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Slavic Guerrl in SeattleThis chick from ex-Serbia & Montenegro redefines culture shock as she makes roots in the West 10月3日 The importance of writingThis has been a highly unusual year for me. I started out writing here in order to sort my thoughts, get together with friends, and get back into whatever the public eye may mean. But I was hesitant to write about many of the personal things that have happened, and these shifts - I believed - were better addressed in my personal journals which I've kept since I was seven years old. Most of the events I've experienced are described in these offline formats.
Just recently, I started on a Simone de Beauvoir/Nelson Algren binge, and I started thinking more extensively about the relevance of writing, not just for oneself but in terms of placing oneself in a social context within either our time or our surroundings. Living abroad, a condition I'm carrying around to this day, has made me rethink absolutely everything: the value of education and one's upbringing; the concept of marginalization and living on the sidelines; personal development; the value (or myth?) of true friendship; language differences; is there such a thing as multiculturalism; can we truly and seamlessly adapt to another (an other) landscape; the gender issue - especially when combined with multiculturalism (what it means to be a woman in one's country of origin versus one's adopted country), etc. For now, these thoughts are chaotic, taking basic shapes (like sketches) only in journal entries, conversations with good friends, or an occasional letter... But I don't think that is enough any more. I feel the need to structure these thoughts somewhere and somehow. I will use this space as a tool to help me outline some basics, and then I will know how to use all these concepts so they become more useful to me.
OK, finally! The first post in a long time is here!!
5月25日 Split identities... and it's final. I am from both Serbia and Montenegro, but they have split. And so... life in the Balkans throws yet another curve. Whose will I be tomorrow? 12月6日 Citizenship of choice: Serbia and/or MontenegroHere's a dilemma I've been facing for a few months now. Next May the Montenegrin government will decide whether Serbia and Montenegro will remain as one country or separate into two entities. Sounds harmless, right? Not exactly. First of all, when I was growing up, our country (then called SFRJ, or Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) consisted of six republics: Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, Croatia, and Macedonia. As the Balkan wars of the 1990s gathered steam, many of the republics carved themselves out of the constitution and our geography. So, now as an old saying of ours goes, "spala knjiga na dva slova" (or literally translated: the book has been reduced to two letters), we only have Serbia and Montenegro, with the capital still being Belgrade as back in the SFRJ days (my home town).
Now the turnabout of events: Montenegro wants out as well. There will be a referendum to determine whether the majority of Montenegrins will vote to get out of the country and form a separate country, or whether they will continue under the same name (ie. S&M as I like to call it).
That is where my dilemma comes in. As many families back home, mine too is a mix: our dad is Montenegrin and our mom a Serb. Technically both peoples are considered Serb, but still the distinction is big. When the referendum results roll in, and if Montenegro decides to go solo, my sister and I will most likely need to make a decision (that is, if we are given a choice) as to which citizenship we would like to take -- Serbian or Montenegrin. The regulations back home dictate that a child assumes citizenship of the republic where the father is born, regardless of the place of birth. I was born in Belgrade, but my birth certificate and paperwork have been filed in Montenegro. I have not, however, ever lived in Montenegro. I have a few relatives there, but I have just been there a few times to visit them. Our dad has been based out of Belgrade ever since he left Montenegro to pursue his studies in Belgrade.
It may seem like such a little formality. But it is a big deal to me. I do not know, honestly, which I would prefer. It's a matter of heritage: does one give up a portion, if one doesn't have the opportunity to combine the two? I am very proud to be a Montenegrin; there is a huge sense of history there, particularly of our family (from dad's side) whose ancestry we have traced back to the 16th century. On the other hand, I've been a Belgrade girl forever, and mom's side of the family (especially our grandmother, or nana as we called her) has played a tremendous part in our upbringing -- I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without her there to guide me and teach me practically everything a young girl wants to know about the world.
As the plot thickens, there may be yet another twist: what if, upon making a choice of citizenship, we may have to choose where to live? Some people are speculating that the government may add that little detail to the whole complicated story. I could not imagine having to leave Belgrade as my home. That would be beyond bizarre! And perhaps I would need to get a visa to enter Serbia and to go back home. What then?!
You may think the whole story is surreal; it probably is. You may think the whole plot is absurd; I would have to agree with you. That is what the Balkans are like: always unpredictable, always changing. I know that because I have grown up with things changing so often. But I don't think I can imagine this next step. I see myself as being marginalized here in the States in many ways, as the foreigner, the immigrant, the "other". Now I may have to deal with being the "other" back home as well.
I ask myself: where, if anywhere in particular, do I belong... and does it have to be a geographical place you can locate on a map? 11月28日 Way in over my head... but I will post soon. Things are hectic, snow on the way, freezing in Seattle. Can't complain, tho'... slept a lot, had fun, played Fable, had some great Italian, and heard David Sylvian again. He is good!! 11月15日 MS Project and creme bruleeWell, I've been slackin' off :) But this project I am working on has been kickin' my ass, so to speak. It's been real hard work... and I am just getting started. But on to happier topics...
Eating some warm creme brulee I bought @T. Joe's. It is delicious, however I couldn't get to broil it in that perfect way so it's hard on the surface and I can crack it with my spoon a la Amelie (true perfection, that film). Oh well. I am still reading the Black Lamb & Grey Falcon, and the author is so good that I can't stop reading it! To think that I have had this book on my reading list for years now, and never got to it until now... Rebecca West is a great writer!! What I love most of all in this book is that I have been to all the regions of the former Yugoslavia she writes about, but it is a new experience to see everything once again, with a wealth of historical information as well as a perspective of a non-native traveling through the country. I am on the Dubrovnik section now (city on the Adriatic; it was formerly called Ragusa) -- this is one of the most beautiful and oldest cities on the Adriatic coast. I loved going there; but sadly haven't been since the war. My best friend from high school is originally from that area, and the city reminds me of him.
Speaking of books, I had an interesting conversation with my sister last night. We somehow got to the topic of what we used to read before, as opposed to what teens as well as college students are currently reading in the US. Talk about a culture shock! To explain: back home in Belgrade, during the Communist era, the high school education system as divided into schools that specialized in a certain profession. During your first year of high school (9th grade), we all had the same curriculum throughout the country: history, geography, math, literature, etc. By the time we were sophomores, however, we needed to decide which area we wanted to specialize in: social studies or natural sciences. The social studies students had several foreign language classes; I had English, French, and Latin, for example. The natural sciences students had other, mostly math-based classes. By the time the junior and senior years came by, we had to enroll in schools that we needed to prepare us for a certain profession: mathematician, engineer, actor... I enrolled in a school for journalists, so I had a bunch of literature classes, but also psychology, sociology, philosophy, art history, and others.
Now, back to my conversation with my sister. We were trying to brainstorm all the titles, and let me tell you -- it was hard to do that! We had to do some online searches to fill in the blanks.The books we read each year were, for the most part, the same for all schools throughout the country. It was, and still is, in my opinion, a really good foundation in terms of getting to know world history, not just literature. To illustrate, here are some books and authors we covered in high school:
Ninth grade:
Tenth grade:
Eleventh grade:
Twelfth grade:
In retrospect, I can't believe that we read these classics at a relatively young age. I think that today it is hard for lit professors to get many of their students enthusiastic even about contemporary literature, let alone material that is centuries old! I often think back to the days when,soon after arriving in the U.S., I taught an American lit course and tried to get the class hooked on authors such as J.D. Salinger (Cacther in the Rye, mostly). It didn't go down as well as I thought. I had the impression that most teens in the U.S. have at some point read this cult novel. I must have been wrong, as the class was quick to inform me: most of them had never read it, and some have not even heard of it. Hmm... I remember feeling disappointed at the time (it was, after all, just the beginning of my stay in the country). Now I like to consider myself more realistic :) OK, enough of nostalgia lane, time for some shut-eye. 11月9日 Black Lamb and Gray FalconIt's late. I was going to write more tonight, but got engrossed in writing to a friend of mine, so a brief note: reading a highly recommended book on the Balkans (can't believe I haven't done it earlier!) called "Black Lamb and Gray Falcon" by Rebecca West. This book has been called the best resource on the former Yugoslavia to date in terms of exploring its people, politics, and history from the viewpoint of a foreigner discovering the country. Her travels through Yugoslavia took place just before WWII broke out, but it is interesting to see just how much she has captured of our Balkan spirit -- accurate descriptions of the temperament of our people as well as our history. I am really enjoying her writing style! Will provide some more links as I go along.
11月8日 Irish Coffee on the menuTalk about recharging those batteries over the weekend! Went on a road trip, walked in the rain, had lots of great Italian food, and then coffee...
Have I mentioned how much I am into coffee now that I am in Seattle? Don't get me wrong, I always liked coffee, but man, what a difference it makes having it in Seattle!! First, back home, we drink a differently-prepared coffee which we call Turkish coffee (yep, some things have stayed on ... logical when you've been besieged by the Turks for some 500 years). It's more dense, dark, and the flavor is quite intense compared to coffee here in the US. Interesting history on Turkish coffee for java maniacs here too :)
Anyhoo, back in the day while I was living out east and south in this country, I wasn't that keen on enjoying my cuppa joe. I drank it mostly to be able to wake up in the morning; it was purely out of necessity, especially if you need to wake up in some dark, dreary little town in wintertime. And then it was just the regular, drip coffee variety, not much flavor until you add some CoffeeMate to it, then it turns into (in my case) CoffeeMate with a hint of the dark stuff :). As for living in the south, all the heat year round actually kept me thirsty for cold stuff, like lemonade. The sun is so bright it keeps you awake!
And THEN I came here... and realized just how serious Seattle is about its coffee. During my short stay here I've tried so many versions: espressos, macchiatos, cappuccinos, white chocolate mochas, lattes, frappucinos in the summer. Many people believe it's the weather, what with "all the rain" we supposedly are having year round. I don't believe it. I think it's the lifestyle mainly. People in this state love being outside. They enjoy the outdoors, they enjoy walking, getting out of their homes and their cars, and just enjoying what's out there. Coffee is just a thing to do when you're in between places. So why not enjoy that moment of stillness, solitude, time to yourself? I can't make up my mind which is better: having a coffee while out walking on a beach or somewhere downtown; or going to one of many coffee klatches here and sitting in an armchair, reading a book that keeps you from people-watching (although I do it often) and drags you onto its pages without mercy so that you forget you've been sitting there for two hours and the coffee is gone and you wonder if you should grab abother because what's the point if you don't remember drinking the first one!
Today is gray, but the Irish coffee in my mug is warm and beckoning. Who wants to come to Seattle? 11月4日 Diego and FridaI had several things planned for after work, but somehow everything got postponed and I found myself in a gallery exhibiting works of artists who are partners in real ife, couples who work either separately or together on projects. The gallery is a tiny space, but they managed to cram quite a lot into it. I have to admit, I was drawn in as soon as I heard they were showing Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo's work too, but it ended up being a disappointment.
Just recently I had finished reading a bunch of books on the two of them ("Frida Kahlo: Torment and Triumph in Her Life and Art"; "Frida Kahlo: An Open Life"; "The Diary of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait"; "The Fabulous Life of Diego Rivera", as well as "Cartas Apasionadas - The Letters of Frida Kahlo"). Around that time I watched the film starring Salma Hayek as Frida, and I have to say I recommend it highly... she is a wondeful actress, and the film stayed true to Frida's work, in my opinion. To round off the experience, I just recently visited the San Francisco Art Institute where a mural of Diego's from 1931 is exhibited. Talk about fascinating, yet painful lives these two artists lived!
From time to time I read about the lives of artists and I wonder about the life I had led, much earlier, that could have easily gone that same path. Making choices, growing up, asking yourself what you really want... Back then, I was in a partnership with a painter, my best friend and mate, a simple but completely complicated relationship at the same time. At the time we had shared everything, spent days and months together, finished each other's sentences, wrote short letters to one another while sitting at the same table in a coffeehouse somewhere on long, winter days. That sort of thing. I was focused on my writing, he on his painting. And it worked, however crazy it was... it worked for a number of years. The good thing about such relationships: if you are both on the same wavelength and enjoy reading similar writers' work, like to deconstruct ideas and concepts, and enjoy each other's company (at least a little), collaboration is possible and you may both end up learning from one another. On the other hand, such partnerships can get claustrophobic if you don't let in fresh air from time to time, new people, new dynamics into the conversation. Competitiveness can also be a problem, particularly if you both want to work in the same media or genre -- no chance of balancing things out in that case. There's really a fine line between thinking the world of that person, respecting their work, and admiring their determination.... and just wanting to throttle them when they start going on and on about something! In any case, yes, these partnerships are an unusual learning experience and no, I don't think they are sustainable in the long run.
Back to today's exhibit: Diego's oil painting was called "Amor"and it represented a stylized portrait of (I am assuming) Frida. He used three colors: eggplant for the hair, done in several strokes; an orange-terracota shade for the face; anda dark brown for the eyebrows. That was it. Frida's was called "Allegra" and it was a number of geometric shapes (I think circles), predominantly done in warm shades of yellow and orange. The same eggplant shade of Diego's portrait was used in the center of one of the circles. Considering the enormous body of work by both artists, I was surprised that the choice came down to these two paintings, which I would consider to be some of the least strong I have seen.
ps. more emails from the friend, he of the revisited past. things still looking good, now that we're putting more stuff out in the open. 11月2日 Follow-up to the revisiting the past thing...First, thanks to my new blog-buddies, Buschick and Monique, for stopping by. It's such a pleasure to read posts that are uplifting, intelligent, and intriguing. I hope we'll all stay in touch!!
More email today from my friend from the past. Considering we hadn't talked in five years, we laughed a lot and enjoyed the conversation quite a bit... it figures, but as I wrote yesterday, with some people it's just so damn easy. Like in this instance: I emailed him saying I didn't regret waking him up becuase it was worth it to hear his voice again; he emailed me back and said he was glad I called and we should do it again soon... Maybe the good vibes just flowed freely, but in the email he also made referrals to the -I-don't-know-what-this-is-but-there's-something-definitely-going-ON-here stuff that we both felt back in the day. He just said it. Smack on the table. And here's the best part: this is actually the first time one of us actually addressed it. The whole time we were friends it didn't exactly come up in the conversation, even though we had our share of late-night phone conversations and after-class lunches. But here it is, and I have to admit, it's nice to hear.
I was actually driving on 405 today with my outlaw-brother (see refs on him in my Slavic Guerrl 101 post) and we were talking about this cultural shock thing I seem to be never coming out of (how long can one stay shocked?! I thought shock was a short-term thing but oh, no...). The reason I am bringing it up is that I have trouble with people around me being aloof. Here's a typical scenario on the way people interact back home:
Now let's flip this around to the US. This is how it often goes (my experience):
Now by aloof I mean a certain level of flatness I see in people's reactions to others... whereas back home we express how we feel (about the weather, politics, our loved ones, public trasportation, you name it) very openly; you can see from people's expressions what's going on through their minds and what kind of day they are having. If you're starting a friendship, everyone involved wants to do stuff together and the enthusiasm is obvious. Once you've bonded, the friendship gets stronger and the ties become more solid. Here I haven't experienced that as often. Don't get me wrong: there are wonderful people I've befriended here, but they are still a minority. I must admit I am picky when it comes to friends. I value enthusiasm, being emotional (and that's OK in my book), quick wit, lots of humor, and loyalty above all. I don't care much for superficial friends, those people who just want to shoot the breeze and talk about shallow things (this is where I've traveled...this is what I bought... this is my new fill_in_the_blank, etc.). You know, life's too short for people like that.
So that was the discussion in the car with my outlaw-brother. He was telling me how he, being born American, is used to the aloofness, so it's no big deal for him. At the same time, having been around my sister and me for quite a while now, he is aware how big these differences appear to us, and he always has some kind of explanation for it. Being emotional and illogical, as he puts it, is "the Balkan way"... and he likes to be like that himself nowadays. Once he realized that we welcome heated discussions about everything under the sun ("just tell it like it is, dammit!"), he got into it and now there's no stopping him. Not with everyone, though: he's more reserved with Americans because he's used to it, and so are they.
Coming full circle: I am glad my buddy said something about how we felt about each other. It made the email more real, and it made an impact. And yes, we will talk soon. I'll keep you posted.
11月1日 Question: should we revisit the past?So I just got off the phone with an old friend I left behind in sunnier climates. I was thinking about him lately. We used to go to grad school together, attended a lit class with a prof who sounded all pompous and claimed he was German (hence his accent)... later we found out he was from Ohio. Anyway, this friend of mine kinda relieved some of the stress I was going through at the time and made me laugh a lot. I was new in town, I didn't really like the town, but I packed all my things and moved halfway across the country to go to this program I thought was exactly what I wanted. Turns out it was not, and I was far from home (any home), my car didn't have AC in it and the weather was a constant 90 degrees, and I hated everything. The buddy was very cool; he made fun of everything and everyone, had a quick wit, and OK, he was awful cute to boot.
Fast forward some time later, I left the program, got into some meaningless argument with him, and left town for another one where I went to school. Then I moved out here, and on a recent trip to San Francisco, he just popped right back into my head. I used to hear all these bizarre stories about California from him; he lived there for a long time.
So after a few emails, I found out how to get a hold of him, emailed him, and he asked me to call him. Left a voicemail. A little phone tag later, I ended up calling him when he was already asleep (2 hour time difference - he's still in the Southwest). Here's the funny part: he wasn't alone, but pretended to be. I could swear I heard him whisper "I'll be right back" or something like that, then he went outside. About ten minutes later, a voice asked him something, and I offered to end the conversation, but he wouldn't. Awkward. I mean, don't get me wrong. It was fun to hear his voice again: it's raspy and he always cracks jokes. But still, I had a feeling I was being watched. And when you haven't talked for five years, you want to just chat, but I kept thinking someone wants him back inside the house. Yet here I was keeping him outside the damn house! I ended up telling him to go back to sleep after some twenty minutes of conversation, with him pretending everything's ok.
Which all brings me to the question: should we revisit the past? Does it matter if it's a past that we left unfinished? Most people say what's done is done, we should all move on and seek friendships with poeple who are in our present realm. But what happens if our friendships span the globe, if they continue in phases, sporadically, when we remember or just feel a need to talk to someone again? That is something I have had problems with. I like the idea of being able to pick up where we left off, even if some time has passed. In some cases, conversation is easy and it's like having seen someone just yesterday. Other times, it's hard to remember why you were even friends with this person. But I want to have that freedom, I want to give myself the permission to cross time and borders and yes, even endings if there any to begin with. I like to see life as cyclical, and friendships should have cycles of their own -- as long as we are alive, we have something to actively offer the other. Why leave the past in the past, when it can enrich your present?
... and I still don't know whether tonight's call made sense. But I'd rather try than wonder... whatever happened? 10月31日 Exploring the city: US vs. the BalkansAs I was stuck in traffic this afternoon, en route to the post office, I was thinking of another cool blogger and her determination to survive in this city without a car (see Buschick). That on top of reading more of this Orhan Pamuk book, where the two main protagonists --college students--give up their campus life to tour the country by bus in pursuit of the world they encounter in a book.
Imagine you can let someone else drive for a change, while you open a book and go elsewhere... I have to admit it's hard for me, a true control freak, to give up on driving. Not to mention that for years before coming to this country, I had to use public transportation that was, on a good day, how Buschick describes Detroit's bus systems :) For the most part, the schedule was so erratic we often gave up on the waiting and just walked... Sometimes for one hour, sometimes for two... so if you lived in the 'burbs, like I did, it was a WALK. But you know what? That's one of the things I miss the most. When you walk through a big city, there is a sense of incredible freedom and adventure. You can go diagonally, criss-cross, jump around from block to block, and get to your destination without walking a single straight line. If you walk at night, you also get the added bonus of looking into people's homes, something I still love to do although it's much harder here. It's like a home movie, sometimes shot by your mind in stills. An old lady sitting at her kitchen table, cleaning carrots and potatoes over old newspapers. A teenager standing by the window, talking on the phone and gesturing wildly in the air. An empty room with the TV on, with the 7:30 news blaring on. Dark rooms with white, gauzy curtains draping the wondows: someone asleep or not home yet? A kitchen window cracked open, the smell of onions and bell peppers simmering on the stove. Images of home. Here life is lived more privately. You don't stare into other people's yards or their living rooms. You don't stop in front of a building and raise yourself on tiptoe to see into someone's kitchen. Here, rooms are tucked away neatly and windows are covered by blinds, thank you very much. If you want to see inside someone's home, you must be invited over. Unless you plan on breaking in :) There is a space that must be respected and that takes up several feet around people, homes, even pets. I always explain it with the usual: capitalist vs. socialist way of living. Back home there isn't much privacy. Everyone believes you are part of a larger whole, so everyone gets to have access to your life. Secrets are kept, but often found out. I could track a boyfriend's heritage to his great-grandfather and find out if they were from a decent family or from a brood of criminals --all by knowing his last name and asking around. The entire nation is like a large baking dish of baklava: layers and layers of family histories, bound together by the idiosyncratic, illogical, erratic Balkan way of life. So here's the deal: I have to figure out how to ride the bus and still sneak a peek. It's all about a quick cure for the ol' nostalgia. 10月30日 Finally, rain!!I know, I know, that's all I seem to be writing and talking about. Never enough rain in this town!! So today finally was my kind of day... lazy Sunday, road trip, stopping for some pizza, then a hot white choc mocha and a walk on the beach. Watching the slow waves come in and the dogs walk by (never enough dogs in this world, either!)...
Also, got some more reading done today. Currently it's "The New Life" by a Turkish writer, Orhan Pamuk. Very unusual, came up on my radar through two sources: my sister, who's a writer, highly recommended him after reading another book of his ("Istanbul"), and all the coverage he's received in the news due to being considered for the Nobel prize and due to his pending trial in Turkey (see http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory?id=1242059).
Anyway, I like it so far; he describes cities vividly, and I have no idea where it's going. Always important :)
There's a third reason for my interest in the author as well: a good portion of our cultural heritage has been strongly intertwined with the Turkish: they spent 500 years on our soil. There are still remnants of their presence everywhere: some of the language, certainly some of the cuisine (for those who have tried burek, or borek as they call it, you'll know what I'm talking about; I promise to publish a recipe with pics here too if you're curious), some of their temperament... I think it's always interesting to see what you get when you combine cultures. Not quite a melting pot: an explosive of sorts, for sure though!
10月28日 Slavic Guerrl 1011. I live in Seattle, Washington -- by far the most gorgeous city in the continental US.
2. To date, I lived on three continents: Africa, Europe, and North America.
3. Some of my favorite lived-in cities: Cairo, Alexandria, Tripoli, Belgrade, Seattle
4. Other cities I visited or would like to live in: Rome, Casablanca, Venice, Barcelona, Paris, Buenos Aires, Lisbon
5. I am crazy about rain.
6. My family includes dad, mom, sister, monkey, and two dogs.
7. My sister is a writer and in her other incarnation a marketing exec; the monkey is hers.
8. I also consider the monkey as a brother-out-law.
9. As for the dogs, mine is not well trained (by yours truly) so I am considering replacing him. Just kiddin'!
10. I speak two languages at the same time, in each sentence. This means I must focus when speaking in public.
11. I am not that crazy about speaking in public, even though I have been a teacher, actress, and business manager, all of which require public speaking.
12. I have no idea which language I dream in, just that it's always in color.
13. Favorite colors = blue-green (sea and ocean) and burgundy red
14. Lit-wise, I get most comments about liking Ayn Rand. (To those people: why?! I like her storylines, is all.)
15. On the road, I get comments but they're usually in some sign language (which I'm not fluent in)
16. To respond to others on the road, I revert to my mother tongue because it's the most colorful one and really expresses how I feel, in minute detail, every time.
17. The contents of my ideal cup of coffee are: strong brew, white choc syrup, frothy milk, raw sugar, and whipped cream.
18. I can find such a cup of coffee at my local Tully's :)
19. My other fave local haunts for the cuppa joe are: Torefazione Italia, Espresso Vivace, Victrola, Pallino's...
20. A perfect weekend afternoon would include a stroll along a beach (such as Alki), eating a bowl of hot clam chowder, then settling into an oversized armchair in a coffeeshop, with a book, pretending that the cup of coffee is (a) going to remain hot for a while, and (b) going to be bottomless.
21. I like my coffee (and my men) HOT!
22. I don't like my coffee (or my men) energy-less: neither here, nor there, neither hot nor cold; or, as my dad says, they shouldn't be "like a leaf without chlorophyll."
23. Speaking of energy, I love to talk world politics. Political turmoil is something I grew up with, and we have discussed politics in our house for as long as I can remember.
24. I was conceived during a war, was almost born during a bombing (and decided to wait a week or so, until the situation "settled"), survived a stoning of my school during a riot, lived through economic sanctions, participated in numerous street fights, and broke the law many times, so I am comfortable with instability.
25. I don't like rules, but sometimes I like to make them for others (I admit).
26. I especially honed skill under #25 early on as I trained to become a teacher.
27. When I was about nine, I decided to become a teacher full-time (after school, that is); my class consisted of my sister (who had no choice) and about 29 imaginary kids (who had many choices, but were never asked about them).
28. As a teacher, I gave my students many reports to write; my sister had to do research on the dodo bird, for example.
29. My sister is still traumatized by the dodo bird to this day; for that reason, she is petrified of Big Bird from Sesame Street.
30. While teaching in our shared childhood bedroom, I frequently received a "visitor" for whom the class would stop as I opened the door; this was my "husband" the rock star.
31. I had to balance out my life, so I decided that in order to counteract the stable teaching life I needed to have a wild private one; my husband was a rock star who toured constantly but managed to stop by every now and again so we could "chat".
32. In case my husband wanted me to jon him on tour, I had to always be prepared, so I dressed up every day in what I considered to be a "rock star's wife" outfit: flared jeans and high heels. My favorites were a pair of bright-orange cork platform sandals (a gift from a friend of mom's).
33. I don't wear heels very much nowadays, unless I want to send a message to someone. I am six feet tall to begin with!
34. Everyone in my family is tall.
35. The tallest boyfriend I've ever had was 6'8''... he was a talented basketball player.
36. The shortest boyfriend I've had was called Dennis... he was under 3' tall since we were both two; I was already towering over him and looked threatening in all of the pictures.
37. Some people still think I look threatening, but as you can see from my pics, I am a sweet girl :)
38. ...and as such, it's no surprise that my favorite food is chocolate.
39. I used to say to people that any chocolate is good chocolate, but growing up I've realized that was a LIE.
40. As a result, nowadays I swear by Lindt, Milka, Kinder, and most Belgian as well as Swiss brands.
41. I am also slightly obsessed with Nutella. Must be eaten with a spoon.
42. Living an expat's life, I've become a pretty good cook.
43. On any given night, you may see me in the kitchen making a Mediterranean, Middle-Eastern, or Asian meal... most with seafood.
44. I get suspicious around people who are allergic to shellfish.
45. My favorite pasta dish is linguine frutti di mare, which has tons of shellfish in it.
46. My sister's monkey, a.k.a brother-out-law, has a problem with shrimp having "feet", so I have to clean them real well to spare him unnecessary trauma.
47. The spices most often used in my kitchen are: Hungarian paprika, pepper, red pepper flakes, oregano, basil, bay leaf, and SALT.
48. I salt my food way too much, but my kidneys haven't complained yet :)
49. I will rarely cook without tomatoes.
50. There are two dishes my sister and I make that cannot make it to the fridge as leftovers: lemon pepper shrimp (my sister's) and burek with cheese (mine). We all fight regularly over these.
51. If you haven't noticed, food is a huuuge thing in my family.
52. Food TV and the Travel Channel are also big.
53. I wouldn't mind very much if chef Anthony Bourdain came over one evening. He is the ultimate in city cool: tough, real, razor-sharp, and not to mention gorgeous in a Leonard Cohen kind of way.
54. I'm a huge fan of Leonard Cohen's, and my two fave songs are "The Future" and "Dance Me to the End of Love".
55. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is, in my opinion, probably the most intelligent and amazingly talented writer of our time.
54. I am not a big fan of book clubs.
55. There is a library in this city that has changed my life and made it so much easier: KCLS (King County Library System); I live there!! Thank you, Bill and Melinda Gates :)
56. I've kept book lists instead of journal entries ever since I was a kid, since I like to keep track of what I read and when.
57. The first serious book I read after the Nancy Drew series (do NOT laugh!) is Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World". It was one of those "forbidden" books, so of course I had to read it. This, too, changed my life.
58. After reading the book, I created a whole city of Playmobil's playpeople according to the Alpha-Beta-Gamma-Delta order; "my" character was the Alpha female.
59. Perhaps it's time to come to terms with the possibility that this became the foundation for my fondness to Ayn Rand's work.
60. The one thing that I am most proud of is my intelligence, because I work on improving it every day of my life.
61. I think I am pretty smart for my age (at any age).
62. The people who get my attention the most are those whose minds are like labyrinths: multi-dimensional, with sharp edges, and long, winding roads.
63. I am also a sucker for good storytellers...
64. ...and I adore people with a good, sharp sense of humor (you gotta have that!)
65. On the other hand, I don't care much for tunnels or other really tight spaces.
66. I also just recently realized I don't care much for heights, either: for locals, try walking across Deception Pass bridge to try this one out and let me know.
67. When these two are combined, I have a Hitchcock-esque experience that can only be cured with a drink and warm churros with chocolate; something I've experienced climbing up Coit Tower in San Fran recently (yes, in a rickety old elevator... but "the murals were aMAZing!").
68. My favorite weekend getaway by plane is San Fran: I could stay at City Lights Bookstore for hours, then grab some coffee in North Beach, and munch on a crab dinner in Chinatown... all with no wheels, just my own two feet!
69. My fave weekend getaway by car is much closer: Alki Beach (especially in wintertime)
70. My favorite job I've held so far (hands down) is being a teenage counselor in summer day camp in Africa: we created a haunted house with partitions over which we threw slimy, overcooked spaghetti in total darkness over preschoolers who, I'm sure to this day, have issues with pasta.
71. I've also been a teacher, editor, painter, babysitter, sales associate, DJ, researcher, marketer, project manager, cook, photographer, tour guide, conference events planner, writer, poet, driver, dogsitter, housesitter, basketball player, life coach (to others but not myself), and grad student.
72. I like a challenge.
73. My grandmother taught me the true meaning of unconditional love; how to make perfect biscotti; how to enjoy tea and toast as if it were the most luxurious meal in a top-notch restaurant; how to roll a lemon to get all the juices out; and that kindness is a real virtue.
74. My parents taught me that a good education is something you always get to keep; that the whole world can be your home; and the importance of a rock-solid value system.
75. My sister has taught and continues to teach me that you make the rules if you break the rules; to be Che more often; to stay focused on the big picture; to take time to enjoy life and laugh every single day; to appreciate monkeys,especially little ones; to celebrate our uniqueness and our rich heritage.
76. My sister's monkey has taught me the importance of (a) wearing army boots; (b) laughter at any price, anytime, anywhere; (c) a kickass seafood barbeque, year-round; and (d) feta cheese.
77. I am still teaching myself, whenever I cannot teach others.
78. My family thinks I'm an extrovert, but I am actually shy to the point of rather than approaching someone for a quick chat, I will play out the potential conversation in my head, and then never actually say it out loud.
79. The last time I was about to start a conversation (but never did) was a few days ago at the gym: the guy next to me was lifting 65 lb. weights and what was I gonna say -- "Wow, how can you do that?!"
80. I am in a gym phase right now, but prefer my yoga class over an abs/aerobic instructor screaming "Hold it! hold it!" any time.
81. I prefer to swim after a hot sauna, but most of all I prefer swimming in the Mediterranean Sea.
82. Above all, sportswise, I prefer to just be a beach bum, sitting in the sand, reading a book, and sipping a cold drink.
83. I am not fond of jellyfish who like to attach themselves to your face.
84. I have a bunch of scars: two on my face (from said jellyfish which I had to rip off my skin when I was 14), one above my right eye (a circus act gone wrong at age two), multiple moon-shaped ones on fingers of both hands (thanks, sis! actually, she sports similar ones too), at least ten on my knees from various falls and adventures.
85. Because of my mishaps, my sister's monkey started calling me Calamity Jane.
86. The phrase was coined on our trip from the Southwest to Seattle via U-Haul and a small caravan of vehicles on various highways. On that trip I managed to slip off the step of the truck and bang my knee, to fly THROUGH a chair knee-first because I didn't see that the chair seat was removed and only a hole remained, and to mess up a freshly washed pair of Levis with mustard on the first visit to Seattle's Pike Place Market (that was the first load of laundry after the trip, and the only pair of decent jeans I had at the time).
87. I don't see the humor of me being in head-numbing pain, stretched out on the floor with a banged-up knee, but when the pain subsides of course I start to giggle myself.
88. A Slavic thing perhaps: I have a thing about banning people from walking around when I eat. At home, everyone either sits down to eat, or else they leave the room. I claim that if there's too much movement around me, I get indigestion, much to the incredulous looks I get from people.
89. On the other hand, I can absolutely handle eating while driving or being driven, even though that's considered movement...
90. I don't like to plan way ahead, then get upset when I can't find decent plane tickets to San Fran two days before I want to travel.
91. I can be the queen of indecision. For example, on any given weekend, my sister and I are talking in the car: "Where would you like to go eat?" ... "No, where do YOU want to go eat?" etc. I'm realizing that it's ok to say what you want.
92. My sister and I both have to share stuff, especially food; what's the point of enjoying a good piece of chocolate if you can't save a piece for later to show exactly how good it was?!
93. I love living in a city where you can have a French croissant and coffee breakfast, Middle-Eastern spinach & feta sandwich for lunch, a Cuban shrimp sandwich for a mid-afternoon snack, and a true Cantonese feast for a late dinner!
94. Another Slavic thing: we're a passinate people, which means whatever we do, we do it all the way, good or bad. We don't shy away from showing pain, sadness, fear, feeling down, being ecstatic, shouting, crying, yelling, hugging like madmen, or breaking off into spontaneous dance... after all, we have to show how we truly feel, or else it's no good :)
95. What I miss about living in Europe: everything is geographically so tight so you can walk almost everywhere, especially downtown. Here you are much more dependent on your car.
96. What I miss about living in Africa: the sunsets, the smells of different spices in the souks, the desert
97. Three men I miss talking to because we all live on different sides of the globe: the painter with the Mediterranean-blue eyes who ate porridge in the long winter nights and talked of just that right shade of Lawrence-Durrell-sunset-yellow; the guy who sent me sand in envelopes while he was busy deconstructing cities in Scandinavia; and the green-eyed giant who could not speak any of my languages and who ended up with a more comfortable, non-verbal form of communication (as a martial arts expert).
98. I believe in Atlantis, and that I lived there in a previous life.
99. I believe there are still movies being made that make you happy to be alive (Amelie, for example).
100. I believe that it's much easier to write things for yourself in a notebook that you can close, rather than on a Website where others can read about it.
101. I'd like people to remember me as a risk-taker and a fearless person who treats life as an adventure, one continent at a time. Chilly Friday, jasmine teaFreezing here in the office. I still can't believe I can't see a drop of rain anywhere!!! Did it rain last night, real hard, so much so that I woke up thinking there is a leak in the roof because I'm sure I heard drops coming down every second? Yep. Did it rain this morning when I like to have some water in the air as a backdrop to my cup of coffee? Nope. I don't know why people say it rains so much in Seattle. I can ASSURE you they are LYING. Actually, that's one of the top reasons why I wanted to come here in the first place. Imagine this scenario: it's December, you're going to school in the Southwest, and you wear sandals to class. Sandals! In December! Sure, sounds like fun. Laid back and everything. But after a while the heat starts getting to you. Ninety degrees in March, and counting... I was seriously considering frying eggs on the hood of my car. Why bother with electricity?! Had to duck into any shade possible as I walked outside, but that was rare. Plus, I could never see any large body of water nor wear my army boots at all times. I've tried. Impossible. That's why I moved. The salt water and the rain were beckoning. So where is it now??
Anyhow, seeing how easy it is to write here, I better exercise some self-control (hah!) and focus on my 101 list. Save my energy, you know :)
Fave song on Sirius' Alt Nation station atm: Death Cab for Cutie's "Where Soul Meets Body". Great way to start your day! 10月27日 About Slavic Guerrl in Seattle...Hey!
For a short version, read on. For a longer version, check out my Slavic Guerrl 101 link.
No, I am not displaced. Just living a gypsy life. Seattle is quite a ways away from where I was born. Two color cities: my birth city (in the Balkans, called Belgrade, one of the oldest cities in Europe and now the capital of Serbia-Montenegro, ) a.k.a. "White City" as it was aptly named in the ninth century, and my right-now city (Seattle) a.k.a "Emerald City" or as I like to think of it, the most beautiful place in the entire country :)
OK, so I adore Seattle. It took a while to get here, though. Had to travel from the windy East to the freezing Midwest to the hot Southwest to finally chilling in the warm salty breeze of the Pacific Northwest. Before that, I lived in Africa for most of my childhood, then Central Europe through my teens, before getting to the US. Can you tell I like to travel?!
I've lived in peace zones, cordoned-off zones, warzones, wannabe peace zones, military zones, and no-way-out zones, so I adapt quickly and learn fast!
So what's it like being Slavic in the Northwest? Read on for some funny tales of everyday unscrambling codes of "right" vs. "wrong" ways of messing up... or getting life right... or something similar.
Slavic Guerrl signing out... |
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