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12.9.2016. Današnji dan ću pamtititi kao početak svoje veličanstvene karijere i uzbudljivog ostatka mog, do sada posve nezanimljivog, života. Napokon je došlo vrijeme za mojih pet minuta i namjeravam ih iskoristiti u potpunosti. A evo i što se to tako važnog desilo danas: nazvao me Zoran Bojanović i ponudio mi posao asistentice u predstojećoj školi glume! Anabela je odustala u zadnji čas, pa se sjetio mene. Naravno, bilo bi mi draže da sam mu bila prvi izbor, ali svatko može pogriješiti, pa čak i veliki i nadasve uspješan Bojanović! Ja sam odmah znala da Anabela nije dorasla zadatku, a sada je i Zoran shvatio da sam upravo ja stvorena za tu dužnost. Pamtit će se moje ime, o još kako! Ali nemam sad vremena za razmišljanje o tome, upisi počinju već ovaj vikend i moram se dobro pripremiti. Anabela se nije previše potrudila oko postavljanja plakata, pa me Zoran zamolio da se samo tome posvetim ovih dana. Ne bi bilo dobro za moju buduću karijeru da se nitko ne pojavi na upisima! Samo, gdje da postavim plakate? Gdje će privući najviše pozornosti? Mogla bih danas prošetati nekim ključnim javnim površinama gdje prolazi puno ljudi i potencijalnih polaznika. Pitat ću i mamu da ih poljepi u prihvatilištu za azilante u kojem volontira. Dobro, azilanti sigurno neće biti zainteresirani, ali netko od onih silnih volontera bi mogao biti! To bi im bilo korisnije od volontiranja, u svakom slučaju. Očito imaju vremena za bacanje. Hm, i meni će ovaj posao dobro doći kao izlika da se tamo više ne pojavim. Mama inzistira na tome da im se ponekad priključim, ali meni je muka od tog angažmana. Zadnji put me jedno dijete ugrizlo, iz čista mira! Njegov otac ne razumije ni hrvatski ni engleski, a ima sveukupno petoro djece predškolske dobi! Žena mu je poginula i on je s djecom došao ovamo. Mojoj mami je posebno drag, a ja mu ni ime ne znam izgovoriti. Sutra sam naručena na vađenje krvi, tko zna kakve mi je sve boleštine moglo prenijeti to prljavo dijete! Mogla bih uzeti sa sobom i jedan plakat, u bolnicama su uvijek gužve i dugo se čeka, pa će ga puno ljudi imati priliku pročitati. Netko će se sigurno zainteresirati. 15.9.2016. Još samo dva dana do prvih upisa! Jako sam uzbuđena, ali i iscrpljena, jer zadnjih par dana samo trčim po gradu i ljepim plakate. Rezultati se već vide, Zoran kaže da ga ljudi zovu bez prestanka! Kad smo već kod Zorana, napokon se riješio one krntije i kupio pošten auto. Možda odjeća ne čini čovjeka, ali auto je već druga priča! Iako do sada nisam išla za tim, Zoran uopće ne izgleda tako loše. Malo jest krupniji, ali je slobodan i uspješan. Mislim da je imao neke planove s Anabelom, no to je očito propalo, te ne bi bilo loše da ja pokušam iskoristiti priliku. Renata Bojanović. Pa i ne zvuči tako loše, zar ne? Dobro, možda malo brzam, ali jednog dana... Tko zna? 17.9.2016. Prvi dan upisa je uspješno prošao. Upisalo se četvero polaznika, za početak nije loše, ali nadam se da ćemo sutra i idući tjedan dobiti malo... kvalitetnije kandidate. Zoranova politika je da svima da jednaku šansu, ali da se mene pita nisam sigurna da bi ijedan od današnjih kandidata bio primljen. Vanesa sigurno ne bi! Ne samo što je došla prije svih i ušla bez poziva, nego je svojom patetičnom glumom omotala Zorana oko malog prsta! Cijelo vrijeme nije skidao pogled s nje! Morat ću ja njoj pokazati gdje joj je mjesto! Ostali polaznici jedva da su vrijedni spomena. Djevojčica koja laže o godinama i baba koja se ni ne trudi lagati nego jednostavno odbije odgovoriti na pitanje! Da se mene pita svi bi oni morali pokazati osobne, ali Zorana za to ni malo nije briga, zanima ga samo njihov novac. Kad smo već kod toga, djevojčica još nije platila, a baba je navukla jednokratnu rukavicu prije nego što je pristala dodirnuti vlastiti novac! S pozitivne strane, zadnja kandidatkinja je pokazala zrno talenta u svojoj izvedbi. Započela je s nekom izlizanom ljubavnom pričom, ali je u jednom trenutku počela improvizirati i tu je prava strast izašla na vidjelo. Za nju možda ima nade, ako ne nastavi kasniti kao danas! Evo, Zoran mi je upravo javio da se još netko naknadno upisao, u pitanju je neka njegova poznanica. Nadam se da se ne radi o još jednoj sponzoruši kao što je Anabela ili, ne daj bože, Vanesa! 1.10.2016. Danas je počela škola glume! Zoran je javio da će kasniti, pa sam samostalno održala prvi sat i moram priznati da su me polaznici jako razočarali. Moje upute su bile jasne i precizne, ali nitko osim Marije ih se nije uspio pridržavati. Ona je jedina ostala na svom mjestu, iako se nešto čudno migoljila. Pitam se, da nije to radila kako bi se svidjela Zoranu? Čim je došao odmah je svu pažnju usmjerio na nju! Previše žena ga opsjeda, morat ću nešto poduzeti u vezi toga, ali što? Danas smo dobili i dva nova polaznika. Odlično, muškaraca nam je definitivno falilo. A s njima je i lakše raditi, barem se ne moram brinuti da će mi pokušati oteti Zorana, osim možda onaj... Dominik? Domingo? Domagoj? 2.10.2016. Dakle, stvarno su svakakvi ljudi upisali ovu školu glume! Ima tu svega, od narkomana do silikona, od ljubavnika do zlostavljača, od sportaša do religijskih fanatika, od političara do seljakuša iz Bosne! Ne znam, stvarno ne znam može li iz ovoga izaći nešto dobro. Ako nešto ne poduzmem, i to pod hitno, moja karijera, a bome i moj ljubavni život, će doživjeti nenadoknadive gubitke. 5.11.2016. Prošlo je već mjesec dana od početka škole glume, ali ovi ljudi su i dalje beznadni slučajevi! Danas sam opet morala sama održati sat jer je Zoran htio sudjelovati u nekoj utrci. Da je bar samo on, ali još puno ljudi se nije pojavilo na vježbama: Mirjana, Tea, Barbara, Linda... Pa nisu valjda svi otišli na utrku? Kako da napravim kvalitetnu predstavu, kad me nitko ne doživljava ozbiljno? 12.11.2016. Zoran i Vanesa provode sve više vremena zajedno. Pod pauzama stalno nešto raspravljaju, ostaju se družiti i nakon završetka sata, a znaju i uraniti pa se smijulje dok ja pripremam prostor... Ne mogu to više tolerirati. Sutra ću konfrontirati tu ženu. Ma, učinila bih ja to i puno ranije, ali nikako da dobijem priliku uhvatiti je nasamo, jer se ne odvaja od Zorana. Ali sutra on mora ići nešto obaviti pod pauzom, i tu leži prilika koju ne smijem propustiti. Čut ćeš me Vanesa, čut ćeš me! Danas je opet zabrljala na vježbi, i to još kako! Nijednu riječ teksta nije zapamtila kako treba! Ma kunem se, niti jednu! A ja sam jučer cijeli dan čitala novinske članke u potrazi za nekim prikladnim za današnju vježbu. Na kraju sam suzila izbor na tri članka: 1. O životinjama u Alžirskom cirkusu 2. O prometnoj nesreći nogometnog suca 3. O uzgoju žira u Albaniji Izabrala sam prvi članak, ali ono što je na kraju ostalo od njega više je sličilo na treći! Samo Vanesa može toliko zabrljati! 13.11.2016. Vanesa je danas pokazala svoje pravo lice i napravila scenu pred svima, pa čak i pred samim Zoranom! Sad će valjda i on napokon shvatiti da ta žena nije za njega. Možda je čak i izbaci iz predstave! Trebao bi, ako se mene pita, jer toliko drame nam stvarno nije potrebno. 24.11.2016. Neki ljudi stvarno ne znaju čitati suptilne poruke. Prošlo je deset dana od Vanesine ispadice, a Zoran još uvijek ništa ne pokušava sa mnom! Pa nemoguće da mu se ta labilna osoba još uvijek sviđa! Mora biti ljubazan s njom, naravno, ipak je ona naša „mušterija“, ali znam da ga to iznutra muči i izjeda. Kako i ne bi! Zoranov život je pun stresa. Odlučila sam mu sve olakšati i pozvala sam ga sutra na kavu. Dogovor je da raspravimo neke detalje oko škole glume, ali ja imam malo... osobnije planove. Izgleda da je mom Zoranu potrebno sve nacrtati, a kad je tako, sutra se bacam na crtanje! Jasno i glasno ću mu dati do znanja što osjećam prema njemu. Dosta je bilo suptilnog koketiranja i igranja igrica, vrijeme je da pomaknemo naš odnos na puno veći nivo. A zatim, nitko nam neće biti ravan! O, Zorane... Jedva čekam da me primiš u naručje i da napokon razmijenimo tjelesne izlučevine. 25.11.2016. Zoran je za mene mrtav! Mrtav! Ne postoji! Ni on ni ona njegova Vanesa! Nisu dostojni da gubim svoje vrijeme i živce na njih, ako žele biti skupa, PA NEK BUDU! Koga briga za Renatu! Koga je ikada bilo briga za Renatu! Ne, ne želim pisati o tome što se danas dogodilo. Želim to izbrisati iz pamćenja. Taj gad od Zorana me ponizio u javnosti, pred svima! Ne zaslužuje više ni jednu riječ u mom dnevniku! 16.12.2016. Još samo mjesec dana i ova škola glume napokon će biti gotova. Još PUNIH mjesec dana. Ne znam kako ću to izdržati. Predstava ne napreduje loše, ali sama Vanesina prisutnost će ju pokvariti. Takvi ljudi nisu za pozornicu, pogotovo ne takve žene koje žive za to da drugome podmetnu nogu! O njemu sam rekla da neću pisati, pa i neću. Najradije bih odustala od dužnosti asistentice, ali neću im pružiti to zadovoljstvo! Ostat ću do kraja, njima u inat! Neka vide da Renatu ne mogu samo tako slomiti! Nažalost, ovaj moj angažman ipak neće prerasti u karijeru. Tješim se da je tako i bolje, jer kakav je to napredak koji se temelji na prevarama i izdajama? Rozmari je to davno shvatila, da ne ispadne da to govori moja povrijeđenost! Ne, ne, nisam ja jedina koju je taj čovjek nasamario, ali vratit će se to njemu, kad tad! Uskoro ćemo imati pauzu od glume, jer dolaze božićni i novogodišnji praznici, pa sam mami obećala da ću se više posvetiti volontiranju. Dolaze im novi azilanti pa će biti puno posla, a meni će dobro doći da mi odvrati misli od... onoga koji ne postoji! 6.1.2017. Evo i mog prvog zapisa ove godine. Nadam se da će biti bolja od prethodne. Zapravo, teško da može biti gora. Ne samo što sam ostala bez perspektive na poslovnom i ljubavnom planu, nego sam se još i udala! Onaj azilant s petero djece kojeg sam već spominjala, istekla mu je dozvola boravka u zemlji i ženidba mu je bila jedini način da ostane. Mama ga je jako zavoljela i nije me pustila na miru dok nisam pristala udati se za njega. Samo na papiru, naravno, ali sutra nastavljamo sa školom glume i ne moraju oni sve znati! Reći ću im samo da sam se udala, ali neće imati pojma za koga! To će napokon pokazati onom... bjedniku što je izgubio! 7.1.2017. Nitko nije primijetio moj vjenčani prsten! Nitko! Svi su veselo prepričavali kako su se proveli na dočeku i čestitali jedni drugima razne trivijalne uspjehe. Kad god bih pokušala započeti razgovor s nekime ne bi me ni primijetili! Toliko su bili obuzeti samima sobom! Na kraju sam se doslovno morala ugurati među njih i viknuti svom snagom da bi obratili pažnju na mene. Pokazala sam im prsten, ali mislim da mi nisu povjerovali. Možda zato što sam prsten stavila na mali prst jer je premalen za mjesto koje mu po pravilu pripada. Moj, hm, muž, čije ime još uvijek ne uspijevam izgovoriti, nije imao novca da kupi pravi prsten, pa je uzeo plastični od svoje kćeri. Mala me mrzi zbog toga, ali što da joj radim? I ja bih više voljela da joj to mogu vratiti, ali dok njezin otac ne pronađe posao i ne kupi mi neki drugi, zadržat ću i ovaj dječji. Bolje išta nego ništa! A polaznicima škole glume ću sutra donijeti na uvid vjenčani list, pa nek vide tko izmišlja! Tamo ne piše da je u pitanju azilant, moj muž bi isto tako mogao biti i bogati naftni tajkun! 13.1.2017. Sutra napokon dolazi taj dan! Premijera! Unatoč poteškoćama, mislim da smo napravili dobar posao i da će biti nešto od predstave. A onda, ako sve prođe kako treba, moj životopis će krasiti prvi uspješan projekt! Možda kod Zorana za mene nema budućnosti, ali shvatila sam da je on bio samo polazna stepenica i da trebam ciljati više. On i Vanesa će zauvijek ostati na amaterskoj razini, ali ja mogu i bolje! Danas je petak 13. ali ja ne vjerujem u lošu sreću. Nakon ovoliko rada, rezultati se moraju vidjeti, i to samo zahvaljujući meni! Više ništa ne može krenuti po krivu! 15.1.2017. Ništa od moje predstave. Danas nitko nije ni došao u publiku, a jučer... Ne želim pričati o tome. A ne mogu puno pisati ni da hoću, jer još uvijek teško kontroliram pokrete rukama... Znala sam ja da će ona vještica Vedrana nešto zasrati! Vitamini! Ma kakvi vitamini! 4.2.2017. Započela je nova škola glume, s novom asistenticom Vanesom. Ne želim pričati o tome. Moji dani glume su završili. Odlučila sam se okrenuti obiteljskom životu, ipak sam udajom dobila petoro djece. Jedno me grize, drugo me mrzi, ali ostalo troje i nisu tako loši. Nakon propale predstave odlučila sam konzumirati svoj brak. Ipak sam tom čovjeku omogućila ostanak u zemlji iz koje svi pokušavaju emigrirati, pa je bio red i da on nešto učini za mene, pogotovo jer mu to i zakon nalaže. Ispostavilo se da je prilično nadaren po tom pitanju, pa sam ga primila u svoj dom. Jest da sam uz to dobila i djecu, i to više njih nego što sam ikad zamišljala, ali vjerujte mi, isplatilo se! |
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Hm, where to start? I’m at the Dubai airport, waiting for the plane, and if my old net book’s weak battery lasts enough, I might even be able to write something. I have a new mini laptop at home, but I didn’t dare to bring it with me, afraid of theft. I was going somewhere far away for the first time and I really didn’t know what to expect. As it turned out, I felt totally safe in Sri Lanka. Not just safe, I felt like nothing really bad can possibly happen. Small bad things, yes, but nothing major. I don’t know where that feeling came from and if there’s any truth to it, but it worked for me. Did I like my trip? Yes and no. I don’t regret traveling, but I do regret I did it with agency instead of alone. I only chose this agency because they promised something different and unusual, but they delivered the most usual touristic arrangement, with nothing outside of it at all. I don’t like to be a tourist. I don’t need air conditioned room, overpriced attractions, access to alcohol and things adapted to my culture. I want to experience something new, different, what I can’t find at home. So, when they put me in the hotel right on the beach, in the insanely busy main street of touristic city Hikkaduwa, I don’t find myself grateful at all. It could be cheaper, it could be more peaceful, it could be more local… Everything is expensive on the beach, and while it may not be too expensive for my standard, I still don’t like being ripped off just because I’m white. Surprise, surprise, not all white people come from rich countries that want and try to control the whole world. Some of us come from stupid primitive tribes that just want to kill their neighbors and sell their souls to the mentioned rich parts of the race. Ok, back to the main street. When I say it’s busy, it’s actually an understatement. And they drive on the left side, which took me a while to notice (this is why I would be a dangerous driver, I’m not very perceptive, so I gave up on driving pretty much right after I learned it). It confuses me a lot when I’m crossing the street, which is always adventurous since there’s no way in hell anybody will stop to let you cross. Luckily, they don’t drive fast. They honk a lot, maybe as a safety measure or maybe because peace is overrated? When it comes to traffic, the worst thing of all are tuk tuks, the three wheels vehicles that serve as taxies. They are small so can easily maneuver and they seem practical, but I absolutely hate them because their drivers will not pass a chance to ask you if you need a ride. I prefer walking, not just to save money, but mainly because I love to walk and it’s the main thing I want to do when I get to a new place. Also, I’m an introvert, which makes it very exhausting for me to keep saying no to all those offers. Tuk tuk’s are everywhere in unlimited amount. I wanted to carry a sign saying that I don’t want to use one, but it probably wouldn’t help. Nothing helps. I am white and they want my money, no matter what it takes. That, or sex. I had offers from strangers to come to my room, or their room, or any room as long as it’s a room. It’s seems to be a normal thing there, and apparently lot of older women come there and marry young men. So, money and sex, everything is about money and sex, just like everywhere else, which makes this world a depressing place to live in. Oh, right, and alcohol. Our guide said that local people have very low tolerance for alcohol so the government is trying to lower the consumption of it, which is way it can’t be find just anywhere. Whatever. I don’t like getting drunk and I hate hanging out with drunken people, so I gladly missed this crucial experience. Ok, let’s talk about food. I never want to miss on food, as long as it’s vegetarian and not full of additives and shit. Well, the former is true for Sri Lanka, the latter sadly not. I don’t know if these people eat anything other than rice and curry, vegetables and fish, which all works for me, but after a while I wished for a bit of diversity. I loved trying fresh juices and exotic fruits that I never saw before. Bananas were disappointing, I have to say. They are supposed to taste better in their natural environment, but other than my first one, they all tasted worse. I met a man who lived in Italy for 25 years and he said the food is not what it used to be, that they are putting chemicals in it and everybody getting sick, all for money, of course. I got sick, too, was it because of chemicals or something else, I don’t know. Another awesome thing is they don’t drink coffee, but tea, which is awesome because I hate coffee and love tea. My bag is full black and green tea with lots of different flavors. And spices, lots of fresh, aromatic spices. I can’t wait to get home and start cooking! Now for the sad part. When you go to the super market (which is rare, but there was one close to my hotel) and want to buy cookies or ice cream or something sweet, there is none! I mean, there is, but all full of preservatives, artificial flavors and tons of E numbers. I want to know what I eat so I always read labels with ingredients and in Sri Lanka it made me especially sad. Why can’t you find any product with natural vanilla in a country that grows vanilla? Why does a country that grows vanilla use only artificial vanilla flavor? On the bright side, the lack of quality sweets kept me away from eating sweet and that’s an awesome thing. Sugar addiction is a huge problem for me, but not so huge that I would accept products of such a low quality. So, the busy main street is full of little shops, restaurants, hotels and massage centers. But they are pretty much all the same. Parallel to the street is a railway and if you cross it you can walk through awesome jungle, it’s suddenly peaceful and you hear only various exotic birds, sometimes meet some exotic animal. Ok, no elephant appeared on my way, but apparently they do that sometimes on the roads, they block the cars and the only way to distract them is to offer them food. It’s not possible to avoid tuk tuks even in the jungle, but they are rarer. And I met a few locals who didn’t want to sell me anything, but just wanted to meet me, invite me to their home, offer tea and rice with curry… That was nice, I felt really welcomed and I enjoyed seeing how they live. What else? The beach? I didn’t care much about that, I have that at home, which I prefer since you can actually swim in the sea, unlike the ocean. I did enjoy waves, the sand has a beautiful color, but it goes everywhere and it’s not possible to get rid of it later. My swimming suit has two layers and now I have a ton of sand between them, I have no idea how to get it out! On my last day in Sri Lanka (was it today? Yesterday? Time zone changes confuse me and I don’t feel like counting, not that it matters) I tried to spend all the Sri Lankan money I had left. I bought some more tea (figures!), massage oil and whatever that thing is that they eat with tea. It left me with 79 rupees (which converted to Euros is about 50 cents), so what do you buy for such a small amount? Well, I bought basil seed. Its price was 75 so I chose it, not knowing what to do with it. Is it a spice? Tea? I guess I’ll google it, and maybe try to grow it. |
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It was a spring. May maybe. Or June? I came to work on Monday to find an e-mail message sent at Friday after I left work, telling me to pick my vacation days for the whole year by Monday. This is how I ended up on Sri Lanka for Christmas. Ok, let's start from beginning. I was born in Yugoslavia in 1984. Well, maybe not that far. I started my current job in February this year. No that is not too far, it's very significant for the whole story. Before I continue, let me just say that mosquitoes here seem much friendlier than those at home. And that's a good thing, since, with the exception of summer 2014, I really hate mosquitoes in every way and they really love me in the worst way that they could. It's important piece of information because it's the only fear I had about this trip: mosquitoes! Ok, that and vacations, but the latter was not necessary. Yes, I hate needles too. They do the same horrible things mosquitoes do! Ok, back to February. I got this job that kinda sucks and yet I like it more than I should. The director of my firm is very strict about rules and laws, even stricter than laws itself! The law doesn't say he ISN'T ALLOWED to give me a vacation before I've worked for six months, it only says that he ISN'T REQUIRED to give it to me before that time, but it presented a problem for him for no reason at all, since summer is slow and there wasn't much work for me any way. So I got to choose when I wanted to go on vacation, but not before August and not all at once, but it had to be all used this year. And I got one more day to think about it, since I didn't see the e-mail from Friday. I thought about it and it made me angry. Why would I need a vacation after the summer? I never stay at home for vacation, there's so much else to do: go to my island, to my family in Bosnia and somewhere I've never been before... If I couldn't get summer for that, I would go for New Year! But where? There was this agency that I stalked on facebook for a while and wanted to go somewhere with them, but couldn't decide where. It was the time. I went for Sri Lanka, mainly because it said you can meet monkeys on the street. I still haven't seen a single monkey! I've been here only one day, but still... Where the hell are monkeys? I was hoping to meet them to give them the exotic fruit that I bought but couldn't finish eating, since it's too weird. Not bad, but I'm too unused to it. So, no monkeys. I did eat a banana, though. Fresh, tasty, sun ripen banana! It is better than what I can get at home. It's creamier and the taste is richer, but all in all it's not such a big a difference. Except that I could finally check that out from my bucket list! :D Ok, let's go back to the beginning for a second. So, I booked the Christmas trip in May or June, so you'd think I'd be ready for it by the time I had to go. Well, no, I wasn't. I am never ready. The last minute I decided to try and leave for Zagreb at 16 instead of 22.30, because it was holiday Friday and we were allowed to leave the work earlier and I hate bus company Autotrans so I try to avoid using them, which is tricky since they have a monopole in the city's bus station and won't sell tickets or give any information about other bus companies that use the same station but are not allowed to sell tickets. Which, of course, is why I hate them. Oh, and going at 16 with a return ticket is double cheaper than going at 22.30 in one direction. You'd think I'd consider that information before 14.30, but for some reason I didn't. So I called the better bus company asking to reserve a seat which I couldn't because the bus was already on the way, the driver was alone so they couldn't call him, but they told me there are available seats, which would be enough if it wasn't a holiday Friday so it was busy as hell. Oh, and they said I could buy a ticket on any kiosk, I tried two and they both said no. So I run to the station, checked facebook group for people who have extra room in their car and can take other passengers to see if anybody is going from Rijeka to Zagreb and has a room for me, which I gave up in the mean time since the bus I wanted accepted me. Would you think I would try all these options at least a day before? I would. For some reason I didn't. I had reserved transportation from Zagreb to Belgrade for 4 am. 4 am! What the hell was I supposed to do in Zagreb until then? Zagreb is cold! Bus station is cold to wait that long! The train station too! Even if I went with 22.30 bus, which was the last one from Rijeka, I would still arrive to Zagreb 3 hours too early. And, let me remind you, I didn't take the 22.30 bus, I took the 16 one instead, hoping I could maybe ditch my reservation and find something else. There was a night bus from Zagreb to Belgrade. There also was a night bus from Belgrade to Zagreb. But, not with the same company! I couldn't buy a return ticket. And I have to travel at night, I don't want to waste a day for that. Yes, I'm weird. I never denied that in any way. Let me just finish the story because I'm very tired and even though my laptop sayd it's only 18.38, he doesn't know that we are not in Croatia, but 4 and half hours further in time... Ok, where were I? Oh yes, in Zagreb. My least favorite city in the world, in my least favorite time of year. So far so good, right? I went from the bus station to the train station, remembering my college years a bit, of course, since that's the way I used to walk a lot back in the day. I wanted to use a locker in the train station and then go to see the Zagreb Advent which is famous for some unknown reason. The 4 am meeting was to happen at the train station, too. But when I arrived there I came to an awesome idea to check the trains for Belgrade, which existed, night in both ways, cheaper than the bus and I even had enough money for a return ticket! Barely enough, so I decided not to put my bag in the locker and I dragged it with me through the Advent stands. The banks didn't work anymore, and I passed my ATM limit for the day because I had to buy Euros for my trip, which, again, I left all for the last moment. How cool is it that in the end I had just enough money and just the right kind of transportation? I love when that happens! Especially when it happens in winter, because I froze to death waiting for my 23.20 train! I wouldn't be able to survive for my original 4.00 transportation! The train was warm and I even slept a lot, arriving early to Belgrade. Yes, I'm in Sri Lanka now, don't worry, I'm getting there! NOT on foot, as my drunk colleagues from work suggested when they saw me carrying the luggage to work. In Belgrade, I managed to find the bus for the airport (do you now see how I'm getting there?) and it arrived to the station just after me, which was strange since the schedule said differently, but who am I to question my lucky star? Why is this bur so important to mention? Because, when I exited it on the Nikola Tesla airport, it was SNOWING! Yes, SNOWING, as in snowflakes were falling from the sky! (In case you didn't know, I'm seriously snow deprived, living in the Mediterranean and all). Then I had to wait for a plane to Dubai, where I had to wait for plane to Colombo (and enjoy observing Arabs walking around), where I had to wait for the bus to Kandy, where I should now sleep, so the rest of this story will have to wait. You already know I haven’t seen any monkeys, but I did get to pet a very cute and sweet cat, though not exotic at all. Tomorrow, hopefully. And hopefully I won’t get a food poisoning because I have to try so many weird or too spicy stuff… Oh, it’s hot, but pleasant. It sounds like the zoo, the section with exotic birds. And it looks like a rainforest… or something. The people are nice and short like me, thin unlike me, but it sucks to be white here because they treat me like a rich person who should give them money that they are trying to take from me in any way except stealing, which at least is nice. I hate when people think that you should spend a lot more money for everything than what it’s worth, just because you traveled to their country, and if you are not willing to spend much you never should’ve came. It’s very disrespectful towards travelers and unfortunately, my country is the same in that regard… |
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Previous part: PAST FORWARD “PUSH!” Oh, I am pushing, alright! Spread on the table, with hospital staff peeking between my legs, while something, someone, is tearing my vagina open, more open than it ever was, than I ever thought possible. Oh, the pain! The terrible, terrible pain, yet it feels better than multiple orgasms. My body giving everything into this birth, knowing that I won’t need it anymore. I’m getting out, out with my daughter, into her life, out of mine. She’s fighting for her first breath, I’m fighting for my last, out of me now, but we are still as one being, I have to show her, I have to teach her, that’s the only thing left for me to do. Like this, child! We inhale together, strongly, sharply. First time together baby, for the rest you’re on your own. Our shared breath leaves her crying, while it leaves me floating, looking her and myself from the above. Oh god, how long has it been? Thirty three years? Thirty four? Counting age, such an important thing for the living, so hard to remember outside the body. Oh how good, how grand, how pure, how awesome is death! “Is this what you really want?” The voice. Not a voice. More like a thought. But it’s not a thought. I look around to see where it’s coming from, if you can call that “looking”… Words of the living are not adequate to describe experiences of the dead. It’s the glowing woman, completely naked, with hair made of pure green light, not just the hair on her head, but also her pubic hair, her unshaved legs… The most beautiful being I’ve ever seen! “Hi,” I say, looking at her amazed. “You can still go back, you know,” she says gently. “Back where?” I ask, confused. “Back to your life,” she explains: “Death is just a choice. Your choice.” “No,” I answer quickly, suddenly afraid: “Don’t send me back! I want to go to the light!” She stays quiet for a while and I begin to wonder what the hell I am talking about. What light? Why do I have such a burning desire to go to… light? What is that light I feel so drawn to? How long have I been floating here, staring at this glowing female shape, anyway? It’s like I can’t feel time anymore, but I’m so used to living according to the passage of time that it’s absence makes me really confused. I’m actually not sure if I ever did experience time. Why do I feel like something like that even exists? How is it supposed to feel, passing through time? She wants me to go back to life. Well, there’s a problem with that, I don’t remember my life anymore. I know I had one, but that’s all. Or did I? “Focus, Maja,” the female shape tells me and suddenly I am again aware of the hospital room and my bleeding body surrounded by doctors. Maja. That is my name. That was my name but for some reason it terrifies me to hear it. “Don’t call me that,” I cry out: “I am not her anymore! She finally died. I am not going back! Don’t make me go back!” “It’s ok,” she says: “You are allowed to stay here. However, you can not move forward before you bring your life to a closure. You need to understand what you did and why, you need to be aware of the consequences.” “I… I don’t remember,” I whisper. “Try,” she gently insists. I try to look. The body is lying under me, I think I was in my thirties, but I look older. I try to listen. There is a baby crying. My baby. I just gave birth. “I died giving birth,” I say with a sigh. “Very good,” the shape says. I feel enormous love for that shape and I wonder briefly where that could come from. Never mind. It feels too damn good to wonder about it. “Why are you leaving your baby?” she is talking again. My baby? Right. Alive people are supposed to stay and take care of their children. I have a few problems with that: I am not alive and I don’t have children! But that crying piece of meat? Oh, yeah, I just gave birth, why do I keep forgetting it? “Why did I want a child so much?” I ask, confused, remembering that I really truly honestly wanted that baby. It was my life’s biggest dream, but I am not alive anymore and it doesn’t sound appealing at all now. It’s certainly not something worth living again for! “Yes, Maja,” glowing woman sounds pleased: “That is one of the questions you need to answer before you can move forward.” “How do I do it? Where can I find the answer?” “You need to remember. Maybe it will be easier if you start from the beginning.” Beginning? Yes! Beginning! I remember! I remember! My mother’s warm womb and comforting heartbeats; my father’s voice and occasional visits during their love making… I was there but at the same time I was here, in this place in-between, this gate between life and death. It was easy, it was peaceful. Warm… And wet… In a womb never inhabited before…. A female… A girl… A woman… I liked to die as a woman, but I had to be born as a woman first. Die… This place, this tiny line between life and death, the only place where you can be both at the same time, the only place that ever felt like home… “Time of birth: three sixteen,” says the doctor next to my baby. “You need to focus, Maja,” says the glowing lady. “Time of death: three sixteen,” says the doctor next to my body. “Focus,” repeats the glowing one. I’m too happy to focus. My body looks so much better dead. My soul feels so much lighter dead. If only this glowing thing would go away so I could float to the light. Wait, what light? Why am I thinking about light again? Why is she glowing? “Who are you?” I ask her. “You know who I am,” she tells me. “I do?” “Yes,” she smiles, tiny hair above her mouth glistening: “You just have to remember.” Remember. That word again. That thought again. How do I remember this woman? A woman. I was a woman too, wasn’t I? Yeah, I think this time I was. And I died giving birth. Awesome! I’m dead! Light. Focus. Focus? Suddenly I’m on the meadow, running through the grass. I am eight years old. It’s not a memory, it’s really happening again in front of me. I am fully present in that moment, this time as an observer, but I can observe different things than I could while I was a living girl. I see the energy around things, around grass and flowers, I smell emotions, I sense life in everything that surrounds me. A bee talks to me. “I am going to sting her so that you could understand,” she tells me and goes over to the childhood me and stings her in the arm. She cries from the pain, hurt and confused from seemingly undeserved sting, unaware that she will be back in that scene after her death and experience it in a completely different way. She is unaware that she is even going to die, that people she loves the most are also going to die, long before her. There is a boy, a year younger than her, he runs to her side and inspects the wound, then he finds some healing grass to put on it and hugs me, her. “Do you remember?” the bee asks me and I nod telepathically. I do remember, he was my best friend, my only friend, so close that we never needed anybody else, not that our small village had much more kids of our age that weren’t mean to us. I don’t remember his name. I feel, though, that he is more than just a friend, that our connection goes further than this last life, that I know him from before. I can’t remember before, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s the connection that matters. “It hurts, Milan,” I cried in his embrace and he took my arm in his and kissed it. It always hurt less when he kissed me. That’s what I remember now, as clearly as I did while I was still alive. I watch the scene and remember at the same time. Of course I know his name, of course his name was Milan! He held me until I stopped crying, ignoring mean kids that gathered and started to tease us. “Kissy, kissy!” “Milan and Maja, a couple in love!” “When they get married they will get a present!” “They sleep together, like mum and dad! It’s gross!” It went on and on, but we didn’t care. We cared for each other and helping each other was always more important than what others thought about us. “You are just jealous because we are best friends ever!” Milan yelled at them. “Yes, you will never have a better friend than my Milan!” I joined him, forgetting about the pain. We didn’t consider each other as boyfriend and girlfriend, but we already talked about getting married to each other if we are still single by the age of twenty. Twenty seemed so old in those days and we wanted to find a true love, get married and have children one day, but if it didn’t happen by the time we are twenty it seemed we shouldn’t waste any more time but get married to each other instead, before we are too old. Little did we know that we will soon become enemies and be forbidden to hang out with each other, for reasons neither of us will ever fully understand. Yes, I remembered that too. I remember his blood on my hands, a blood of my only friend and only enemy, killed by my only father. When I had to choose, I chose my father over him, but they both died in front of me, in the same day. “Tunnels from Visoko?” I ask the glowing lady. “Yes, Maja,” she says: “That place allowed you to access your repressed memories, while you were still alive, it allowed you to experience it in a similar way that we do it after we die. You were ready and you were willing. It’s always better to come to realizations while you are still alive. Your courage to do that was rewarded and your daughter was your reward. She was conceived in those tunnels.” “But I didn’t have sex in the tunnels,” I remark, confused. “No, but you had it the night before,” she smiles, obviously pleased with my memory improvement: “The conception doesn’t happen immediately.” “Why wasn’t I allowed to get pregnant before then?” “You need to remember why. You already figured out some of the reasons, but you still didn’t bring the main one into your awareness.” “How do I do that?” “Focus, Maja. Don’t worry, you are doing great.” Focus. That word again! Focus on WHAT? What do I remember about that day? I was meditating with my one-night-stand guy, instead of celebrating my sister’s birthday… Hans! Father of my baby! Lee! My sister! I was in Visoko because it was her birthday wish. She was in Bosnia because it was my birthday wish. Bosnia! That’s it! I remember where I am from! “Tell him,” the voice in the tunnels said. I didn’t know what to tell him. There was nothing I wanted to tell him. I just wanted to get away from him. My sister cried in my arms and we slept in the same bed that night… I lived in Canada. I was born in Bosnia. Bosnia and Herzegovina. Hans was from Germany. We just wanted to have sex, we didn’t want to make a baby. I told him I couldn’t conceive, he told me he was healthy so we didn’t use protection. “Tell him,” the voice said. “Tell him,” Lee said when I told her I was pregnant. I never told him. Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus on what? Being a mother? Post-mortem mother? Never being a mother? My mother? I never felt connected to my mother. When I learned that I am a Croat and she is not, I hated her. When she took me to Canada and burned all the pictures of my father, I hated her more. When she remarried to a Serb, I hated her the most. When I returned home from Bosnia, my hearth finally emptied of hate, it was too late to try to connect with her. She was a stranger to me for more years than I could remember, a stranger damaged by years of suffering, numbed by countless antidepressants, a shell of a woman. She had nothing more to give me and I had nothing to give her. After giving up hate I found myself aching with huge emptiness. Hate wasn’t replaced with love, it wasn’t replaced with anything, it just left a huge, deep, dark hole. When I found out I’m pregnant I lived for that pregnancy. I lived for my child. In reality, I was already dead… “I remember everything,” I finally say: “I understand everything.” And I do. My life flashed before me and looking at it from many different angles gave everything a deeper perspective. Everything fell into place, my choices, my actions, my beliefs… Things like choosing a job, working in a butchery, because I needed to feel blood on my hands, ever since that day that Serbian and Croatian blood mixed on my hands and I didn’t wash them until some neighbors held me tight and washed them for me, all the while I kicked and screamed, because they weren’t just washing my hands, they were washing away most important people in my life, they were washing away my childhood and huge pieces of my soul. “Can I go now?” I ask, still staring at my dead body. “Not yet,” is her only response and I don’t have to ask why, I already know why. “The people I am leaving behind?” I ask, somehow remembering that it’s what you are supposed to do after dying, you need to face what you are leaving behind. The problem is, I am not leaving anybody behind. My relationships didn’t work. Finding close friends in Canada didn’t work. I could never connect to anybody in that cold foreign country. Nothing worked, not since that blood was forcefully washed off my hands. Without saying anything I get pulled somewhere else, some time else, to my crying sister. Oh, come on! Don’t tell me she’s the one I am leaving behind! She is the last person that would ever miss me. Ok, she is crying, but she’s been crying all the time since we left Bosnia. She can’t be crying for me! We were never close, we were never friendly to each other. Sure, we slept in the same bed in Bosnia, but that was after we both went through very strange events. We knew each other’s secrets, but it was because of spending Christmases with our mother’s new family that hated us as much as we hated them. My mother was Muslim, her husband Orthodox Christian, so Catholic Christmas was celebrated only for the sake of me and my sister. United around the same enemy, two of us would retrieve to our room early and often spend the whole night talking. It would start with talking shit about our so called step-father and his children, but would often end with us sharing our deepest secrets with each other. In the morning we would go home and loose contact, usually until the next Christmas. Like secret lovers, we where secret sisters, trusting each other only in the deep night before the dawn and forgetting all about it in the light of the day. Yes, she is crying for me and I know it. Self deception becomes much harder as you die. “Three sixteen, March sixteenth,” she is repeating, rocking herself back and forth on the hospital chair: “Three sixteen, three sixteen, two thousand sixteen…” I don’t remember, numbers mean nothing to me anymore, but I can feel in her energy that she is reciting date and time of my death. She takes comfort in numbers, always had, thinking they have deeper meanings than pure coincidences. She was born on summer’s solstice, her son on winter’s. I reach to her, giving her goose bumps, but she just hugs herself tight, tighter and keeps rocking, refusing to feel me, to feel anything besides her desperation. Somehow, though, I know it’s not me she is so desperate about. It’s not only the time of my death. It’s the birthday of her niece too, her niece who was conceived at her birthday. I don’t know how to make this right for her. I don’t know why I’m stuck with her, when all I want is to leave these lame leftovers of my life and move forward. I died all right, so why can’t I rest in piece? Just show me my funeral and get me out of here! “Focus Maja,” my glowing friend repeats, for who knows what time… So I focus. I drift back to the hospital, to my sister, who is not crying anymore and is wearing different clothes. How long was I out? How much time passed? She is talking to someone, but I can’t see who, I can’t hear what about. It’s getting harder to connect to the world of living. It all became foggier, less believable. I start to wonder if there really is life before death or was it all just a dream, hallucination, imagination…? Focus Maja! It’s a man, a young man asking her if he could see the baby. I look at him closely, trying to figure out if I should know him. I don’t think so. What does this stranger want to do with my baby? Is it my sister’s new boyfriend? They look like a nice couple and I’m happy for her. Can I go now? “I call her Hannah,” my sister tells him: “But she doesn’t have official name yet. You can change it.” “Hannah is good,” he says: “I like it.” Is she giving my child up for adoption? To a single father? Suddenly I’m pulled back in the past, to the Bosnian tunnels, with the guy from the hospital - who I had sex with! – who I made a baby with! – who I totally forgot all about! “Tell him,” I heard the voice of my just conceived daughter and I ignored it because I didn’t know what to tell him and even months later when I found out about my pregnancy and remembered that voice, I still didn’t obey it. I never told him. “But we still found each other,” the glowing woman whispers to me. “It was you!” I gasp, recognizing her at last. “My daughter. My child. You talked to me in the tunnels and you are guiding me in my death.” “I’m still too young to be fully embraced by life,” she tells me: “I am still very present in this place in-between, just like you are.” “Just like I wanted,” I whisper, remembering everything. I died giving birth so many times! I was always sensitive to the thin line between life and death, I was always so drawn to those doors from which a newborn comes into the life and nothing could ever keep me from going through them once they opened. Nothing, but infertility. “I wanted to die giving birth,” I repeat, letting that fact sink deep into my soul. I never wanted a baby, I never desired for motherhood, my yearnings were much deeper, much darker than that. I wanted out. Of course I misunderstood it while I was still alive! How could a living person identify its desire to die while giving birth? Not in my culture at least, where people are completely brainwashed to cling to life and avoid death at any cost, except for the meaningless concepts of their countries. You are considered a hero if you want to die defending your country, but a psycho if you want to die giving birth. Killing others is an honorable way to die, not giving birth to them! Why did I ever decide to come to life in a culture like that, in a place like that? What was the point? Apparently, I wasn’t meant to find romantic love and have a career or even close friends. I wasn’t meant to raise a child. What was I meant for? To stop the war? To save Milan? To do everything different than I did? To change the world? Maybe some of us were meant to suffer. Maybe some of us were meant to be alone. “Maybe you were meant to understand,” my glowing daughter tells me. “Hannah?” I ask her. “Yes,” she smiles. “That’s not how I would have called you,” I admit. “You were not meant to name me,” she tells me. “I was meant to die,” I nod. “You were ready to die. I came to you because you were ready. You were not allowed to get pregnant before you were ready to go.” “How did you know I was ready?” I ask her. “You understood,” she explains to me: “That day in the tunnels you opened yourself up and you understood. You allowed yourself to understand and it allowed me to come to you, to give you the option to die the way you always wanted to.” “Hannah…” “You were meant to understand. And you did. You changed the world by changing yourself. It’s all that it takes.” “Hannah…” I whisper again, my soul full of gratitude for her words. My life wasn’t a failure. My life had a meaning, and the reward is this beautiful glowing soul that is entering her life through the same doors that I left mine, to live as my child. “And you were meant to be with him,” I nod, understanding everything. “It would be easier if you agreed to tell him,” she smiles: “But at least your sister did. I came through you, but I came for him. We would end up together anyway, one way or another. Everything is the way it’s supposed to be.” With those words she slips away from me. I don’t feel sad because I know I will see her again soon. Any time is soon from this place without time. My soul fills with joy as I look at her being fed by her father, on her aunt’s couch. Her aunt, my sister, is crying again. Surprise, surprise! “It’s so hard being a single mother,” she is telling to Hans: “My mother’s husband had a stroke three months ago and he needs a constant care. She can’t help me anymore. She wasn’t much of a help before anyway. I don’t have anybody in the whole world! I couldn’t possibly take care of another child.” “Don’t worry,” Hans is trying to assure her: “I will take care of her.” “I know you will,” she tells him: “I just feel so bad for giving her to a stranger.” “I am not a stranger, Lee. I am her father.” “The tests are not done yet…” “I don’t care about the tests! I know she’s mine! I am surer of this than I ever was of anything. From the moment you told me about her I knew she was what I’ve been waiting for. I would come here to take her even if I wasn’t her biological father.” “You are a much better person than I am,” Lee is now crying harder: “All my life I tried to do everything right, but it never works. Protection didn’t work, I stayed pregnant. Love didn’t work, Johnny’s father left me and he’s never even seen him. I never had sex again, but that didn’t work either! There is another child anyway!” “This child is not you responsibility,” Hans tells her gently: “It’s mine. You did nothing wrong.” Lee just sits there in tears, drowning in her own silly, unreasonable guilt. I showed her Hans on Facebook, last Christmas. At least I did something right. She would’ve never been able to find him otherwise. I wish I could tell her that I don’t blame her for it. I’m grateful that she did what I was too much of a coward to do. “Why did you keep the baby?” Hans is asking her now. “It was the only thing I had left from Jonathan,” Lee answers: “I loved him so much. Maybe I still do.” But I hear something else too, something coming deep from her subconscious mind, the answer she can’t hear or become aware of. Because the killing stops with me… I thought nothing could shock me in my death, but I was wrong. My sister’s soul is whispering those words: the killing stops with me. It’s the real reason why she never even considered abortion or why she keeps trying to become a vegetarian. She is trying to stop something that started with her birth, but something that she never participated in, she never caused, she never knew… How could she be driven by something she has no hope of ever understanding, at least not until she dies? Then again, how could I have ever understood my desire to die during childbirth while I was still alive? And what would be the point if I did? Some truths are not meant for the living. Hans sent Lee to sleep and now he is walking with Hannah in his arms, smiling and talking to her in a soothing voice. “Sleep now, baby,” he whispers to our daughter: “We have a long journey ahead of us. I am taking you home tomorrow, I am taking you to my Germany. You have another aunt there, and you have another cousin! They can’t wait to meet you! You know, Hannah, I was always jealous of the relationship my father has with my sister. He loves me too, just as much as her, but what he has with her was always a more special relationship. You know what, kid? Thanks to you I am not jealous anymore. I finally have that myself. I have it with you.” When I reach to him, he feels me. He recognizes me. He kisses the baby for me and I kiss her through him. She looks right at me and her sweet gaze tells me goodbye. “I think your mum is here with us,” Hans whispers to Hannah: “You can feel her too, can’t you?” I smile to her, acknowledging her goodbye with my own. It’s not goodbye forever, it could never be, not in this place in-between that we are both leaving now, the place we will both return to. I will always be with her and she will always be with me, as it always was. But now it’s time for her to live, and for me it’s time to move on. I float to my sister again, just briefly, I reach her in her dream, a dream she will never remember having, but hopefully her subconscious will, hopefully my message will find a piece of soil on which it can grow and maybe, just maybe, one day it will ease her guilt and she will understand something that she never had, never felt, but my daughter will as much as I did. My message is simple: a daughter belongs with her father. I turn around while the world of the living disappears underneath me, to face my father and Milan coming to greet me. Our souls blend together as they always did in countless lives we shared together, and they take me out of this place in-between, into the light. |
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I didn’t even know when the last time I slept was. I didn’t care. I don’t sleep when my partner is in danger, when she’s missing. Again. I failed her again… No, I wouldn’t sleep, not until I begin hallucinating, not until my hallucinations knock me down. But before that happened, my last thoughts were not about my partner, but my sister. What if, I thought, what if I was taken instead of her? None of this would be happening… It should have been me… I blanked out. Not on my bed, not even on my couch, but on the floor. As if I deserved better! I drifted away, but not into sleep. No, the place I found myself in was some kind of a parallel universe. A universe in which Samantha was never abducted, I was. Universe in which I didn’t exist… * * * Scully. She existed. I saw her walking through FBI corridors, looking just the same as she did on the day I met her. She seemed to be going to the same destination as well. Basement office, my office. The X files. I saw her opening the door, stepping in. “Agent Mulder? I’ve been assigned to work with you!” * * * Her voice! Her voice brought me back to that same day, but as it happened back in my original universe, in my memories. I was having a bad day, contemplating-about-writing-a-letter-of-resignation type of the day. I didn’t even raise my head when she penetrated my office, just like perverted alien penetrates his abductees’ noses, reaching for their brain. That’s how much it hurt me. I did everything I could to prevent it from happening, but just like a scared pre-teenage girl sold to a harem I had no right to participate in decisions about my fate. I was force-partnered. “This is a dangerous job, agent Mulder,” Skinner told me earlier: “Too dangerous to do it alone. And part of my job is to ensure safety of my agents, to make sure all of them have someone to watch their back. ALL of them, agent Mulder! Even those who decide to bury themselves in the basement for a lost cause.” “With all due respect, sir,” I responded: “The very nature of working on the X files demands solitary work.” Skinner gave me one of his that’s-bullshit-and-you-know-it looks: “Agent Mulder, if you plan to continue your career in the FBI you will have to learn to be a team-player…” “Or what?!” I snapped: “You’ll fire me?” “I won’t have to,” Skinner assured me: “But I will be out there to identify your body!” “That’s fine with me,” I answered: “As long as you don’t show up on my funeral!” I turned around and started to walk towards the door, but before I reached them something else came to my mind. “Who is this Scully anyway?” I turned back to my boss: “I want all the available information about her. I want to know everything! And I mean EVERYTHING!” “Like what?” Skinner stared at me. “Like…” I had to think fast: “Like when was she kissed for the first time…?” “You’ll have to ask her personally. I don’t think there are records about that.” “…and how long it lasted!” By this point we were talking at the same time. “I don’t think even she can tell you that,” Skinner continued. “Or,” I suggested: “Whose spy is she? I would be happy with just that little piece of information.” “Not everything is a conspiracy, agent Mulder,” Skinner sighed: “Agent Scully is bright, young, ambitious woman, fresh from Academy. She deserves a chance.” “To hell with that!” I concluded, exiting his office. * * * But wait! Wait! In this parallel, Mulder-less universe, who the hell is Scully introducing herself to? Did she just say… Agent Mulder?!? Young woman, approximately Scully’s age, stood up from my, I mean someone’s, desk, approached my partn…, I mean Scully, with a warm smile and honestly-nice-to-meet-you attitude. She looked familiar, very familiar, almost like… And she said Mulder… Oh my god! Oh… my… god! She looked like my mother! To be precise, she looked like my mother used to look when she was young, when I was just a kid. How the hell did my mother, in her young version nonetheless, ended up working on the X files?!? What is wrong with this universe? I looked around the office, trying to make some sense of what was happening. There was a big poster, hanging on the same wall as my UFO poster in original universe. Only this one didn’t say I WANT TO BELIEVE. This one was saying: I BELIEVE. There was no flying saucer on it, but a huge red heart. In the center of the heart one picture was pinned, a picture of my sister and me when we were kids. My hearth ached when I saw the picture. Why is it there? Did something happen to Samantha in this universe, too? Even though it was me who got abducted here, not her? Is that why my mother is working on the X files? Is she looking for Samantha, here, in the universe where I am too long gone to be the one who is searching? I looked down at the desk and name plate on it. Samantha Mulder. I froze. This isn’t my young mother, this is my all grown up sister! She’s alive. She’s well. She’s ok! But the picture on the poster? If Samantha is not missing, why is that picture hanging there? Suddenly it hit me. It hit me hard, breathtakingly! It was my picture. She became an FBI agent because… She found the X files because… because… Because she was looking for me! * * * As much as I tried, I couldn’t really dislike Scully. As much as I tried to intimidate her, she always stood her ground. She didn’t run away demanding reassignment. She didn’t call me Spooky or treat me as a lost cause. If she really was a spy, she was damn good at hiding it. And as much as I tried, I couldn’t keep believing that she was… Silently, she became my partner. I realized it when her father died and she came to work that day. She called my office the night before and left me a message that she might be late for work, but I didn’t believe that she would come at all. I was surprised to see her and I told her that. Damn it, Mulder, I thought immediately, your partner just lost a father and that’s the best you can say to her? Did I just think of her as my partner? “How are you Dana?” I asked her. There, that’s better. Or is it? She was surprised, I never called her by her first name before. I couldn’t say if she was glad or annoyed by it. We went on talking about case, relieved to be engaged in a familiar conversation. I filled her with necessary information about a recent crime and as I was about to leave office for a while, I finally found the right words. “I’m sorry about your father.” As simple as that. Well, maybe not so simple after all. She insisted on following me to prison where we questioned a dangerous murderer who claimed to be channeling information. I exposed him as a fraud, but Scully followed his clues anyway, putting herself in great danger. “I thought that you’d be pleased that I’d opened myself to extreme possibilities,” she told me at the verge of tears when I confronted her about it. Where was that coming from? Since when did she care about pleasing me? When did she start to seek my approval? Was she starting to see me as a partner, too? At that point I wanted to hug her, I wanted to comfort her. But how could I? We were colleagues, not friends. It could be seen as harassment. Even if she welcomed my embrace, it could easily end up with us rolling on her hotel bed, fucking up everything in our careers that we worked so hard for. * * * Samantha didn’t have that problem. Professional relationships are so much easier between two heterosexual individuals of the same sex. Of course, not doubting your partner’s motives for joining you helps too. Samantha never doubted Scully, at least not in this parallel universe. They became good friends soon after they started working together. When Scully’s father died in this universe, she didn’t leave a message for her partner, she called her on her private phone instead, waking her up, and Samantha was soon at her place, all warm and friendly, with all the right words and hugs. It’s so much easier without the damn sexual tension! Or is it? Maybe it’s just that Samantha is much better person than I am in my universe, than I would be in her universe, or any other possible universe… I blamed her abduction for my fucked-up-ness, but she wasn’t fucked up without me. She put other people before her work, while I trusted nobody, blindly dedicated to my quest. She believed in love, while I was chasing aliens. I hoped, I desperately hoped that in her universe there are no stronger forces than love, because in mine I have no doubt that love is weak… * * * “I hope you know,” Scully told me: “That I will consider it more than just a professional loss if you decide to quit.” I said nothing. I pushed her away. I refused to talk to her after they closed the X files for the first time, believing even a little chat would put us both in great danger. I tried to go on with my life without her, but she wouldn’t let me. She called me paranoid, but unfortunately I was right. She got abducted and returned almost dead, with no hope of recovering. Somehow, though, she pulled through. We didn’t know what happened to her, but it marked us for life, not only in partnership, but in, what was beginning to seem, unbreakable friendship. * * * Did that happen in the parallel universe as well? Unfortunately, it did. Did it affect my sister as strongly as it affected me? It did. Did she end up in stranger’s bed, like I did? Unfortunately, she didn’t. She ended up in bed with her new partner. Did she get the same new partner as I did? Damn it, she did! Did she refuse to accept this new partner? Damn her, she didn’t! She welcomed him with open arms and full trust. “Go home agent Mulder,” Skinner told her when Scully went missing and she insisted on looking for her: “You are too close to this case. If we need your help we will call you. Now you need to get some sleep.” “Make sure that she does,” he continued, turning to Krycek. Alex Krycek. Oh, Krycek obeyed, he certainly did! He took agent Mulder to bed, but not for sleeping. He had another cure in mind, and agent Mulder welcomed it with open arms, and even more open heart. I wanted to yell, to scream, to kill him, to destroy the whole damn apartment. But I couldn’t do anything at all, since it was the universe in which I didn’t exist. Don’t do it Samantha! I begged in my non-existing mind. He’s not your friend! He’s not your partner! He’s a damn spy! He killed my father! He will kill your father! Don’t do it, sis! Don’t trust him! Remember what Deep Throat said, trust no one? He was right, Samantha! Don’t do it… Please… I didn’t exist. And my sister was sleeping with my enemy. By the time Scully was returned, Krycek was already gone. Samantha was left heartbroken, but she tried not to show it. She had to be strong for her partner. “I love you like a sister,” she said gently to Scully, stroking her hair. “She is a great sister,” Melissa smiled: “Do you have a sister, Sam?” “I had a brother,” Samantha said sadly: “His name was Fox. But he is long gone by now. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive. I don’t think I ever will.” Melissa hugged her and they both started to cry, for the woman dying in the bed next to them, for the long lost brother who, I was sure, Melissa could feel in the room with them. My sister: a hugger, a lover… Scully’s sister, still alive and strong and beautiful and smart… Is it possible, could it be possible that she doesn’t have to die in this universe? “Tell her to stay away from Krycek,” I whispered to Melissa’s ear, but though she could feel my pain, she couldn’t hear my warning. I didn’t exist. Few weeks after she recovered, Scully came to Samantha’s apartment. “I want you to take this,” she said to her friend, in a more-than-serious not-taking-no-for-an-answer voice. Samantha opened the bag and looked inside, taking a little box out of it. Pregnancy test. Pregnancy test??? She looked at Scully in disbelief. “I am not pregnant!” she cried, horrified at the idea. “Then there’s no harm in taking it,” Scully said, not taking her eyes off of her. “There’s no use, either!” Samantha objected. “Mulder, please,” Scully pleaded: “Do it for me, ok? I’m your doctor and your symptoms are worrying me.” She squeezed her hand in reassurance: “I am also your friend. Whatever the result, we will deal with it together.” Finally, Samantha nodded. She looked pale and terrified. She took the box and went to the bathroom, and then they sat in the living room and silently waited. “Mulder, you’re pregnant,” Scully said with a sigh, placing the test back on a coffee table. Samantha fell into her arms, crying uncontrollably. Scully held her without words, without questions. They never talked about it, but Scully was able to figure it out. She saw the way Samantha looked at Krycek. She saw how she blushed when he was around. Scully didn’t know whether to be happy or worried for her friend. Samantha for sure didn’t date much and it was nice to see her finally falling for someone, but did it have to be her partner? It can’t be a good idea to become intimate with your partner, can it? Judging by the tears, it certainly wasn’t. Especially when your partner turns out to be working for your enemies, or when he disappears without a trace. “You don’t have to keep it,” Scully said gently: “You know that.” “Fox…” Samantha whispered in her shoulder. “What?” Scully couldn’t understand her. Samantha pulled out from her embrace and looked her in the eyes. “Fox,” she smiled: “I will call him Fox.” Abortion was out of question. * * * “You were right,” Scully told me after Melissa’s death: “There is no justice.” “I don’t think this is about justice, Scully,” I told her. “Then what is it about?” she asked me hopelessly. “I think it’s about something we have no personal choice in,” I told her, feeling Melissa in the room with us, feeling her agreeing with me, for once: “I think it’s about fate.” I asked Scully if she is sure about going back to work, but what I was really asking was if she would stay with me. We both lost so much because of our work, and it didn’t make much sense to either of us. Now she lost a sister too. Now I lost a father too. Now we knew each other’s pain more personally, more painfully than ever. I hugged her, signing our deal with an embrace, a deal to stay together, to follow our fate. They say god doesn’t give you more pain than you can handle, but what he’s given us was way more than we could ever handle without each other. I desperately leaned on her, just as she did on me. She was mine, I was hers, and it had to be that way. We could have left the FBI then and drive off at sunset, spending the rest of our lives getting drunk and talking about aliens and science to anyone who would listen. She could have gone back to being a doctor, but then I would have to be her patient. I could have settled down and started raising a family, but it would have to be with her. We could have chosen another path, maybe, possibly, if fate would allow it, but we had to stay together. We chose to stick with the X files, not because it was the best choice, maybe it wasn’t even a good one, but it was the only thing we knew… * * * Did it happen in the parallel universe? Yes. The circumstances were not the same, yet they resulted in my father’s death just the same. Samantha’s father was killed by Krycek, while Samantha was giving birth to his daughter. He killed our mother too, since in this universe our parents stayed together. Scully was in tears when she came to tell her. “I named her Alex,” Samantha smiled, holding her newborn baby. Scully closed her eyes in pain: “You don’t want to do that, Mulder.” “I do, Scully, I do,” Samantha whispered: “I need him to know she’s his. I believe he can change, I believe she can change him. I… I still love him, Dana…” “Put the baby down, Mulder,” Scully said: “Something terrible happened and it won’t be easy for you to hear what I have to say.” “No,” Samantha refused, moving the baby closer to her chest and holding her protectively: “Whatever it is, Alex stays with me!” “Samantha, your parents were shot today,” Scully finally managed to say: “They… They are both dead. The shooter was likely Krycek. There’s still not enough evidence, but… I will look for him myself! I will find him! I’m sorry, Mulder. I’m so sorry…” “No…” Samantha cried softly, taken by surprise, in a state of too great of a shock to fully understand the impact of Scully’s words: “Mum… Dad… No… Alex… He couldn’t… He wouldn’t… No! No!” Her sobs were getting faster, her screams louder, as the meaning of those words started to unfold in their full, enormous, dark emptiness. Little Alex Mulder cried in her arms as well, as if she could understand the dark fate bestowed upon her. I felt for that baby, as the little pieces of her future started to unfold in front of me. My niece! My beautiful niece, who will never know her grandparents or her uncle, whose only family will be her mother and Scully, who will become her godmother and treat her as her own child, especially after she learns that she can’t have children of her own. A child that will have to live with her father’s name, her enemy’s name, because her mother will refuse to stop believing in love, because she will somehow manage to forgive him everything… I hate you for that, Samantha; I hate you for your stupid, unreasonable love and forgiveness. And I love you for it, I love you so much that it hurts. I can’t share you world view. I can’t share your beliefs, sister. I don’t believe in love, not the way you do. But I believe in you… * * * I believe in you, Samantha, I whispered as I was waking up, back in my apartment, back on my living room’s floor, with a headache and cold shivers in my body. Was it a dream? Or is there really a parallel universe in which I was abducted instead of my sister? If any of this experience is true, then the similar things happening in both universes must imply existence of fate. Melissa had to die in both of them. My father had to die in both of them. But what about my mother, then? Krycek killed her only in one universe, not in both of them. Why did she have a different fate? Did she somehow do something to change it? What did it all mean? Maybe it was just my wild imagination, bringing together people I lost, people I care about most in the world. Maybe. After all, I didn’t even try to see what happened to me in that universe, I didn’t have the slightest desire to find out who abducted me and why. I only wanted to know what happened to my women. Damn! Why did I wish for a universe in which I was taken instead of my sister, in which I was unable to be there for her, to help her, to protect her? Why didn’t I wish for universe in which nobody was taken? Why, even in my wildest hallucinations, I couldn’t picture a life of happiness? I somehow managed to stand up and go to the bathroom. I turned on the cold water and washed my face. I looked in the mirror and noticed that I’m smiling. She would be looking for me! Samantha would be looking for me! And Scully would be looking for me with her, even if she had never met me… And I will keep looking for them. No matter the cost. Not matter how hopeless it seems. I love you, Samantha, I said to my mirror. I love you, too, Scully, I added. That love that was driving your decisions, Samantha… The love you refused to give up no matter how deeply it failed you. I want to believe in that love, too. I want to believe! I love you Alex! (No, Krycek, not you!) I turned away from the mirror, fiercely shaking my head. No! I had to pull myself together. I had to find Scully. Love wasn’t going to find her. Love can’t save the world, I can’t afford to give into that shit, not now! I have to find my partner! I went back to my living room, thinking hard about what my next actions should be, but all I was able to come up with was to bang my head against the wall… |