Festives

Recently it was the day of the dead, three days ago to be exact. The holiday is set on November 2nd and it is meant o celebrate dead ancestors and relatives, November 2nd being a day where they visit us and what not. This year I was set out to find jewelry theme'd for this holiday, not exactly celebrating the holiday myself but because the certain style doesn't TRULY come out until this certain time of year. Though what makes us feel the need to celebrate with one another these things we call holidays? Would we set out to get together with family members or friends like we do for holidays? I presume so but our environment in the United States makes become so introverted, to become individuals.

I became an individual last night, I went to first Friday which is a assumed to be where all these artists and those interested in art, come together on the same night (every first friday of the month) and come talk, share, enjoy one another. I came by myself and went through the rounds of galleries just to see if anything new was around, and said hi to artists that I somewhat kind of know. But other then that I was by myself, and couldn't help but feel lost in this celebratory environment. I then proceeded to wander over to a big studio called Stoneworks, where the owners of the place, Michelle and Guy, have new entertainment every first Friday. They serve the best food and have the best energy. Though me being by myself and only socializing with Guy, I was struck by how shy and unconfident I am being around people that I don't know, but have the same interests as me. It's as though I just felt like a lie, being this "artist" and that I don't REALLY know what I am talking about. That I, Sara, have nothing to say and I will just make awkward conversation.

I was then set out to talk to some people and stay around long enough to watch the belly dancing. The belly dancer's costumes were a day of the dead theme, with their faces painted in palette of white and these obscure colors decorating their faces, their eyes surrounded by black paint. I began to talk to this man who was eager to show his art work on his iPhone, and told me about his life. We laughed and enjoyed the show, and then I bolted out the door at 9:13 to meet my friend for a 9:40 movie. I then ran into the face painter, having never had a day of the dead face painted on me before. I gave her a donation of 10 dollars and she proceeded to decorate my face in reds, oranges, white and black. I felt calm and excited just to find out what would become of my face, as well as everyone surrounded around me, seeing what the artist would create. I was done, and bolted out the door at 9:30. Vaguely knowing how my face actually looked.

I was met by a transformation when I looked into the mirror, Sara was no longer Sara, but instead she was this masked being. It's simply amazing what paint can do, even face painting, I did not look like myself. This is not because it literally physically transformed my face but instead made and illusion to somehow give no definition to my face. It made me different. I became an even more obscure individual. I was unrecognizable, and looked at with eyes that judged and did not know what in the world happened to this "girl's" face. Walking into a movie theater like that, I was ostracized without even realizing it. This was most likely because I wasn't in the art world but now in "normal" world where you blend in with everyone else.

Sometimes I'm tired of blending in, then other times I will dress as plain and unnoticeable as possibly, so nobody realizes I am there.

My own psychology? It fails to be reasonable

So I was thinking

I haven't posted in a long time and I had all this information that I wanted to talk about. All these moments in which I enjoyed Bosnia, which I may do at some point soon. I honestly was so excited but when I got home the desire ran from me.

Instead in this post I just want to write. First I want to talk about depression, for the reason because I try to relocate thoughts of past memory of times I was supposedly depressed.

What is depression? To be quite brutally honest I have no idea, people write about it, it'd in books, medical publications and internet forums. Though the thing is it doesn't make sense. At all.

Here is why, I've always, ALWAYS considered myself so incredibly lucky, the stars were in my favor. The world was a vast continuous ocean of knowledge and discovery that I have this desirable urge to sweep through with a comb. I want to be apart of this thing that we call the world. I knew I had the tools, the magic at my finger tips to achieve all this. That I had and have never a thing to complain about. I don't DESERVE to complain. Sometimes this is pointed out as having terrible self esteem, and I've been told that I'm allowed to complain. But I feel guilt and shame for thinking about complaining and then actually complaining. Why would anybody want to hear me?

Why am I writing this, not so people can hear me but to actually put thoughts in my head onto something more solid.

And yet, I feel like this utter failure for not being able to take the reins of my life and use all these wonderful gifts to accomplish the greatness that I want to accomplish. I question myself every other day and I compare myself to other people. One minute I love me and then the next I want to improve me. Then I think what do people see in me, because all the people in my life are just utterly amazing and here I am just Sara. And I wish to the gods and heavens that people see that they are amazing. Maybe some say the same for me but in my head it doesn't make sense.

Is this depression? No, some may say it is but I don't believe it for one second it is.

When I was 12 to the age of 13, I was depressed. I don't even remember what I did in those times. Except that I walked everywhere by that age and I remember just thinking of killing myself, but the only thing stopping me was the fact that I'd hurt others in my life. I didn't want to talk to anybody, I didn't notice things anymore. I dressed in black because I thought I would be cooler, but then it didn't even matter anymore. I just wanted something to change but nothing in my mind would change. I would continue walking feeling dead. I cried a lot too, I still cry a lot to this day but I cried so much in that period that it was exhausting. I couldn't wait to sleep and I dreaded getting up in the morning.

Is this depression? I said it was but when I talk to myself I feel as though I was this drama constricted child that didn't know what to do with herself.

But is depression only depression when it's passed a certain time frame? Could my depression be 7days long? Because I feel like when I was 16 I was depressed too. It was heartbreak, betrayal, sadness, exhaustion, and unable to comprehend or care anymore. I couldn't eat for a week because I literally felt like puking every time I smelled food. I cried so much. My heart was being ripped out of my chest, and it felt like someone was grasping my heart and choking the air out of it.

Was that depression? Or the numb feeling that came after that, which lasted for a few months.

I still think about death and I accept the fact I could die tomorrow or in the next 2 minutes. Is that bad? Envisioning the possibilities of death and then wondering how much people would care? Because I can imagine certain people in my lives being heart broken but I of course would want them to move on and be happy. But I wonder if I really am that someone they would miss or just the idea of me is missable.

I'm not depressed, I just think about dark things. I use to be unaffected by what anybody said about me but now I slowly have started to take things personally. Just that I feel less wanting to impress people and instead just want to explore myself.

I haven't had the opportunity to actually put myself in the position that I have envisioned myself being in. It's become this harsh reality. A reality of what, I'm unsure.

I still will keep the optimism in my spirit and continue to envision myself in a new adventure that will make me learn things that I wouldn't of otherwise.

Ciao

Hello from the Center of Sarajevo

Okay so this is just a quick update, that will not be a blog post of what I have been doing but just to update everyone that I haven't had internet for 12days. One I went to the coast and now I am in Sarajevo once again, now just with my Grandmother until Sunday. Which we will be with my Uncle, Aunt and cousins once more until I get on a plane on Tuesday. The thing that really is quiet wonderful about traveling is that if your on the other side of the world, when you come back you gain a day. Meaning that even though I left on Tuesday, when I came to Bosnia it was late at night on Wednesday- so instead of having an entire day to wander around, I had dinner and slept. But now I'm leaving Tuesday and arriving Tuesday in California.

Right now I am paying for the amount of time I am on the computer but it is not expensive. When I have more time I will update everyone on my adventures.

Tons of Love to the world out there, especially to those who understand what I am talking about.

Scrambling

It's easier to dislike something then like something. To find flaws and faults then pros. Maybe because it seems repetitious to gloat about something. I can speak wonders of Tuzla, how there's always kids outside playing, how it's incredibly green that they don't plant fake grass, how beautiful the people are. There really is a lot but the thing I find the most bothersome about this place is that there are so many defaults. It's not to say that Tuzla or the rest of Bosnia is super different from my home in Ventura (even though it seems my Bosnian family think I'm going through a cuture shock), but many things that I've seen just are over exemplified and over excreted to the point that what becomes a nuisance is plan just disgusting. Like I said before, I love Tuzla and Bosnia but here are some things that just twist me the wrong way.

- The Amount of Graffiti:
I'm actually in awe of graffiti, when it's done well on empty walls and it's done to symbolize a meaning of sorts. It's expression, it's art. Though the problem is that when graffiti is in certain places it shouldn't be. Like schools, every single school here is covered in graffiti- meaning Universities, Elementary schools, High school, all of it. It's just sick, instead of having a clean environment for kids, graffiti is plastered on the walls. Also homes, this is where people LIVE, if it's a fence or a random wall then yes I understand but when there is graffiti underneath your very own window it's just absolutely degrading. There is so much graffiti that I know it's meant to not faze people, but when it becomes over powering and hateful and whatever else it can be, it's just not right. It's not morally right, in my opinion. I believe graffiti should be kept to bridges and empty walls and fences, not schools.

- How Men Dress here:
Yes, in Europe when people go out for the evening, they dress much more sheek and classier here then in America. Europeans have style, which we presumably don't as much. Sure everyone looks the same during the day time to us but what really annoys me here is that most men/boys wear sweatpants, pajama pants, bad pants. I don't know why but, in America or anywhere I have been, the majority of men wear jeans, pants that fit or that actually look as though they were making an effort. I have no idea why this bothers me so much but it just does.

- Animal Treatment:
Okay so this is one instance but it really bothered me and I still can't forget it. When we drove to a town where there is a big Bingo store (It's basically a walmart + ross + vons), we went into the Bingo store, wandered and then drank some coffee, then left. When we entered the parking lot to head home, there was a man with his car, in the middle of the parking lot, with his dog sitting in the trunk. At first, I wasn't sure what the purpose of this was but then the dog started whining and this dog was huge. The dog started to try to get out of the trunk but it's owner kept pushing the dog in a small little trunk, with groceries in it to squish into this trunk so that he can slam the trunk door shut. Eventually, the dog was tightly compacted into the trunk and they drove off. This should not be done, at all especially for such a big dog. I could imagine if for some reasn this dog was claustrophobic, it had a heart attack a million times over.

So I know, me ranting about what I dislike is not the greatest topic to cover but when something itches the skin, you need to scratch it, even if it's not good for you. Remember, I love Tuzla and Bosnia and my family and everyone here, but once in awhile it's not as dandy and romantic as it sounds.

Today, July 5th, we are heading to Croatia to the Island of Korcula. I'm extremely excited because returning to ocean for some reason just makes me think of home and I'm automatically more relaxed. It's interesting to think that when I'm at home I don't notice the smell of the ocean until I'm right next to it, but when I haven't been around the sea in awhile and I'm in a town near the sea - I smell it right away. Time to swim in the prettiest, bluest water and then dine on fish and shrimps. Maybe I'll meet some English speaking people.

Swimming In the Middle of Eastern Europe

Okay, maybe Bosnia is not anywhere near the middle of eastern Europe, but in the city of Tuzla, we are not close to the coast. Meaning the assumption of swimming in salt water is that you can't. But never fear, Tuzla is here, Tuzla being a major salt producer of Eastern Europe, where the entire city is on top of a salt reservoir that actually moves the city up and down based on the amount of salt water is underneath or how much of it is being drained. It's quite amazing. In the middle of Tuzla, there are two man made lakes of salt water, the perfect place to be when summer comes around. Which has basically just started after days of rain. The lakes floors are river rocks and the 'sand' around the water is exactly the same. These lakes are actually quite healing to the body, clearing up sinuses, reducing swelling and other things that normal water could not do. Why am I talking about this? Today we went swimming and it was the best feeling, reminding me how much I'm in love with water, especially the sea and how spoiled I am to live in Ventura because I can swim every day if I wanted to.

After fusing around because I forgot the bottom half of my bathing suit in Sarajevo, my uncle and I ventured down the street to a local bathing suit/under garments store and I selected a 5 dollar bathing suit with lemons. It was great, especially throughout the entire time I was swimming I would be called 'leeeemon' 'mali lemon' 'lime'. And even though my eyes burned while I opened them under water, it was all grand. Though the thing about swimming is the fact that after baking in the sun and swallowing salt water a couple times more then necessary, everything you do afterwards seems to be too much effort. A nap seems the best idea in the world. Instead of giving into that, I decided to watch tennis and football for two hours and awaited dinner to be served.

In other news, my cousin Dino, who is a year older then me and who has been studying his head off for 2weeks, passed his test to enroll into the best Technology/Math university in Tuzla. During these two and a half weeks, I barely glanced at what he was learning because the fact of the matter is that my brain wants to avoid Math until school starts in August. Which seems so soon. So congratulations to Dino, and to his future 4 years of studying his head off like he did for 2weeks. I wish there were more days in the year to extend the time before I have to actually be an adult.

Rain, Rain, What a Beautiful Day

I love rain. Though the best kind of rain is where the rain starts to pour out of no where. It's as though the clouds are expressing their most raw emotions, it becomes bold, brilliant, exuberant, and vividly expressive. This is when the earth seems to be cleansed in the most thorough way. As sudden as the rain began, it seems to stop suddenly with no indication as to what prompted it to stop. All that remains are puddles of water, left to reflect the skies current mood at the time.

The first time I ever came to Bosnia, when I was much smaller, was when I realized that summer here is like summer in some tropical place (Hawaii, Florida), because in the summer Bosnia has this random rain come out of no where, lasting for 2hours or 10minutes. Then the cloud passes and the entire sky is a beautiful blue. I remember the first time this happened to us in Sarajevo, my mother and I. We were walking down the main plaza, close to the old Turkish area. All of a sudden, rain started to pour on us and out of no where these men with umbrellas to sell, were flying around like flies to people who had no umbrella. We took shelter under the mass of table umbrellas that were used for the cafe customers. And then we just stood until it was gone. I was quite perplexed by the entire scene, that while I walked down the same street I remembered what happened. Even though it wasn't significant at all.

Today in Tuzla we had that sudden rain come across the city. Where half the city is being drenched by rain, and the other has the sun shining down upon it. What makes it seem so grand is that it seems as though it's raining with the sun being out, that the rain is coming from nothing at all. After it stopped, my aunt Amira, my cousin Selma and I walked around a bit. And even though Amira commented how dreadful the rain was, I silently disagreed because of how spectacular the rain is. How the rain filled the holes and gaps in the ground and how it made the place glistened. I will agree though that rain somewhat dampens the mood for adventures but without it there wouldn't be the abnormal lush greenery you find in a country like Bosnia. I'll say that I like alive rather then dead.

Getting Here and Now

After hours of sitting in a small cramped chair, listening to my iPod blaze away in my ears. To running around from airport to airport, forgetting that I was wearing a belt which sent off the metal detector,in which I was led to a cubicle to be scanned. I finally got off the tiny plane that landed in the small airport of Sarajevo. The other passengers and I were herded out of the airplane, everyone impatiently wanting to get out quicker then everyone else. Especially since we were 30minutes late. Before we boarded I was asked what time the plane was suppose to originally leave, and I told the man 14:25. In which he looked at the new time stating 14:45 which then turned into 15:15, the man was angry and frustrated and wanted to talk about his frustration. I did not however because I wanted to delay as much as possibly to not speak Bosnian, I ran to the bathroom. Though when we finally arrived to Sarajevo's International Airport we were met with only 3 airport staff members, whom were there to check our passports to see where the passengers were from and what was the purpose of our visit. I pulled out my blue United States Passport, while I snuck looks at the other passengers pulling out their own passports. I have this uncanny need to determine where other people are from. I passed the check and I was able to relish the fact that I wouldn't have to board another plane for another four weeks. For the first time, I felt as though I couldn't contain my happiness, which I had no idea was brewing, that I was going to see my grandmother, my uncle and one of my cousins. Then it happened, I saw them, they saw me, an automatic recognition in our eyes for one another and I was able to relax- to go with the flow and let them take care of me. My journey of being by myself across the world was done. I had survived.

And now I'm here nine days letter still sitting in my uncle and aunt's home in Tuzla. The first day I was left to venture by myself outside of the apartment. It was glorious and I felt as though I was small all over again, when my mother Ema gave me the trust to be able to walk to school by myself. Even though it was across the street, being small and crossing the street without my mom, was the first taste of freedom and independence I ever had. So ignoring the fact that my uncle was very fearful of me being by myself, and he even had to call me after 30minutes to check where I was (I was in a park across the street, because I choose to draw instead of venture into stores), it still didn't take away the awesomeness to be free once more. At least for 2hours.

After my 2hour spree of walking around, sitting, and attacking bugs that wanted to attach themselves to me. I slowly walked back to the apartment complex, after struggling to open the front door to the main building and was able to slip passed a woman leaving the building, I came back to my temporary home and was met with the smell of Bosnian Burgers. Yes, Bosnian Burgers. I really have never understood why American influence has become popular around the world but it is. I had pizza two days ago for breakfast, Bosnian Pizza. My cousins love it, and I love Bosnian food. And I bet your wondering if the Bosnian Burger was the best I ever had? As much as I'd like to believe that what my cousin Selma said is true, 'Bosnian Burgers are so much better then American' (To which she was referring to McDonalds, but who can call that a burger -Dino said Faruk's burger should be called McFaruk-), I will say that In N Out and Duke's has won my heart in being still my number ones.

Lesson Learned this time? Bosnian wasps are ridiculously frightening. Especially after it comes back after trying to fan it away with a book.

I'm Too Use to California

I never thought the ideals of a Californian would be too relaxed. I forgot the years of pestering my mother would do about what I was wearing, and how I dressed opposite of the weather. I always had this notion to know what I should wear and that I'd be comfortable in the weather no matter what. But coming to Bosnia, my family doesn't understand that I know weather. I know at least spring/summer/fall weather, and if it came to winter then I'd surely want to listen to everything they had to say.

When I first arrived at Sarajevo, I was given the opportunity to take a shower. It was 7pm local time but 8am in California (so do the math, my plane left at 2:50pm-> I traveled all day and all night, and I was delayed in two places because my first plane was late. We ran into extreme turbulence where even the airplane flight attendants felt the need to scurry back and buckle themselves up, because while they were passing out food the enter cart was jumping up and done. During this I was left to try to comfort the person next to me but I knew for a fact that she has probably been on as many flights as I had.) So when we arrived to Sarajevo I showered and then ate filled bell peppers.

The next day wound around, and we were off to go down the main part of Sarajevo, the Austrian, Turkish and more rustic part of town. But it was raining and after running a few errors, the window wipers seized to function anymore. Which is a problem when it is raining. So my uncle, Faruk, after attempting to fix it himself, drove to a local car repair shop. We waited, Selma, Mika Sophia and me in the car for about an hour and then decided to go walking back home. The rest of the day was filled with basically sleeping, eating and then going to a few more mall stores.

Next day, I woke up with my hair greasy. My hair tends to get like this because its thin and so I need to wash it at least every other day. I prefer everyday. I then proceeded to wake up with my grandma's face close to my nose, and being sweet and grandmotherly as possible, she completely woke me up. I then asked if I could wash my hair and this was said with a no because its cold outside, Ill get a cold, so I can't take a shower but later, much later you can. Me, being stubborn decided no I cannot wait because it kills me feeling my hair being a slim ball. I decided to put my head under the sink and lightly rinse it with water. Coming back down I was at first just acknowledged but half way through breakfast my grandmother noticed. And said she had to, she absolutely couldn't let me go outside for the absolute truth that I would get a cold. (Note: I do this all the time in California, even if its 30degrees F). I was then made to sit on this armchair in which then my grandmother proceeded to dry my hair with a very old hair dryer which cannot dry for the life of itself. It took 30minutes to dry my hair when it should have taken 5minutes. All while I am sulking but reminding myself I should act pleasant and be thankful. Finally my uncle came in the room and she stopped but as I began to get up she asked once more do I want her to dry my hair again, and I said no as quickly as possible and jumped out of the chair.

I'd really prefer to wash my hair whenever, but family knows best about my health. The worst thing is that I came into the country sick and while it was raining, which is the worst of luck I could have wound up with. Though I do appreciate the concern from family, it seems unsuitable to be so woundly concerned about my health when I have indeed survived past this part. I'm still alive aren't I? (For 17 and 2/3 years- to be exact)


P.S. Isn't it crazy that at a certain age we stop including the 1/2s 1/4s 3/4s to our age. Yes of course we were more excited when we were kids to reach the new number. I don't think we even realized what the number was suppose to represent, we just assumed it to be great because we got presents for it. It'd be nice to be as excited each year as we were when we were kids.

So, Let's Skip Ahead

Note to the few viewers- I am sorry my last post had a bad grammatical structure with yous and Is. Anyways, on with it

Instead of updating from Sarajevo, the city I was named after and also where I landed, I am now in the industrial city of Tuzla (Two- Zla). I have actually been here for four days and yet I am totally still unsure what day of the week it is, afraid that if I ask it will be only answered with the 26 of June. The house I am in is with my Aunt and Uncle, Amira and Faruk who are way too nice for their own good. It is strictly impossible for me to be cold (I feel that I am always sweating with the constant badgering to put on socks, slippers, jackets, long sleeves, and if I had brought scarves that would be a necessity too) and it is also impossible for me to be hungry. I don't think I have been hungry for the past 6 days that I have been here because I am constantly being fed, I think I have six meals a day. Even eating after all this I am asked if I am still hungry and that I haven't eaten enough. Yet the thing to understand is that they are not overbearing like my grandmother who lives in Sarajevo. And I adore them, as well as my cousins, though I refuse to actually hold a long conversation with any of them. My vocabulary consists of ne(no), da(yes), dobro(good - I say this way too much), isveni(I äm sorry) and other words that are very practical.

My lack of knowledge of how to write Bosnian is also horrific. Example: I have been reading this book called The Fountainhead, some may know it and may detest it but I find it intriguing and a book I can literally not put down (Example within an Example, I spent one night reading until 2 by using my own camera to light up the book +There is a menu for a tutorial which stays on for 5minutes, I discovered a method in which I could hold the camera and scroll the tutorial to keep constant lightage+) so anyways, I was reading this book and still am. Two nights ago I was sitting in the TV-Family room and time passes by, from 9 to 10 to 11 and I'm reading wondering why is Faruk and Amira are still up. I finally get up and say goodnight, going to my cousin Selma's room to sleep. I notice then the bustling of the couch being transformed to a bed. In which it finally dawns on me that I had been sitting on their bed and delaying them the thing they both needed the most, sleep. Here I am trying to be like a fly on the wall, but instead being an elephant in the way to necessary human relaxation. And of course I felt terrible, and of course you may be thinking it is not a big deal, and let me say how wrong you are. It was to me. So I brewed and brewed and couldn't sleep. I was left there pondering how to apologize to them so I got one of my cards and wrote them in English what I really needed to say and then in Bosnian, what I could translate. It took me about 5minutes to figure out to spell 1 word in Bosnian which was isveni (I am sorry, and I still don't know if that's spelled correctly). So then opening the door very carefully, I crawled out into the hallway, not knowing where to put the letter, I dropped it in the middle of the floor and then skittered back to my bed. I finally was able to sleep.

This is what ignorance and not knowing how to write Bosnian, left me with. A situation which was unneeded and made more dramatic in my head then by anything else. So all in all ignorance is not bliss if you cannot be completely ignorant of everything around you.

Day 6

What I wrote in My Notebook: Ze Start

When walking into an airport, the most interesting section of the airport is the international flight terminal. The first thing I notice is the kind of people that surround me, most of them foreign or first generation Americans that are all bustling around you. And whatever flights are during that time, it determines what part of the world these people are most likely from. Which is self-explanatory. Also whenever I arrive, I have this obscure urge to speak in a language that those around me most likely would never of heard of. It feels almost trendy, and after I feel guilty to use the rarely spoken tongue of my mother's, knowing that I cannot claim true testament and ownership of what should be my native tongue.

I always thought that traveling alone would actually give me a sense of importance and maturity but as I ventured around airports by myself, I realized that there really is no time to self indulge and pat myself on the back. Even having hours to spend on a airplane, I think how comfortable it is to be sucked up into my own little world where knowing is really going on except that I have to eat this candy that is in my bag. It all feels natural. Except the only thing dampening this peace is my constant running nose, my sore throat and my temporary deafness. I am left to think about my landing and how un-pleased I am that I have to see family, because at this point in time I would rather just sleep, even on the floor if that is possible.

Also what I have noticed traveling by myself is that I am more prone to get lost, or just feel bedazzled by the fact that I have no idea where I am going.
Example: Frankfurt airport, instead of actually knowing where to go I was confused by the fact that there was a railing to take me to the terminal, which then led me to a huge main court, where the arrow that is meant to direct me to my terminal was leading me into a men's suit store. In all honesty I felt that I had no purpose to be in the men's suit store. I've never felt comfortable in men suit stores because I get a sense that this store is way too fancy, that they actually customize a suit to fit your body. Oh the joys of what manufactured retail has done to my sense of perception.

Though back to going to Bosnia, I am scared shitless. Of what_ I am not entirely sure. Being in Slovenia already made me feel awkward, because I felt idiotic asking whether I am suppose to go through the metal detector. I truly wish that I will be able to speak more adequately in Bosnian and get rid of my American accent (which has helped me create nonexistent and new phrases in Bosnian). It's even sad to consider myself Bosnian when I can't even speak correctly. I should just dub myself an American, a Yankee- someone who is attempting to be more cultured but is actually not even close. I have become a sad panda.

End of Day 1