pa je prestala.
“Ima ljudi čiji je život trag u vodi. Nevidljivi su, nečujni, nestvarni, bez otisaka u peščanoj pustinji čovečanstva. Ne znamo odakle su među nas došli, a kad odu, zašto su i kuda otišli.”
“Molim?”
“Borislav Pekić. Početak jedne njegove knjige. Uklapa se u to što si mi sad ispričala o sebi. Ali pričaj mi još. Ko si ti?”
“Samo ako Vi meni ispričate ko ste Vi. Mada nema puno toga da se kaže.”
“Može. Ali prvo ti.”
Osetila se malo glupo što je pričala toliko toga o sebi potpunom strancu, skitnici koja je sedela na stanici da bi se ugrejala. Ali joj nije više bilo važno, ionako odlazi odavde, pa je počela:
“Zovem se Ana. Imam 25 godina. Imam starijeg brata i mlađu sestru. Ja sam srednje dete. Moji roditelji rade u banci. Završila sam fakultet. Sa prosekom 8. Sad sam našla posao, zbog kog treba da se preselim. Zato sam ovde. I…” Nije znala šta bi još rekla. Šta još ima da se kaže?
“To bi bilo to”, rekla je posle kraćeg ćutanja. “Sad Vi”.
“Pretrgla si se. Ali dobro. Sad ću ja ispričati moju priču, možda te inspiriše da kažeš nešto što ne može da se vidi iz dokumenata.
Rođen sam prilično daleko odavde…”

(Odlomak romana koju nikad neću napisati - deo drugi. Treći deo očekujte 9. oktobra)

_____________________________________

If you haven’t already, make sure to read part 1 of this story. Because otherwise this wouldn’t make much sense.

“What do you think about them?”
“About who?”
“About people, in general”. He inhaled the smoke, and then added: “About people you observe so assiduously”.
She raised her eyebrow. What does this man wants? It’s 7AM, it’s ridiculously early for philosophical discussion. Or any discussion.
“I don’t think anything. I don’t know them and I don’t want to know them. I don’t care about facts. I just like to imagine them and their life the way I want to, that’s all.”
“Seems like you’re a social butterfly”, he grinned at her.
“You’re your own best company”. She wanted to stop talking to this too curious (maybe even noisy) man, but something made her continue. She was aware that that something was loneliness and desire for human interaction that doesn’t consist of talking just to fill the silence and waiting your turn to speak instead of listening carefully. And it’s easier to pour your heart out to a stranger.
“I don’t really fit with others. You would tell that that makes me stand out, but it’s actually the opposite. I was always invisible, always somewhere in the background. Everyone i know would describe me as “ok”. No one loves me or hates me, i’m just “ok”. I’m just kinda there and that’s okay with me. No one expects anything from me. All I want is someone to understand me, to really understand me, but maybe there’s nothing special to be understood when it comes to me”.
She thought she sounded too pathetic so she shut up.
“There are people whose lives are but a ripple in the water. Invisible, inaudible, unreal, they leave no print in the sandy desert of humankind. We do not know whence they came into our midst, and when they depart, we know not why or where they have gone.”
“What?”
“Borislav Pekić. It’s a beginning of one of his books.It reminded me of what you just told me about yourself. But tell me more. Who are you?”
“Only if you tell me who are you. But there’s not much about me to tell.”
“Sure, but you first.”
She felt a little bit awkward telling an absolute stranger, a tramp who was in the station to warm up, so many things about herself. But she’s leaving anyway, so she started:
“My name is Ana. I’m 25. I have older brother and younger sister. I’m the middle child. My parents work at the bank. I finished university. Now I found a job in another country so I have to move. That’s why i’m here. And…” She didn’t know what else to say. Was there anything else to be said?
“That’s it”, she said after short period of silence. “Your turn”.
“Wow, you told me so much” he responded sarcastically. “But that’s okay. Now i’ll tell you my story, maybe it will inspire you to tell me something that’s not written in the documents.
I was born far away from here…”

(Fragment from a book i’ll never write, part 2. Next part will be online on 9th October)

Other stories: Mr. Nobody • 2084.
Follow my adventures on instagram!
Also find me on: Facebook • Pinterest • Tumblr

I haven't been writing for so long. I decided to just start writing and see where will my mind and words bring me. They brought me to a long, long story which will be posted in series of fragments.
Scroll down for English version x

Išla je mokrim ulicama uspavanog grada. Kiša je opet padala. Nije imala kišobran, uvek zaboravi da ponese kišobran. Kosa joj je bila mokra a niz njen zeleni kaput se slivala voda. Bilo je i dalje prilično rano kad je stigla na stanicu.
Bilo joj je drago što se sklonila od kiše. Kupila je kafu, a onda je dovukla svoj mali kofer do jedinog slobodnog mesta za sednje i započela svoj još od detinjstva omiljeni ritual.
Postmatrala je ljude. Iako se još nije ni razdanilo, stanica je bila puna. Primećivala je način na koji hodaju, da li su im pokreti odsečni i nervozni ili opušteni, kako se oblače, gledala je njihov govor tela dok se obraćaju drugima i zamišljala kakav život vode.
Ispred nje je sedela devojka koja je izgledala iznervirano. Bila je obučeno u crno od glave do pete. Čak su joj i nokti bili nalakirani u crno. Imala je oštre crte lica i izgledala je kao lisica. Samo joj je kosa bila boje meda, u mekim loknama. Kuckala je nešto na svom telefonu (crnom, ako ste sumnjali).
Volela bi da veruje da je devojka skriveni tajni agent, ali zapravo je verovatno samo jedna od mnogih zaposlenih mladih ljudi koji su morali da odu daleko od kuće da bi im se uopšte pružila prilika da budu prezaposleni. I sad živi na relaciji između dva grada, a nije ni tamo ni onde. Da li više pripada igde? Bilo bi joj lakše da je tajni agent.
Malo dalje je sedela žena u srednjim godinama. U licu je bila pomalo sivkasta ali joj je kosa bila savršeno isfenirana i bila je u elegantnoj i svedenoj odeći. Imala je karirani kišobran u ruci i noktima (lepo izmanikiranim) je nervozno lupkala po njegovoj dršci. Pored nje je bio momak (njen sin?) koji je imao isti nos kao ona. On je imao i zelene oči i dugačke trepavice i sivi šal i ruku u zavoju. Pospano je gledao u daljinu.
Kuda su se oni zaputili? Sudeći po količini kofera, negde daleko.
Pored nje je sedeo star čovek, skitnica. Bio je umotan u nekada braon kaput, star i pun rupa. “Imaš li cigaretu?” pitao ju je, prekidajući njen tok misli.
“Aha.” (Nije volela da priča dok je posmatrala, to je ubijalo draž. A i ne možeš baš da zamišljaš kakav život ljudi vode dok pričaš o nekim desetim stvarima)
Svojim kratkim i debelim prstima je uzeo cigaretu, a upaljač je izgleda već imao.
Otpuhnuo je dim i uputio joj osmeh pun iznenađujuće belih zuba.
“Hvala.”
“Nema na čemu.”
“Mogu li da te pitam nešto?”
Nije želela da razgovara sa skitnicama. A ni sa bilo kim drugim. Želela je da sedi na neudobnoj klupi, pije svoju kafu i da se utopi u okolinu. Da je niko ne dira. Da bude deo nameštaja.
Ali bila je suviše fina da ga samo izignoriše, a i bilo joj je žao.
“Aha.”
Još jednom je otpuhnuo dim i, ne okrećući se ka njoj, krenuo da priča.

(Odlomak romana koji nikad neću napisati - deo prvi. Ostatak očekujte uskoro)

___________________________________________

She was walking down the wet streets. The city was still asleep. It was raining again and she didn’t have the umbrella, she always forgets to bring the umbrella. Her hair was soaking, as well as her green coat. It was still quite early when she arrived on the station.
She was glad she came inside, where it wasn’t raining. She bought coffee, dragged her little suitcase to only available seat and started her favorite ritual since childhood.
She watched people. It was still dark outside, but the station was full.
She was noticing the way they walk, talk, if their moves are relaxed or nervous, how they dress, their body language when they’re talking to others. She loved imagining their lives, what is their story and what do they dream about.
In front of her was sitting a pretty annoyed girl. She was wearing black from head to toe. Even her long nails were black. She had sharp features and kinda looked like a fox. Only her hair was honey blonde, soft and curly. She was looking at her phone (also black, if you wondered).
She wanted to believe she was a secret agent or something interesting like that. Truth was probably that she was just one of the too busy young persons, who had to leave their home to be given the chance to be too busy. And she was probably living in 2 cities, but she doesn’t belong to any of them anymore. Maybe it would be easier to be a secret agent.
Near her, there was middle aged woman. Her face was grey-ish but her hair was perfect and she wore elegant and classy clothes. She was tapping nervously on her big plaid umbrella with her perfectly manicured nails. Next to her there was a guy (her son?) who had the same nose as her. He also had green eyes and long eyelashes and grey scarf and broken hand. He stared at the distance sleepily.
Where were they going? According to number and size of their luggage, somewhere far away.
Next to her was an old man, a tramp. He was wrapped in an old coat that used to be brown, but at that point color was undefined. “Do you have a cigarette?” he asked, interrupting her line of thought.
“Yeah.” (She didn’t like to talk when she was observing, she couldn’t enjoy it as much. And you can’t really imagine how people live when you talk about some other things).
He took the cigarette with his short and fat fingers. He already had the lighter, He breathed out the smoke and smiled at her with his surprisingly white teeth,
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can i ask you something?”
She didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone else, for that matter. She wanted to sit on this uncomfortable bench, drink her coffee and pretend she’s part of the background. To be left alone. To pretend she’s part of the furniture.
But she was too nice to ignore him, and she fel sorry for him.
“Yeah.”
He breathed out the smoke once again, and, without looking at her, started talking.
(Fragment from a book i’ll never write - part 1. Part 2 coming soon.)

Other stories: Mr. Nobody • 2084.
Follow my adventures on instagram!
Also find me on: Facebook • Pinterest

Few days ago it was 38 years since Diana Budisavljević died. Have you ever heard of her? I bet the answer is no, just like mine would be a week ago. But everyone heard of Schindler, and what her did should be heard too.
She was born in Austria-Hungary, but after she married Julije Budisavljević (doctor from Serbia), the couple moved to zagreb. Zagreb was the capital of, at that moment, during the World War II, Independent state of Croatia, a puppet state of Nazi Germany. Jasenovac death camp was located nearby.
Here's what i've found about her:

“During World War II, Yugoslavia was invaded by the Axis forces in April 1941 and the Nazi-allied Independent State of Croatia began a genocidal campaign against Serbs, Jews and Roma, setting up numerous concentration camps in Croatia. After she learned about children held at the camp Lobor-Grad, in October 1941, together with a number of collaborators, she launched a relief campaign named "Action Diana Budisavljević". The Action took care of mostly Serbian children but also women held in various concentration camps including the Jasenovac death camps.
With help from the local Jewish community, which was forced to support the camp inmates, her team sent supplies of food, medicines, clothes and also money, first to Lobor-Grad and later to another camp at Gornja Rijeka, both situated north of Zagreb. Her team also helped the members of the Croatian Red Cross at the main railway station in Zagreb, providing travel supplies for workers in trains that stopped there on their way to forced labor in Germany - some of those men, women and children returned to Zagreb after they were stopped in Maribor and Linz and were not allowed to travel further due to their illness - they were taken care by the Red Cross and the Action. During that work, in March 1942, Diana Budisavljević met the Headnurse Dragica Habazin, who became a close collaborator in the following months and years in helping the inmates from various camps that were relocated to Zagreb and other places.
At the beginning of July 1942, with assistance from German officer Albert von Kotzian, Budisavljević obtained written permission to take the children from the Stara Gradiška concentration camp. With the help of the Ministry of Social Affairs she was able to relocate child inmates from the camp. After the rescue efforts in Stara Gradiška, Budisavljević, wearing the uniform of a Red Cross nurse, took part in the transport of children from Mlaka, Jablanac and Jasenovac. More than 6,000 children had been moved away from those camps by the "Action" in July and August 1942. After obtaining permission in August 1942 to move the children from the institutions in Zagreb into the care of families, she worked together with the Zagreb Archdiocese branch of the Caritas and in that way made it possible for several thousands of children to be placed with families in Zagreb and rural communities.
Out of 15,536 children that Budisavljević saved, 3,254 children died during the rescue or immediately after leaving the camp, exhausted by torture, hunger and disease, while more than 12,000 rescued children survived the war. Eleven members of her team were killed during World War II.  Upon request by the Ministry of Social Politics in May 1945, she handed over the card-files that she managed for 4 years.”

She died when she was 87.
After i learned about her, i did a lot of research and i’m just fascinated by this amazing woman. She had so much courage, compassion, bravery, love and selflessness in her heart.
Even seeing the horror of Nazi’s death camps is terrifying enough, but she chose to risk her life and do her best to help those poor children. More than 15 thousand of them! 15 THOUSAND.
I think that Internet should be filled with her and people similar to her instead of reality stars. So that’s why i’m sharing her story with you, she doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.

P.S. I had so many problems writing this text, my computer and internet connection were acting up so much. This has never happened to me before. As if someone didn’t want me to share this lol. If you could, share this post with someone, i truly believe more people should learn about Diana.

If you're having a bad day... have some ice cream.


You know, when you’re feeling bad things like “you’re amazing, you deserve the best, you’re a queen” seem like a major cliche when you see them on internet, at least to me. Maybe because people share that all the time, probably without thinking, and their meaning seems to be lost. But those are TRUE. I swear.
You don’t actually know how you look to other people, let’s be honest. You know how when you buy something new you’re like WOW I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW GREAT THIS IS and then after a while you get used to it? Well it goes the same with yourself, you kinda got used to yourself. Things that seem pretty normal and average to you may look amazing to others; and i’m not only talking about physical appearance but about you character, too.
I was honestly amazed when people told me what they admired about me because i never thought about it twice or i thought everyone does that too. Specially because i don’t consider myself.. well, the best person you’ll ever meet (maybe because i know myself too well? Also because i sometimes have God complex and sometimes doubts are killing me. Who flies high falls low. Oh well). Sometimes i wonder why the hell people like me and why would they want to waste their time on me. But they do. And that’s something.
Also, i do this a lot and i’m sure many people do this too: I randomly notice a stranger or person i already know and i’m just blown away how good they look or how smart or cute they are but i don’t actually say anything because i think i would sound super creepy and i’m not really good at expressing that kind of things so they’ll never know it. So chances are someone noticed you that way as well.
Also, the words you say actually have an impact. Even if you don’t think they do. Another thing that surprised me. I imagined my words like an echo in an empty room that vanish right after they are spoken. But people remember. And for some reason, deep down, i haven’t got used to the fact that someone thinks about me or something i said in my absence.
But this is not just about me, because i’m not a lady from medieval Italian or Provencal poetry who is extraordinary in every single way and people completely adore her for her amazing beauty, charm and flawlessness. I’m a mess in every single way, just like everyone else. And if someone is able to love me, someone loves you, as well. You matter. If you’re having a bad day, I’d like to quote Rihanna: “Never a failure, always a lesson”. Bad times come to our life to teach us something and to force us to become better persons.

“Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.” – Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

(Note: This was written when i had a really bad day, so i grabbed a bar of chocolate and a tea, turned on the music and wrote myself what i needed to hear. It made me feel better, i hope it will make you feel a little bit better too).


Find me here: Instagram • Facebook

This was inspired by one of my classes in college. Through our education, we  are usually taught a lot of bullshit and things that are supposed to be learned by heart and inevitably forgotten right after the exam, so this fracture of today’s lesson was a positive surprise for me. Some things you hear in school/college are actually good food for thought and are so universal that even centuries and centuries after, they’re still relevant (that’s why i love literature). Sapere aude means Dare to know, first mentioned by the roman poet Horace and it was the motto of the Age of Enlightenment (which we talked about in mentioned class). This brilliant thought of Immanuel Kant illustrates it very well:
“If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay: others will readily undertake the irksome work for me. The guardians who have so benevolently taken over the supervision of men have carefully seen to it that the far greatest part of them (including the entire fair sex) regard taking the step to maturity as very dangerous, not to mention difficult. Having first made their domestic livestock dumb, and having carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single step without the go-cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians then show them the danger that threatens them, should they attempt to walk alone. Now this danger is not actually so great, for after falling a few times they would in the end certainly learn to walk; but an example of this kind makes men timid and usually frightens them out of all further attempts.“

So, my thought of the day would be dare to think - which is a kind of a sequel of my last post. Don’t be just another sheep, or brick in the wall, or Mr. Nobody.
In our world, it’s a revolutionary act to turn the media off and brain on (and i see the irony of telling you this on Internet a.k.a. the most popular media today).
So start the revolution, start questioning things.

He is called Mister Nobody and he’s known for being not special at all and doing nothing unusual. Every day he wakes up, drinks his coffee, doesn’t have time to have breakfast, catches his bus, goes to work, has small talk with his colleagues, works, goes back home, eats in front of the TV and goes to sleep. He looks like everyone else. He talks like everyone else. He wears old but elegant black coat and his eyes are kinda empty. His ringtone is the basic one that was already in his phone. His neighbors think that he is strange but nice. He always stops to pet a dog. Every 2 months he goes to the same hairdresser down the street and he always wants the same haircut. He doesn’t have favorite color or animal or day in the week or dinosaur. When he was a kid he used to have dinosaur slippers, though. He doesn’t like his job but he doesn’t want to change it. He wants to visit Greece, but he’ll probably never go there.
When he was younger, he had a lot of wishes and ambitions, but he thought that it was too inconvenient to change the things he’s already used to. What happened? Nothing at all. Now he has none.
You’ve already seen him. Maybe on the street or in the bus, but you didn’t pay attention, and maybe in the mirror.


P.S. Do you like shorter or longer posts? Let me know in the comments. Also, don't forget to subsribe via email so you'll never miss a post x

In the last post we discussed what is happiness. But how to achieve it? I consider myself a truly, genuinely happy person. Me and my life are a mess (just like everyone else - some are just better at hiding it), but i learned to deal with it. These are some things i personally think are important to live a happy life.

1. Make yourself your own best friend. That means that you should know yourself - without idealizing or hating. Be realistic. Know what makes you happy, what makes you sad, what comforts you. Don’t depend on others and wait for them to take care of you, make yourself feel good. Also take care of yourself, and if you need, tell yourself you’re being an idiot and you should stop doing something.

2. What others think of you is none of your business. You can’t completely stop caring for opinions of others, because humans are social beings. What you can do is stop letting opinions of others control you and your life. If someone is being mean to you, that means they’re unhappy themselves and by putting others down they try to make themselves feel better. Poor souls. When you put it like that, you’ll cope with negativity easier.
“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.”
- Mark Twain

3. Find what you love and let it kill you. Well it doesn’t necessarily have to kill you, but find what makes you happy and makes you feel alive. Something that makes you feel like you have a purpose and fills your soul with fire, and then dedicate yourself to it.

4. Karma and forgiveness. I personally believe in karma - i like the idea that everyone will at some point, somewhere, somehow get what they deserve, good or bad, it doesn’t matter. I don’t plan revenge and get on lower level, instead i forgive and just let karma get them. That made me so much happier, because negative energy will get you nowhere and nothing good can come out of hate. If someone treats me badly i just leave, because truly i ain’t got any business there no more.

5. Silver lining. I strongly believe that there’s always something good in bad situations. There’s a reason why everything is happening the way it is, and if you didn’t get what you had wanted that’s probably because you’ll later get or earn something better… or at least you’ll learn valuable lesson (it’s happening to me all the time, this is not just something i found on tumblr). In fact, every good thing that happened to me, happened because of the way i dealt with something bad from the past.

6. Be grateful. It’s not about having everything, it’s about being satisfied with what you have. You have things some people can only dream of. Appreciate that. BUT that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing to work hard for what you want and be ambitious; it’s not, not at all.

7. Open your mind. Judgement and hate will get you nowhere good. Open your mind, listen what others have to say, don’t generalize, don’t assume something is wrong just because it’s different. Try to understand something that you’re not familiar with rather than being an absolute asshole and making someone feel bad for something they shouldn’t.

8. Escape the routine. I know you love your morning coffee or playing with your dog every time you come back from school or work. Some routines are lovely and they make us feel good; but if your life becomes a routine, that’s not so good.
“Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life” - Robin Sharma
9. Learn. I don’t like studying (why would i be fan of wasting time in front of a book full of facts i’ll forget right after an exam) but i love learning, it’s beautiful. Be curious, discover, learn new skills. Grow.

If you like my posts don't forget to subscribe, so you'll never miss any of them! Check the sidebar or the bottom of the page if you're on mobile device x

What is love, anyway? To me, not those #relationshipgoals (with necessary heart-eyed emojis). Not expensive gifts or 100 roses or anyone to spend money on me in any way. Not good night and good morning texts or hearts on my facebook wall and picture caption. I don’t want anyone to show me affection because they feel obligated to or for others to see. Hey, i hate labels anyway.
To me, love is someone who would look at the stars with me and listen to Pink Floyd. Someone who i can travel and explore the world with. Someone who will listen to me and actually care. Someone who will send me those “this reminded me of you” texts. Some who i can laugh with until we cry. Someone who will respect me and my life choices. Someone who will, above all, be my best friend. Someone who i can feel good with.
To me, those are, speaking in eloquent social media way, relationship goals AF.

I’m always waiting for something.
I’m waiting for things like Friday, summer, my birthday. Yet, when they come they aren’t that special as i thought they would be. So i wait for the another Friday, summer or birthday. Those are the things we’re all waiting for because they’re supposed to be special.

“Mr. Godot told me to tell you he won’t come this evening, but surely tomorrow”.
What i try to do instead is to love this crappy Tuesday instead of waiting for weekend to come. I also don’t hate Mondays (actually it’s completely opposite because i get can sleep how much i want to because my university starts in the afternoon).

“Vladimir: I don’t understand.
Estragon: Use your intelligence, can’t you?
Vladimir uses his intelligence.
Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark”
If you wish and wait your life away you miss the amazingness (is that even a word) of this moment. If you’re drinking tea, make tea the most important thing in your life. Notice how it burns your tongue, how it tastes, how it smells. If you’re walking to school / uni / work take a look at the color of the sky, face expressions of the people who pass by, rays of sunshine on your face or the little sound raindrops make on your umbrella (depends on the weather). If you’re talking to someone, listen to them, notice how their face changes depending on topics they’re talking about.
Not a long ago i read an article which said that Mayans had the theory that time is not linear but spiral which basically means that only things that exists is present. Past has passed and you can’t change it or do anything about it, and future is so unpredictable, you can’t even know if you will be alive (this sounds scary, but who knows what will happen next).
So only thing left is right now, right?

If you’re waiting for a sign to make something happen, this would be it.