This will do.

There’s a little story I sometimes tell. It’s a story about my life in Bosnia. More specifically, it’s about my high school classmates.

In that story I didn’t leave Bosnia on best terms.

In that story I never felt like I fit in, anywhere. In high school in Bosnia I thought I could belong, but I eventually realized I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be like them, I didn’t want to hang out with them. I was glad I was different, and I was glad I was now elsewhere.

I can’t exactly recall when I started telling this story. All I know is that it started at some point after I moved here. I imagine it was my subconscious self-defense mechanism that had to cope with the uprooting of my life and everything I built over there. In any case, only the first line of the story is true - I really did leave Bosnia on crappy terms.

Sadly.

I miss that place. I miss the streets on which I grew up. The bloody knees, the countless free throws, the hours of walking around… I miss the people, too. When I’m reminded even of those I never liked, usually via pictures on Facebook, I still kind of feel like it’d be nice to walk by them on the street and just nod. I miss playing basketball in P.E. and cramming for quizzes during those 5-min breaks. I even miss the lack of central heating, though not too much. I miss the cliques, the drama, the gossip, and the teasing.

I miss walking pretty much anywhere and seeing at least one familiar face on the way. I miss knowing every corner, alley, and questionable shortcut. I miss feeling like I have a home. I even miss complaining about the damn place.

I miss it all, at least a little.

However, Prijedor is no longer my home, and I’m afraid to feel even this bit of nostalgia. Here I am, writing this in English, as if hoping nobody from there will understand it…

And if you do…well, sorry it didn’t work out too well. I suppose life sometimes follows Newton’s first law.

So, does that mean that most of us are smart?

If you need a quiz…

I like being busy since, as most people, I dislike boredom.

However, I don’t like being busy weeks ahead of time. It gets in the way of having a life.

Spontaneity is a nice thing. Why is it so hard to find time for it?

(Translation: I’m really busy these days, but I’m still alive…I think.)