Ode to my Father

Rest in peace, father 🕊️🙏🏼 - 31.07.2023

The loss of a loved one is always a deeply emotional experience, but when that person is a father with whom you never had a relationship, the grief can be uniquely complex. As I mourn the passing of my father, who I last saw 13 years ago, I find myself grappling with a sense of emptiness and longing for a connection that never truly existed. This letter serves as a cathartic exploration of my emotions, reflecting on the absence of a fatherly bond and the impact it has had on my life and the lives of my siblings.

Growing up without a father figure has left an indelible mark on my life. While some may argue that it is better to have no father than a toxic one, the absence of a paternal presence has left me yearning for guidance, support, and a sense of belonging. As a child, I often wondered why my father was not there for me, questioning my own worthiness of his love and attention. This void has shaped my understanding of relationships, self-worth, and the importance of emotional connections.

The last time I saw my father was 13 years ago, and the memory remains vivid in my mind. I had hoped for a moment of reconciliation, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between us. However, his indifference and lack of happiness upon seeing me shattered any remaining hope. The pain of that encounter lingers, leaving me with a profound sense of rejection and a lingering question of what could have been.

Tragically, my father's passing not only leaves me mourning an empty loss but also highlights the fractured relationships between my siblings and me. We are united in our shared experience of growing up without a father's presence, yet we have been unable to forge meaningful connections with one another. The absence of a paternal figure has left us isolated, struggling to navigate life's challenges without the support and guidance that a father should provide. As we gather to bid our father farewell, we are confronted with the harsh reality of our disconnectedness, mourning not only his loss but also the lost opportunities for sibling bonds.

As the day of the funeral nears, and we gather to bid our last farewell to our father, I find myself grappling with a mix of emotions. The pain of an unfulfilled relationship weighs heavy on my heart, but amidst the sorrow, I also find room for forgiveness and acceptance.

Dear Father, though our paths seldom crossed and the distance between us seemed insurmountable, I want you to know that your passing has left an indelible mark on our lives. While we may not have shared the cherished moments a father and children should have, your presence – or lack thereof – has shaped us in profound ways.

As we stand here, your two sons and your daughter, we acknowledge the complexities of our emotions. We carry with us the unspoken words and unshared memories, yet we also carry the hope for healing and reconciliation.

May you rest in peace, Father. May the burdens that weighed heavily on your heart find release in the embrace of eternity. May you find solace in knowing that we, your children, are embarking on a journey of forgiveness and growth, seeking to mend the broken bonds and nurture the seeds of love that you may have planted, albeit unknowingly.

In this final farewell, we release the pain of an absent relationship, and instead, choose to remember the lessons learned from your life. We acknowledge that you were human, with your own struggles and imperfections. Your legacy serves as a reminder of the importance of nurturing the connections that truly matter, of cherishing the moments with loved ones, and of building bridges where there were once walls.

As we lay you to rest, we also lay to rest the grievances and regrets that have bound us for far too long. Our shared grief now unites us, and in this shared pain, we find the strength to support one another, to heal the wounds of the past, and to embrace the promise of a future built on understanding and compassion.

Father, though I never truly knew you, your presence in my life – and in your passing – has taught me valuable lessons about the human experience. We honor your memory not with anger or resentment but with the commitment to be better individuals, better siblings, and better parents.

May you find peace in the realm beyond, and may your spirit be free from the burdens that once weighed you down. Rest assured that your memory will live on in our hearts, and through the transformation sparked by your passing, we shall carry forward a legacy of love, forgiveness, and empathy.

Farewell, dear Father, and rest in peace. As we bid you goodbye, we embrace the hope that your departure will pave the way for a new chapter in our lives, where the love we longed for shall be shared abundantly among us and with those we hold dear.

Yours, always.

Your children ❤️

…

Почивај у миру, оче! 🕊️

Губитак вољене особе увек је једно дубоко емотивно искуство, али када је та особа отац с којим никада нисте имали однос, туга може бити посебно комплексна. Док тужим за одласком свог оца, кога сам последњи пут видео пре 13 година, сусрећем се са осећајем празнине и жељом за везом која никада заиста није постојала. Овај есеј служи као катартично истраживање мојих емоција, одражавајући на отсуство очитог братског веза и утицај који је имало на мој живот и живот мог брата и сестре.

Одрастанје без очитог облика оца оставило је неизбрисив траг на мом животу. Иако неки могу тврдити да је боље немати оца него токсичног, отсуство очитог присуства оставило ме жељним за водством, подршком и осећајем припадности. Као дете, често сам се питао зашто мој отац није био ту за мене, упитавајући своју сопствену вредност његове љубави и пажње. Ова празнина обликовала је моје разумевање односа, самопоштовања и значаја емотивних веза.

Последњи пут сам свог оца видео пре 13 година, и то сећање остаје живо у мом уму. Надао сам се тренутку помирења, шанси да пребродимо размак који се створио између нас. Међутим, његова равнодушност и недостатак среће при мом виђењу су уништили сваку преосталу наду. Бол тог сусрета траје, остављајући ме са дубоким осећајем одбацивања и осталим питањем; шта би могло бити..

На жалост, одлазак мог оца не оставља ме само у туги са празнином, већ истиче поломљене односе између мене и мог брата и сестре. Уједињени смо у заједничком искуству одрастанја без очитог присуства, али нисмо успели да изградимо значајне везе једни са другима. Одсуство очевог облика оставило нас је изолованим, борећи се да се справимо са изазовима живота без подршке и водства које би отац требао да пружи. Када се скупљамо да се опростимо од оца, суочавамо се са суровом реалношћу наше одвојености, тужећи не само за његовим губитком, већ и за изгубљеним приликама за везу међусобно.

Док се дан сахране ближи, и када се скупљамо да се опростимо од нашег оца, сусрећем се са мешавином емоција. Бол о неиспуњеном односу тежак је на мом срцу, али усред туге, такође налазим простор за опрост и прихватање.

Драги оче, иако су се наши путеви ретко сукобовали и раздаљина између нас изгледа непревазидљивом, желим да знаш да твој одлазак оставља неизбрисив траг у нашим животима. Иако можда нисмо делили драгоцене тренутке које би отац и деца требали имати, твоје присуство - или отсуство - обликовало нас је на дубоке начине.

Док стојимо овде, твоја два сина и твоја ћерка, признајемо комплексности наших емоција. Носимо са собом неисказане речи и недељене успомене, али такође носимо наду за излечење и помирење.

Нека почиваш у миру, оче. Нека терети који су тешко оптоваривали твоје срце нађу ослободење у прегрљају вечности. Нека нађеш утешење у знању да смо ми, твоја деца, кренули на пут попуштања и раста, тражећи да оправимо поломљене везе и негујемо семенце љубави које си можда посејао, иако ненамерно.

Овим последњим опроштајем, пуштамо бол одсутног односа и уместо тога, бирамо да се сетимо научених лекција из твог живота. Признајемо да си био човек, са својим борбама и несавршеностима. Твоје наслеђе служи као подсетник на значај неговања веза које заиста значе, на цењење тренутака са вољенима, и на изградњу мостова тамо где су некада били зидови.

Док те полажемо на починак, такође полажемо на починак неразврстане свађе и жаљења која нас је везало предуго. Наша заједничка туга нас сада уједињује, и у тој заједничкој боли налазимо снагу да се подржимо међусобно, излечимо ране прошлости, и прихватимо обећање будућности која ће се градити на разумевању и саосећању.

Оче, иако те нисам заиста познавао, твоје присуство у мом животу - и твој одлазак - научили су ме вредним лекцијама о људском искуству. Поштујемо твоју успомену не са гњевом или отпорношћу, већ са решешћу да будемо бољи појединци, боља браћа и сестре, и бољи родитељи.

Надамо се да ћеш наћи мир у свету изван нашег, и нека твој дух буде ослобођен терета који те је некада притискао. Буди уверен да ће твоја успомена живети у нашим срцима, и кроз промену коју је твој одлазак изазвао, понети ћемо наслеђе љубави, опроштања и саосећања.

Збогом, драги оче, и почивај у миру. Док се опраштамо, пригрљивамо наду да ће твој одлазак отворити пут за ново поглавље у нашим животима, где ће љубав коју смо жудели бити обилно делjена међу нама и с онима које волимо.

Твоји заувек,

Срђан, Милана и Лаза ❤️🙏🏼

We’re Watching a Genocide in 4K — And Too Many Are Still Silent

 

There’s a war going on. Not just with bombs and tanks — but a war of narratives, of silence, of carefully curated complicity. And most of us are watching it unfold in high definition, in real time. We scroll past the images of starving children, bombed-out hospitals, lifeless bodies in the rubble — and somehow, we just… keep scrolling.

What’s happening in Gaza and the West Bank is not just “a conflict.” It’s not “complicated.” It is the systematic, brutal, and deliberate destruction of a people. A genocide. And the world is letting it happen.

“It all started on October 7th” — Did it, really?

To those who only began paying attention on October 7th, 2023, I urge you to open a history book. The violence didn’t start there. This story is not a headline — it’s a legacy. It stretches back to 1948, when the state of Israel was founded on Palestinian land, displacing over 700,000 people in what Palestinians call al-Nakba, “the catastrophe.”

Since then, we’ve witnessed decades of occupation, apartheid, unlawful settlements, assassinations, mass imprisonment without trial, and the daily dehumanization of an entire population. Gaza has been turned into an open-air prison — and now into a mass grave.

Being against Israel ≠ Being against Jews

Let me make one thing absolutely clear: Criticizing Israel’s actions does not make you antisemitic.

This tired accusation is weaponized to silence dissent — but I reject that false equivalence. There are countless Jewish people worldwide who are appalled at what Israel is doing. They march in protests. They speak out. Because being Jewish is not synonymous with supporting Zionist aggression.

Condemning the starvation of children, the bombing of civilians, and the displacement of families is not an attack on a religion — it’s a defense of human rights. Period.

“But you’d be killed in Palestine for being gay…”

Yes, I’ve heard that too. And while it may be true that LGBTQ+ rights are severely lacking under some governments in the Middle East, that’s not the point. I don’t base my humanity on whether someone agrees with my identity.

I’m not pro every ideology. I’m pro humanity.

You can acknowledge that LGBTQ+ people are at risk in certain cultures without advocating for those people’s entire cities to be flattened by bombs. You can oppose repression without endorsing annihilation.

To put it bluntly: Just because a country’s laws wouldn’t protect me doesn’t mean its people deserve to be wiped off the map.

Who will speak when everyone’s bought?

Let’s be honest. One of the reasons the world stays silent while Gaza burns is because Israel has influence woven deep into the political systems of so many countries. Whether through bribery, lobbying, intimidation, or information control, retaliation against the state of Israel has become unthinkable for most world leaders — even in the face of clear, repeated violations of international law.

And the result? Deafening silence.

Thousands dead. Millions displaced. And barely a word from the institutions that claim to stand for human rights.

If you’ve ever wondered what you would’ve done during the Holocaust — the answer is simple: You’re doing it now.

Are you speaking up? Are you challenging injustice? Are you doing anything at all?

Or are you scrolling past, again?

Choose humanity

I don’t care about what flag you wave, what god you pray to, or who your ancestors were. What I care about is whether you believe in the dignity of human life. Whether you can look at what’s happening — in Gaza, the West Bank, Lebanon, Iran — and say: “This is wrong. This must stop.”

Because neutrality is no longer an option. Silence is no longer harmless.

I stand with justice. I stand with truth.

And above all — I stand with Palestine.

The Stone Book

They say that long before ink was invented, before men carved their stories into cave walls or pressed reed to papyrus, the Earth herself wrote a book.

Not with words, but with time.

She bound it not in leather, but in pressure and silence. Layer upon layer, century after century, pressed together by tides older than memory. It was not written in a language the tongue could speak, but one the soul might remember—if it listened hard enough.

The elders of the coast call it The Stone Book. Hidden between the jaws of ancient cliffs, revealed only when the tide draws back as if turning a page. It looks like a tome forgotten by gods, left behind in a moment of absentminded divinity.

They say the one who reads the Stone Book—truly reads it—can hear the voices of extinct forests, can smell the breath of volcanoes long cooled, can feel the heartbeat of the Earth before it ever knew our name. But it does not give up its story easily. It waits. Patient as time. Silent as the grave.

And once in a great while, a wanderer finds it. Not by map or compass, but by ache—some gnawing need to go where reason says there’s nothing. These are the chosen ones, the accidental prophets.

They find The Stone Book in a cleft of rock, where sea meets sand, sun meets shadow. And when they reach out to touch it, they feel warmth—an impossible, ancient warmth—like the last breath of something holy.

But the book cannot be taken. It does not belong on a shelf. Its story must remain unread, remembered not in pages, but in awe. A relic of a time when the Earth still believed in magic, and was kind enough to leave behind proof.

Hag Fag 2: How to Be a Proper Fag to a Hag: A 10-Step Guide

They say behind every great hag is an even greater fag—and darling, you can be that fabulous bestie. But don’t think it’s all about compliments and cocktails. Oh no, it’s a full-time job. From Mon’s chaotic brilliance to Nina’s protective shield, my hags have taught me that this sacred role requires dedication, sass, and a flair for the dramatic.

Here are ten essential steps to becoming the perfect fag to your hag:

Step 1: Scout for Potential Hags

A great hag is usually spotted in the wild—possibly wielding a Golden Gate Bridge snow globe, laughing too loudly at her own jokes, or confidently rocking a bold red lip in a room full of beige. Think Mon sending glitter bombs or Cat channeling Uma Thurman realness. If she’s unafraid to be seen or heard, she’s a potential candidate.

Step 2: Learn the Art of the Compliment

Every hag needs a fag who can deliver a compliment like it’s the final rose ceremony of The Bachelor.Whether it’s about her shoes, her hair, or the time she casually dismantled her ex’s ego at a dinner party, let her know she’s radiant. Bonus points for using words like “divine,” “iconic,” or “majestic.”

Step 3: Develop a Telepathic Drinking Language

One look across a crowded bar should be all it takes. She nods; you know it’s vodka. You raise an eyebrow; she orders another round. There’s no room for ambiguity here—your telepathy must be sharper than Cat’s eyeliner on a Monday morning.

Step 4: Perfect the Role of the Bodyguard

Every hag will, at some point, attract an unwanted admirer. When Nina shielded me from the jocks in school, she showed me the kind of loyalty I had to pay forward. Whether it’s a drunken creep at a club or her ex at the supermarket, step in, look intimidating (or just raise your green eyebrows, as I once did), and diffuse the situation with charm or sarcasm.

Step 5: Know Your Shared Anthems

You’re not a true fag to your hag until you’ve belted Vogue together at karaoke, preferably while wearing something ridiculous. Know your playlist of empowerment bangers—Madonna, ABBA, Beyoncé, and maybe a sprinkling of Britney. If a dance floor opens up, you lead the way.

Step 6: Be Ready for Midnight Pep Talks

At 3 AM, when she’s sobbing over someone named Tom (or was it Tim?), your phone better be on loud. Whether it’s providing sage advice, googling motivational quotes, or reminding her that she’s too fabulous for mediocre men, you’re on call. Always.

Step 7: Master the Art of Drama

Drama school wasn’t just for the spotlight—it was training for the ultimate fag-hag dynamic. Together, you’ll reenact movie scenes, pretend to faint for effect, or stage elaborate public spectacles to embarrass nosy Karens. Channel your inner Diane and give birth to a football in the middle of the metaphorical classroom.

Step 8: Become the Fashion Consultant

Chanelle and her sisters taught me everything I needed to know about nails, extensions, and wigs. Now, it’s your turn to pass the knowledge along. You don’t have to be Anna Wintour, but you do need to say things like, “Honey, no one’s pulling off chartreuse, not even Rihanna,” with absolute conviction.

Step 9: Share the Spotlight

Yes, you’re fabulous, but remember—it’s a partnership. This is not your one-man show. If she’s feeling down, hand her the figurative microphone and hype her up until she’s the Beyoncé to your Kelly. Friendship is about balance (and the occasional ego boost).

Step 10: Leave a Legacy

Every great fag leaves their mark on their hag’s life—whether it’s a broken snow globe, a singed wig from a failed drag experiment, or just an inside joke that can make her laugh for decades. Create memories that’ll make her say, “You were my best bad decision.”

Final Thought:

Being a fag to a hag isn’t just a role—it’s a lifestyle, an art, a sacred bond that transcends glitter, drama, and late-night kebabs. Mon, Nina, Diane, and all the fabulous hags in my life have shaped me, just as I hope I’ve shaped them. So grab your metaphorical snow globe and go brighten someone’s day. Because in the end, isn’t that what we’re here for?

Help Us Find Missing Loved Ones in Lebanon: A Personal Plea

Help Us Find Missing Loved Ones in Lebanon: A Personal Plea

The ongoing conflict in Lebanon has brought unimaginable devastation to countless families, including our own. Recently, my partner Adam’s family home was bombed and completely destroyed, leaving many of his relatives unaccounted for in the rubble. As of now, we are still searching for his missing cousins, while tragically, we’ve already lost his aunt in the destruction.

For Adam and his family, this is a living nightmare, one that I know all too well. I was just a child during the war in the Balkans, and although my family was safe in Sweden, many of our loved ones faced the horrors of conflict daily. I know the anguish of not knowing where your loved ones are, the helplessness that weighs on you as the days go by with no answers.

But we refuse to give up.

We’ve launched a GoFundMe fundraiser to help aid in the search for Adam’s missing family members and to provide support to others in the area who are suffering the same fate. Any funds raised will go towards search efforts, aid for those who have lost their homes, and providing shelter for families who have nowhere to turn.

We’re asking for your help in this time of great need. Whether it’s through a donation, sharing our story, or simply sending us your thoughts and prayers, every bit of support makes a difference.

No family should have to face this kind of heartache alone. Together, we can offer hope where there is none and bring relief to those suffering in silence.

Please click the link below to learn more and donate if you’re able:

Emergency funds to find Adam’s family

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for your kindness and generosity. 🙏🏼❤️‍🩹

The Importance of Pride

As we celebrate Pride, it’s a moment to reflect on its profound importance within the LGBTQ+ community. Pride is more than just vibrant parades and joyful festivities; it’s a powerful reminder of the struggles, resilience, and victories of a community that has fought tirelessly for recognition, acceptance, and equality.

Pride signifies the strength and unity of the LGBTQ+ community. It’s a time to honor those who have paved the way for the rights we enjoy today, and to acknowledge that there is still work to be done. It’s a celebration of diversity, where love and identity are embraced in all their forms, without fear or shame.

For many, Pride is a beacon of hope. It’s a reminder that everyone deserves to live their truth openly and authentically. It fosters a sense of belonging and support, showing that no one is alone in their journey. The solidarity and acceptance experienced during Pride can be life-changing, especially for those who may still be facing prejudice and discrimination.

In essence, Pride is a powerful affirmation of self-worth and dignity. It encourages us all to stand up against inequality and to champion a world where everyone is free to be who they are. Let’s continue to support and uplift the LGBTQ+ community, not just during Pride, but every single day.

The Good Ol’ Days

Alright, darlings, listen up. 

Life, my dears, is an endless parade of the mundane, the trivial, the downright banal. We’re all just clinging to our iPhones, scrolling through endless feeds of utter drivel, hoping for that one moment of excitement, a glimmer of interest, a flicker of fame. The very essence of our daily existence has become a tedious routine, punctuated by the occasional meme or viral video that temporarily lifts us from our ennui. 

Oh, don’t get me started on the whole social media debacle. I mean, really. Once upon a time, a girl could go out, get plastered, and wake up with nothing but a hangover and a vague sense of shame. Now, every embarrassing moment is captured, filtered, and posted for all the world to see. There’s no escape. It’s like living in a fishbowl, darling, and I’m the prize goldfish.

Take TikTok, for example. Have you seen what the youths are up to these days? Dancing like demented marionettes to snippets of songs, hoping to become the next viral sensation. It’s all so desperately tedious. In my day, if you wanted to be famous, you had to have actual talent. Now, you just need a ring light and a modicum of coordination. And don’t even get me started on those influencers. What exactly are they influencing, besides my gag reflex?

And then there’s Instagram. Oh, Instagram, you fickle mistress. Everyone’s a photographer now, aren’t they? Snapping pictures of their avocado toast, their yoga poses, their insipidly perfect lives. It’s all so dreadfully fake. Remember the days when a photo was something you had to develop? You had to be selective, choose your moments. Now, it’s all about quantity over quality. Post ten selfies a day, and hope that one gets enough likes to validate your existence.

Twitter (or X as it’s now so deceivingly called)? Don’t even talk to me about Twitter. It’s like the digital equivalent of shouting into the void. Everyone’s got an opinion, and they’re all equally worthless. The outrage, the virtue signaling, the endless threads of nonsense. It’s a cacophony of idiocy, and we’re all just adding to the noise. In the past, you could simply avoid people you didn’t like. Now, they’re inescapable, their every inane thought broadcast to the world.

And let’s not forget Facebook. The granddaddy of social media, where boomers go to share conspiracy theories and cat videos. It’s a wasteland of bad grammar and worse opinions. I mean, really, who needs to know what your aunt had for breakfast or your former classmate’s political rants? It’s like being trapped in a never-ending high school reunion, with all the awkward small talk and none of the free booze.

But it’s not just social media, darling. The whole of modern life has become a monotonous slog. Remember when shopping was an event? You’d dress up, hit the boutiques, maybe have a cheeky cocktail or three. Now, it’s all online. Click, add to cart, repeat. There’s no joy in it anymore. The thrill of the hunt has been replaced by the convenience of next-day delivery. Where’s the fun in that?

And work. Oh, the drudgery of it all. Once, there was a time when a job was something you did to pay the bills, and you left it at the office. Now, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we’re all constantly connected, perpetually on call. Emails at midnight, Zoom meetings from your living room, the lines between work and home life blurred beyond recognition. It’s all so terribly exhausting. And for what? A pat on the back and a slightly larger paycheck? I’d rather have a good, stiff drink, thank you very much.

Speaking of drinks, even that’s lost its charm. Once, you could go to a bar, order a proper cocktail, and enjoy it in peace. Now, it’s all about craft beers and artisanal spirits, each more pretentious than the last. Bartenders who think they’re chemists, concocting ridiculous concoctions with ingredients you’ve never heard of. It’s all so unbearably hipster. Give me a simple gin and tonic any day.

And what about relationships? In the past, you’d meet someone in the real world, maybe at a party or through a mutual friend. You’d have actual conversations, get to know each other. Now, it’s all about dating apps. Swipe left, swipe right, a never-ending carousel of potential partners, judged solely on their profile pictures and a few pithy lines. It’s all so superficial. Romance has been reduced to a series of digital transactions, and love is just another commodity.

Oh, and the children! Have you seen them lately? Glued to their screens, utterly disengaged from the world around them. In my day, kids played outside, scraped their knees, had adventures. Now, they’re all indoors, eyes fixed on their devices, living vicariously through YouTube and Minecraft. It’s a tragedy, really. They’re missing out on the simple joys of childhood, the freedom to explore and imagine.

And fashion. Don’t get me started on fashion. Once, there was a time when style mattered, when people dressed to impress. Now, it’s all athleisure and normcore, a sea of blandness and conformity. Where’s the glamour, the pizzazz? We’ve traded elegance for comfort, and it’s all so depressingly pedestrian. Even couture has lost its edge, with designers pandering to the masses instead of pushing boundaries. I miss the days of bold statements and daring silhouettes. Now, it’s all about what sells, not what inspires.

And food! Remember when dining out was an event, a chance to indulge in something exquisite? Now, it’s all about fast-casual and food delivery apps. People are more interested in how their meal looks on Instagram than how it tastes. We’ve lost the art of savoring, replaced by the need for instant gratification. It’s all so soulless.

But I digress. The banality of everyday life is inescapable, and we’re all complicit in perpetuating it. We’ve traded depth for convenience, substance for style. Our lives are a series of fleeting moments, captured and curated for public consumption, devoid of true meaning. We’ve become slaves to our devices, addicted to the dopamine hit of a like or a retweet. It’s all so dreadfully hollow.

And yet, we persist. We wake up, go through the motions, and hope that maybe, just maybe, something extraordinary will happen. We cling to the illusion of control, the belief that we can shape our destinies through sheer force of will. But the truth is, we’re all just cogs in a machine, grinding away in the service of a system that cares nothing for our hopes and dreams.

So what’s the solution, darling? How do we break free from the monotony, the soul-crushing banality of modern existence? I wish I had the answer. Perhaps it’s a return to simplicity, to the things that truly matter. Real connections, genuine experiences, a life lived fully and authentically. Or maybe it’s about finding joy in the little things, the small moments of beauty and wonder that can still surprise us if we’re willing to look.

One thing’s for certain: we need to reclaim our lives from the clutches of technology, to resist the lure of the digital siren song. We need to be present, to engage with the world around us, to rediscover the magic of real, unfiltered human interaction. It won’t be easy, but it’s a fight worth fighting.

So here’s to us, darling. To the dreamers, the rebels, the ones who refuse to settle for the banal. Let’s raise a glass to a life less ordinary, to the pursuit of passion and purpose, to the glorious, messy, beautiful adventure that is existence. 

Cheers! 🥂

TWO MONTHS AGO I ALMOST ENDED MY LIFE...

TWO MONTHS AGO I ALMOST ENDED MY LIFE... 

This year came tumbling down like nothing before it. The COVID pandemic disrupted the world in unimaginable ways and left a trail of destruction, sadness and hardship in its wake. 

I know it’s been a hard year for most people across the globe. I am no exception. 

Furloughed from work I spent my days locked up at home, afraid of this virus and hellbent to stay away from it at any cost, isolating myself. I guess in the midst of it all I became a nasty person to be around and this affected my marriage in a really bad way. Like any couple, we had our issues but this time round we couldn’t work through them and we decided to separate. 

In my mind I thought that we’d have the opportunity to somehow repair and mend what we broke but everything happened so fast. Within a month my then husband found a new place to live and moved out of our apartment, taking half of it with him. 

I was left alone in a half empty dwelling with all the memories and ghosts of our past. Combined with not knowing what is happening at work, (my contract runs out on 30th of September), and the news that my company was letting 4300 people go, I started to spiral.. 

When Nemo took our dog Nellie for a couple of weeks I suddenly didn’t even have a reason so get out of bed.. 

Days merged into each other and the darkness surrounded me in such a way that I just couldn’t see a sliver of hope anymore. 

I had lost everything that made me feel secure; the person that I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. My partner in crime, my lover and my best friend. My entire world came crashing down on me and I was unable to crawl out of the wreckage. Instead I started sinking with the ship.. 

I have a lot of amazing people in my life. If you are reading this, then you are surely one of them. But reaching out to any of you was not possible for me. The shame of those dark thoughts combined with the crippling feeling of hopelessness made it impossible to reach out to anyone. And every day I sank further and further..

I am not a weak person. I am the opposite. But when a chain of events so destructive takes hold of your life there’s only so much a person can handle.. 

I thought of different ways of ending it all. Every way imaginable, I thought of it. 

But a tiny part of me was still fighting, still hanging on and preventing me from taking that final step. That part of me was strong enough to muster up the courage and ask for help. 

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!

Finding help wasn’t easy. Wherever I turned the phones just kept ringing and nobody answered. I was put in a phone queue and was told I was number 98 in line. 

I waited and I waited. Hours went by. But that queue never seemed to shorten. I gave up. 

Until next day. I tried again. I called different numbers, I searched the internet but it seemed that during the worst year in modern history many known helplines have been closed or disconnected. 

Finally I managed to get hold of the psychiatric ward at the hospital here in Gothenburg and managed to get through. They took me in and helped me find my way back out of the deep hole I had spiraled down in. I am now in therapy, working through my issues. Some that are rooted deep in my childhood even. A lot of events throughout my life brought me to this place. It wasn’t “just” the stuff that happened this year. It was just the last drop that made my cup overflow... 

Why am I telling you all this now? 

There are two reasons. First of all, I know I am not the only one going through hell at the moment. There are more people out there that are struggling with the same emotions and are feeling hopeless and afraid. 

If you are one of them then I want you to know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE! You don’t have to go through this alone. There is help to get! 

Your life matters! YOU matter! 

It may be hard to see when you are at your lowest point and everything feels hopeless. But know that you are loved and you are needed by the people in your life. Don’t give up! Ask for help. If you need someone to talk to, I am here. 

Here are also the numbers where you can get help: 

Psykiatrisk mottagning Östra: 031-3421000

Psykaukten Stockholm: ‭08-123 484 00‬

MIND självmordslinjen: 90101

AssistLine (UK) : 0800 689 5652

HopeLine (UK) : 0800 068 4141

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (USA):

1-800-273-8255‬

And here is a site with international helplines:

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

I hope that this post can help someone who’s struggling and needs courage to ask for help. 

The second reason for me posting this is because I find myself at a crossroads between the life I once knew and the scary future ahead.. 

I am lost and I am scared of what the future holds. I need help to discover what life could be again. Do you have any advice that could help me find my way back to myself again? Anything to help bring on the positive change I need..

Please send me a DM. Or share in this post and maybe that advice can help someone else too... 

I just know that I am still fighting. I am still pushing forward. I AM STILL ALIVE! 

Feel free to share this post if you think it could help someone in need. 

Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

Dan ❤️

Ode to my Nana

When a soul leaves this earth, how do we keep their memory alive and make sure they aren't devoured by the forgetfulness of time? 

We tell their story, of course. And this one was my nanas..

The year 1931 in a small Bosnian village my nana Marica was born. She was one of 12 brothers and sisters growing up in the countryside. Sadly her childhood didn't last very long nor was it a happy one for that matter. As World War 2 broke out she had just turned 8 years old. Fleeing for safety most of her family was captured, split up and sent to the Jasenovac concentration camp in Bosnia. She witnessed her father Ilija and two older brothers, Vlado and Boro, brutally executed as a warning to everyone. 'Do as we say, or else..' was the message their charred bodies portrayed as they were burned alive. 

A few years ago, before she got a stroke, I sat her down and purposefully made her take this painful trip down memory lane. 

I wanted to know about her life so that one day I could tell her story. It is a life worth remembering. She told me about my grand grandmother Petra, a good hearted and strong woman who lost 4 

children either in child birth or at a very early stage in their lives. She raised the remaining 6 alone after her husband and two sons lost their lives in the war. Radojka, Nevenka and Ratko emigrated to America in the 50's while the youngest; Vida moved to Australia in the 60's. The only ones left in former Yugoslavia were Nada and my nana Marica. 

Once she turned 15 my nana started working in an Iron Foundry as a metal worker. Tough job for a young girl but in those days beggars couldn't be choosers. 

At the age of 24 she met my grandfather Ljubodrag Vrbaski, an officer in the Yugoslavian army and an Auscwitz survivor. They moved to Novi Sad and got married a year later and a year after that their only child was born; my mother Katarina. Sadly their marriage didn't last very long due to my granddads constant infidelity and they divorced when my mother was 6 years old. 

Nana claims that she never loved another man after that. She gave up on men all-together and instead focused her life on raising her daughter and working 14 hour days at the factory. 

And then, she said, came her first and for many years only grandchild; me. 

Once retired from the iron foundry she helped raise me while my mom was at work. I remember our small one bedroom apartment in Zlatna Greda street in Novi Sad. It was a measly 25 square meters with a communal outhouse and no shower. A woodburning stove and a bucket for your needs during cold winter nights. But she made the most of it on her tiny pension and there was nothing I loved more than a nice home cooked meal at my nanas place. 

A few years later my mother and I moved to Sweden. I remember I was 6 at the time and nana was crying as I waved goodbye. 

It took another few more years until our paperworks were finished and my mother could bring nana over to live with us until she got a place of her own.

It was a hard decision for someone in their 60's to just pack up and leave the life you know behind. And it was hard for her once she joined us too. She struggled with the language and never mastered more than a few words, her favorite one being 'Bra, bra!' meaning 'Good, good!' 

It was her answer to anything and everything. She soon found her greatest hobby and favorite pastime; collecting cans and bottles and recycling them for a cash profit at the local supermarket. Every day she would walk for hours and in a week she could easily make about a 500 SEK profit. 

I remember being ashamed of her behavior when I was in my early teens. She cramped my style as I tried to get in with the cool kids in school and at times I would walk past her pretending I didn't know her. She didn't mind back then. But I do mind now. 

Growing up I too fled the life I knew for greener pastures in Great Britain. I lived my life to the fullest visiting maybe once a year, if that. Each time culminating in a home cooked meal at my nanas house and each time she would give me a parting gift of some of her hard earned recycling cash and I would gladly take it and treat myself to a couple of nights out in London upon my return. 

I was ashamed of her back then, but today I am ashamed of my behavior. I hope she knows that now.

Her final five years she spent at the Kviberg Retirement home as her health prevented her from looking after herself. And she refused to move in with my mom and her ex-husband because she couldn't witness the abuse he put her through. Instead she asked to spend her final days with people her own age.

My mother visited and took care of my nana several days a week. I visited her as often as I could, but towards the end I found it hard to muster up the strength to go and see her. I couldn't cope with the fact that my beloved nana was wasting away in front of my eyes.. 

Somehow I was hoping to preserve her in my memory the way she once was; feisty, colorful and full of life. Not the empty shell of the wonderful woman I once knew.

Nana, however, didn't give up. Her heart was strong and kept her alive through 4 pneumonias during the last three years of her life. An accomplishment rarely reached by someone in their 80's. In the end she was the only one left of all her brothers and sisters with great aunty Vida and great uncle Ratko passing on within a couple of months from eachother earlier this year. 

Today we lay her beautiful soul to rest. 

It is a gloomy, dark and rainy day. My heart is heavy and it aches at the thought that I'll never see my nana again. But I have to be strong today. I have to muster up the courage not to break down and be there for my mom through this hard time. And somehow find solace in the fact that mom and I were with nana through her last days. I just hope she could feel our presence. 

Rest in peace nana! May the black earth be gentle on your soul and give her the peace she deserves. Finally she is reunited with her brothers and sisters, and one day, we will be reunited with her.. 

Marica Međed

28.06.1931

~

22.10.2015