Back in the olden days, as Peppa Pig says it nicely, I used to take notes about everything and anything when I was younger: diaries, random thoughts, essays, short stories, arguments, romantic ideas, secret longings and so on. I remember even keeping a war journal during NATO’s air strikes against Serbia, a painfully honest, and rather hard to swallow testimony of a time from the perspective of a 22-year old English Language and Literature student back in 1999. Interestingly, this speaking straight from the shoulder is the only thing I never ever went or wanted to go back to. I do know where the book’s hidden though. The thing is – I’m still not sure what I might find there, what horror, shock or disgust for once the genie is out of the bottle, there’s no going back. Actually, I got my mind set on pulling it off the shelf this very summer. It’s gonna take time, a whole lot of precious time, it’s gonna take patience and time, to do it, to do it, to do it…to do it right child. Whether I’m going to do it for real this time or wait another 20 years is yet to be seen. Anyhow, I’ll keep you posted.

I loved spreading my thoughts on a white piece of paper, and decorating the page with dried plants, drawings of my own, intriguing quotes, book excerpts and magazine cutouts. It was liberating, truthful, direct, maybe not always virtuous, but certainly done with a good intention even if unsuccessful or foolish at times. Some notebooks I kept, some I gave as a present to my high school darling at the time, some I shared with the class as a part of a regular school assignment. Some I burnt, literally (where there’s a teenager, there’s drama), some disappeared mysteriously and some still lie hidden at the back of the drawers and shelves at my parents’.

As time went by, I stopped expressing myself in this way. I’ve never known why. At first, I thought I had lost the ability to produce anything meaningful, experiencing a creative slowdown. But then again, I’ve been constantly pressed for time since I started studying and then working and silly as it may sound, I forgot (not how to write but to write in the first place). So I can’t even call it writer’s block as I haven’t done any writing until now. I could have lost interest though or simply haven’t had anything to say, which is highly unlikely.

Whatever the case, here I am now, not actually having any specific goal ahead of me, but a blank piece of paper and a huge drive to get down to work. I haven’t just come up with some super original idea. As I said, no plans whatsoever. A notion that I haven’t forgotten how to write and that I still can just popped into my head. So I’ll just play it by ear and see what happens. You may call it a revelatory moment, a mental breakthrough, a sudden insight, a moment of illumination, an epiphany. On the other hand, these undefined perplexing thoughts which came rushing to my mind might as well be a result of inner turmoil, disturbance, confusion, sadness, rage, anxiety and restlessness I’ve been feeling lately. It is highly likely this whole thing I’m doing is some self-healing attempt, some process of recovery, some journey I am determined to embark on in hopes of getting out of this mess. Yes, that’s what it is – an attempt to get to the root of my obnoxious mood swings or shall I call it neurosis. I guess most of us suffer from it at some point in our life, which doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve radically lost touch with reality but have rather been feeling symptoms (mild or not so mild)  of stress, depression, moodiness and/or obsessive behavior. As a matter of fact, a recent study says that moody neurotics are more likely to be creative geniuses (or original thinkers, as someone put it nicely). That’s why I’d prefer to refer to it as soul-searching, reconciliation and finding peace I long for. It’s gonna take guts, patience, time and energy but I believe I’m ready. This conversation with myself I have been putting off for too long is meant to scrutinize my feelings, decisions, motives, convictions, attitudes and finally reactions. Anyway, I am basically certain only of my uncertainty at the moment. Something’s telling me we’re all going to find a whole lot more than we bargain for.

A journey back home.JPG




I am a teacher who teaches, a translator who translates, a would-be blogger, a workaholic, a perfectionist, a sarcast, a skeptic, a realist with dreams, an art lover, a travel freak, a tennis fan, a coffee junkie, a carnivore, an environmentalist, a political being, a good person, a bitch, a neurotic, a soul searcher, a careful daughter, a caring daughter, a missing sister, a part-time wife, a part-time friend, and a full-time mom. I am a citizen of the world (who happens to be the citizen of Serbia), once a permanent resident of Canada, now a German temporary residence permit holder, a legal alien in all three.

Who am I? One in a million, one and only or one and lonely?!

Let’s find out. Marcel Proust, the French essayist and novelist, believed that, in answering these insightful questions, we reveal our true nature. Here’s a part of Proust Questionnaire:

__1.__If you could be someone else, who would you like to be? – An eccentric artist, opening my eyes wide to the usual incredible sunset.
__2.__What is your idea of perfect happiness? – A happy family and a peaceful frame of mind.
__3.__What is your greatest fear? – The death of loved ones.
__4.__When and where were you the happiest? – When my son puts his arms around me, every time, any place.
__5.__What is your favorite word? – Freedom and culture, absolutely priceless.
__6.__Which talent would you most like to have? – A talent for singing.
__7.__Who are your heroes in real life? – My son and my husband.
__8.__What do you consider the most overrated virtue? – Modesty.
__9.__On what occasion do you lie? – To protect others, to protect myself and prevent disasters.
__10.__What do you most dislike about your appearance? – I used to really hate my nose and breasts when I was younger. Luckily, I’ve grown up.
__11.__If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? – I’d like to be more patient and less pig-headed.
__12.__Which words or phrases do you most overuse? – I mean.
__13.__What do you consider your greatest achievement? – Remaining relatively sane and stabile against all odds.
__14.__If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? – A male, to hear their side of the story.
__15.__What is your most treasured possession? – I don’t think I have one. I’m not good at possessing things.
__16.__Who is your favorite fictional character? – Goofy, Daffy Duck, Foghorn Leghorn, Tintin.
__17.__How would you like to die? – Healthy and old, in the kingdom by the sea.
__18.__What is your current state of mind? – Somewhere in between.

Ok Marcel, you’ve stripped me naked. Psychoanalyze me.

upside down.JPG


WHO AM I AND WHAT I AM DOING HERE…in this world (too metaphysical for the wee hours), this very city in this very country (are there coincidences or things happen for a reason – too deterministic), this big bed for that matter (gee, too particular)?

Honestly, what am I doing here, suddenly being flooded with dozens of thoughts, a rush of emotions and an unstoppable urge to get out of bed, take an empty notebook and write? What about? Don’t know yet. Where am I going with this? No idea, but I’ll share it with you when I get there.

Now, after experiencing this light bulb moment and grabbing a blank notebook, I’m back in bed. No, I don’t sleep with a laptop (only a tablet) and it’s only later that I’ll transfer this to the white paper on my computer thus taking the first step toward joining the community of bloggers on the web. So, before opening a small book with ruled pages, I turn it around and upside down, inspecting it thoroughly and touching its covers. Then, I put it under my nose and smell it. It has that irresistible new book smell.  Something just stuck me, something I’ve read on the Internet. There’s a perfume called Paper Passion which makes you smell like a freshly printed book. A fragrance specially designed for serious bookworms. Cool, isn’t it?

Can we judge a book by its odor?