Memories from the city where you take your fists steps, fall in love with your classmates, study from large books and worry lesser, are priceless and unforgettable. A woman from Belgrade describes things that tie her to certain places in her hometown, why its spirit is so inspiring to her, and its unfathomable seductiveness attracts her. And most important – why does she love Belgrade in its imperfection.
It’s not Rome nor Paris, and it couldn’t ever be. But, just the way it is, entirely imperfect, pretty rusty, piled and scattered, intrusive and loud, painted and lapsed, often rude and repellent, it is one-of-a-kind and unique in its unsearchable seductiveness. Maybe it is hard to understand it, but it’s not hard to love it.
Košutnjak – unexplored, tame wild. Refuge for loners, hiding place for those in love, freedom to children, dosshouse to homeless, corner for enjoying and picnicking, battlefield for serious neighbour and peer sport competitions.
Memories of the childhood when my papa used to put me on his back and take me to the woods to run around jauntily, taught me to love nature and every single existing animal in it. It is the most beautiful in spring when it blooms, smells and struts in its luxury.
The first sun in spring – when everyone slips out of their warm chambers, take down their winter gowns, get all dressed up and run to still unlined gardens to take a chair and take their place under the sun in order to catch up with every single adventure and misadventure… Laughter, noise, joy… It’s still sleepy, but already shiny.
Church of St. George at Banovo brdo – where my granny used to take me for Vrbica, after dressing me up first, all defiant and proud, in spite of any communist and a party member. All of its sanctities – Saborna Church, Church Ruzica, St. Petka, the Temple… as landmarks to foreigners, inspiration for artists, and to us, the monument of who we are and warning what we shouldn’t become.
7th of January – the only day when it is quiet. It has been waited for a long time to properly celebrate, frugally, with its loved ones, with deserted streets in a sublime, thundering silence. I always encourage myself again that there is still a hope for my people.
Arena – a symbol of all our joys of sport, miracle workers under the baskets, grandmasters in the pool, wizards with rackets, the rare moments of pride and togetherness. We are so „small“ but yet so big at the sport fields. The moment when gold shines, „We are the champions“ is heard loudly at once and the anthem roars…
It’s not Serbia, but it is entirely Serbian – it hugged and gathered everything Serbian- a High School student from Smederevo, a student from Gracanica, an engineer from Nis, an actor from Paracin, a hairdresser from Subotca, a teacher from Zajecar, a doctor from Banjaluka, all minorities who live in Serbia, runaways, refugees, those displaced and exiled…
It was shaped by students and workers, natives and those who have come here, conquerors and defenders, students and those retired, benefactors, but the ragtags as well. Every single one of them have left their mark, have woven part of themselves, their customs, heritage, culture and rudeness. It is speaking every Serbian and surrounding dialects, smells like hay, but also like luxury perfumes, drives jeeps and carrioles, listens to folk and classical music, moos and speaks every world language, pushes people recklessly and apologizes to everyone, it is arrongant and warm-hearted, it begs and he is audacious. You can love it, or hate it – there’s no middle, just like the way it is with Serbs.
Spirit– Slovenian, Mediterranean, Sumadijan, lowland and of a highlander. Unbreakable and defiant. Unpredictable, never boring, always alive, surprising and exciting. You can do it all or you don’t have to do anything at all, all is possible and nothing is impossible, always in a rush, but yet always late, loudly celebrates, suffers and loves, and severely fights, swears and fights.
The strength of turbulent history witnessed by every rock, visible by every view. Everyday life is full of anxiety, but no fear because it is used to everything – tanks which roar its streets, bombers who desecrate its piece of heaven,ones who break it, violate and disturbe, all kinds of domestic and foreign dishonorable. Uncertanity, like the doom of this region. It has „that“ something that cannot be described with words.
Pobednik – all the verses and odes sound to that one word and that modest sculpture of naked man, with the eagle in one hand, and a lowered sword in the other one. Raised proudly above the confluence of worlds and cultures, above the crossroads if nations and religions. One capital on two powerful rives. The most times bombed city capital. It is all imported, and non is by chance.
For those – who stay when others go and give without counting, because of the warmth, loyalty and unselfishness that I couldn’t find anywhere else.
Because of everything it’s not, and it lightly could have been. Because of everything it is, and it has every right and excuse not to be.
„How, why I love Belgrade? It is the same as asked why I love my children. They are mine.“, a little bit confused, but at once said my made of honour when I asked her the question.
Because it was the one I was given by birth. And I don’t have other home.
Author: Tasja
Source: www.mondo.rs
Featured photo: Kosta Milicevic, Flickr.com
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