Dunja Cvjetićanin was born in Yugoslavia in 1989 and moved to Australia with her family as a baby. She is one of the Founding Co-Editors of be:longing and enjoys interacting with others who feel a similar connection to other places and cultures as she does.
This stream-of-consciousness poem is the first that Dunja has written in Serbian, the language of her family and ancestors. Scroll down to see an English translation.
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Čitam Before After – beogradski časopis o kulturi, kreativnosti, muzici, i tako dalje.
Ne znam zašto se zove “Before After” i ne “Pre Posle”, ali eto ti.
Naletim na članak o “slengari”. Hmm.
Šta li je to? A, čekaj. Slang-ara, kao iz engleskog? Kao… rečnik? Nešto poput Urban Dictionary-a?
Aha. Recimo da sam shvatila.
Kliknem na link i počnem da čitam. Nije loše. Volim gramatiku i tako.
Pričaju o korenima, primenama, gradacijama.
Daju gradaciju reči “tebra”.
Počinje da mi nestaje shvatanje…
Zar ljudi zaista koriste ne samo “tebra” nego i reči poput “tebratina” na današnjim ulicama Beograda?
Nešto se ne sećam da sam čula to 2011. godine. (Mada, naravno, stvari se menjaju.)
Kada je prestalo da bude jednostavno “tebra” (da ne spomenem “brate” ili “bre”)?
Hmm. Da li ja shvatam uopšte, ili ne?
Možda ne…
Nema veze. Hajde. Šta je sledeće?
Ostavim Before After i krenem na Tviter.
Na Tviteru i Instagramu pratim dosta veliki broj mladih glumaca i kreativaca iz “regiona”: Beograda, Novog Sada, Sarajeva
(ili barem onih koji se povremeno vraćaju na ta mesta, iz raznih delova sveta –
Baščaršija izgleda baš kul na Instagramima mladih ex-bosanaca-sada-Londonaca).
Pratim polu-maratonce iz Podgorice, i Insta-devojke iz Zagreba.
Ova iz Zagreba mi je recimo najpoznatija… Ili, najsličnija ovima ovde, na zapadu.
(Dobro, Zagreb i jeste na zapadu “regiona”, ne?)
Ali. Možda baš zbog toga mi je ta koju želim prepoznati najmanje od svih.
Jer… Šta znam.
Prateći njih, verovatno bežim od ovih ovde, na zapadu.
Čitajući članke o beogradskom sajmu knjiga i najnovijim dešavanjima u, čemu-god, Novom Sadu,
bežim iz ovog zapada prema onom istoku.
Što istočnije moguće, molim vas.
Negde toliko istočno da zapad više ne postoji.
Karta u jednom pravcu. Hvala, sve najbolje.
Trčim sto brže mogu, takođe. Kontam, ako se baš onako zaletim,
možda ću uspeti da upadnem u jednu onu… (mah, kako se kaže “wormhole”? U smislu nauke/naučne-fantastike?
Hvala, Čika Google Translate, ali čisto sumnjam da bi se reklo baš “crvotočina”. Dobra reč, ali hajde bre.
Mada…
Ko zna? Možda su baš tako i preveli kada su pisali titlove za Zvezdane Staze itd. Star Trek.
Ja definitivno ne znam. Kako da znam?)
Šta god. Šta hoću da kažem je da,
Možda ću, ako se baš onako zaletim, skliznuti i upasti u alternativnu 2018:
jednu 2018. u kojoj živim tamo već 28. godina i u kojoj nismo nikada živeli u Australiji.
Joj čekaj, počeli su već da viču:
“A sta, bilo bi ti kao bolje ovde, je l’? Da si živela u ratu i videla kako ti se zemlja raspada i kako ti roditelji gube poslove, je l’?
Bojala se bombardovanja, preživljavala sankcije, nosila iste patike 10 godina jer se jednostavno nema para za nove?
Studirala znajući da je besmisleno i da niko te ovde neće moći da zaposli, a da ti bilo gde drugde na svetu neće priznati kvalifikacije?”
Pah, naravno da ne.
Ne, okej?
Shvatam.
Ali, jebiga. Da razmišljam o tome kako bi nam bilo da nismo dosli – razmišljam.
Da čitam časopise i pratim Tvitere i Instagramove raznih “naših” kojih-god tamo – čitam.
Nemojte me napadati zbog toga što imam čistu, nevinu radoznalost o tome kako bi nam bilo da nismo došli – to jest, otišli.
Hvala vam na svemu, ali mislim da ne možete da shvatite.
(Evo ih, počeli su opet – “Treba da budeš sretna što uopšte možeš da imaš nevine misli i radoznalosti.” Okej bre.)
Možda sam izbeglica, koja trči u suprotnom pravcu od pravih izbeglica;
koja pokušava da se približi onome od čega se oni pokušavaju baš i udaljiti.
Tražim neku suštinu svega toga.
Ali, ja se pokušavam približiti njima – ne onome što ostaje iza njih.
Jer, šta je to sve bez njih?
Ali, s druge strane…
Šta sam to ja u njihovim očima?
Niko i ništa? Verovatno.
Ako sam optimistična, mogu reći da sam im kao stranac –
neko nekako čudno poznat-nepoznat, i ponekad onako malčice, malčice zanimljiv.
Malčice.
Sličan ali drugačiji.
Nemam pojma.
U suštini me je baš briga.
Nije da o tome razmišljam svaki dan.
Nije ni da čitam te časopise svaki dan.
Niti gledam te Tvitere i Instagramove.
Volim svoj život ovde.
Ovde, negde između zapada i istoka
(jer, htela ili ne htela da priznam, i istok i zapad postoje).
I, da mi neko dâ opciju, ne bih ni želela ništa da promenim, pravo da vam kažem.
Sretna sam tu, i sretna sam zbog toga što sam tu,
i, izvan nekih mogućih teoretskih budućih perioda u kojima ću možda želeti da budem tamo na malo duže, možda,
zapravo ni ne želim da budem tamo.
Sretna sam ovde verovatno isto onoliko koliko su oni tamo –
ti tamo mladi kreativci, glumci, sportisti, advokati, stomatolozi, i svi ostali koji i nemaju poslove i profesije.
Svi tražimo i bežimo i razmišljamo na isti način
i čitamo članke iz istih časopisa (mislim, generalno).
Radoznali smo da vidimo neki drugi svet, zar ne?
Zar nam to nije zajedničko?
Svi smo u suštini, isti.
Gradacije istog, s istim korenima.
Samo možda s drugačijim primenama. Manifestacijama.
(Možda sam na kraju ipak razumela nešto od te… kako se zvala? “Slengare”.)
* * *
I’m reading Before After – a Belgrade-based magazine about culture, creativity, music, that sort of thing.
I don’t know why it’s called “Before After” and not “Pre Posle”, but there you go.
I stumble onto an article about “Slengara”. Hmm.
What’s that? Oh, wait. Slang-ara, like from the English? Like… a dictionary? Something like Urban Dictionary?
Uh-huh. I get it.
I click on the link and start reading. It’s not bad. I like grammar and that sort of thing.
They’re talking about word roots, applications, gradations.
They give us the gradation of the word “tebra”.
I’m starting to get it less…
Are people actually using not just “tebra” but also words like “tebratina” on the streets of Belgrade today?
I can’t say I remember hearing it in 2011. (Though, of course, things change.)
When did it stop being simply “tebra” (not to mention “brate” or “bre”)?
Hmm. Am I getting it at all, or not?
Maybe not…
Oh well. Whatever. What’s next?
I leave Before After and turn to Twitter.
I follow a pretty big number of young actors and creatives from “the region” on Twitter and Instagram: Belgrade, Novi Sad, Sarajevo
(or, at least, those who go back to those places from time to time, from various parts of the world –
Baščaršija looks really cool on the Instagrams of young ex-Bosnians-now-Londoners).
I follow half-marathoners from Podgorica, and Insta-girls from Zagreb.
This girl from Zagreb is probably the most familiar to me… Well, the most similar to these here, in the west, anyway.
(Zagreb is in the west of “the region” after all, no?)
But. Maybe because of that, she’s the one I want to recognise least of all.
Because… I dunno.
By following them all, I’m probably running away from these ones here, in the west.
Reading articles about the Belgrade Book Fair and the latest happenings in, wherever, Novi Sad,
I’m running away from this west to that east.
As far east as possible, please.
Somewhere so far east that the west doesn’t even exist.
One-way ticket, please. Thanks. Have a nice day.
I’m running as fast as I can, too. I figure, if I really get going,
maybe I’ll fall into one of those… (eugh, how do you say “wormhole”? Like, in science / science-fiction?
Thanks, Mr Google, but I’m pretty sure it’s not “crvotočina”. Good word, but come on, man.
Although…
Who knows? Maybe that’s exactly how they translated it when they were writing subtitles for Star Trek and such. Zvezdane Staze.
I certainly don’t know. How would I?)
Whatever. What I’m trying to say is,
maybe, if I really get going, I’ll slip and fall into an alternative 2018:
a 2018 in which I’ve been living there for 28 years and in which we never lived in Australia.
Eugh, listen, they’ve already started to yell:
“What, you think it would have been better for you here, huh? If you had lived through the war and had to see your country fall apart and your parents lose their jobs, huh?
Been scared of the bombings, survived the sanctions, worn the same runners for 10 years because there simply isn’t money for new ones?
Studied knowing that it was useless and that no one here would ever be able to employ you anyway, and that nowhere else in the world would recognise your qualifications?”
I mean, of course not.
No, okay?
I get it.
But… damn it. I can’t say that I don’t wonder about what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t come.
I can’t say that I don’t read magazines from over there and follow the Twitter accounts of various Balkanite whoevers.
Don’t jump on me just because I have a pure, innocent curiosity about what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t come.
Thanks for everything, but I don’t think you understand.
(Here we go, they’ve started again – “You should be happy that you’re even able to have innocent thoughts and curiosity.” Alright already.)
Maybe I’m a refugee, running in the opposite direction of the real refugees;
trying to get close to exactly that from which they’re trying to distance themselves.
I guess I’m looking for some… essence of it all.
But, the thing is, I’m trying to get close to them – not to that which they’re leaving behind.
Because, what’s all that without them?
But, on the other hand…
What am I in their eyes?
No-one and nothing? Probably.
If I’m optimistic, I could say they see me as some kind of stranger –
someone kind of strangely familiar-unfamiliar, and maybe just occasionally a teensy little bit interesting to them.
A teensy bit.
Similar but different.
I dunno.
When it comes down to it, I don’t really care.
I mean, I don’t think about it every day.
I don’t read those magazines every day, either,
or follow the Twitter accounts and Instagrams.
I love my life here.
Here, somewhere between the west and the east
(because, whether I want to admit it or not, both east and west exist.)
And, if someone gave me the option, I wouldn’t even want to change a thing, if I’m honest.
I’m happy here, and I’m happy because I’m here, and, outside of some possible, theoretical future periods in which I will maybe want to be there for a little longer, maybe,
I don’t actually want to be there.
I’m happy here, probably exactly the same amount as they are happy there –
those young creatives, actors, sportspeople, lawyers, dentists, and all the others there who don’t have jobs or professions.
We all search and run and wonder in the same way
and read the same magazine articles, too (I mean, in general).
We’re curious to see some other world, aren’t we?
Isn’t that something we have in common?
We’re all the same, really.
Gradations of the same, with the same roots.
Maybe just… different applications. Manifestations.
(Maybe I sort of got that… – what was it called? “Slengara”? – after all.)
© Dunja Cvjetićanin, 2018
be:longing 