Kutina (Croatia)
The sound of water. Birdsong. Chirping crickets. Fresh air that still has the scent of rain in it. Trees. Trees everywhere. A dense forest and me in the middle of it. A forest without a path, but with memories. I was here as a little boy with my grandpa, eager to explore the world, about four or five years old. The house I lived in is on the other side of the road.
It's still there. But it's falling apart. Time is wearing it down. The façade is crumbling and cracked. The wall is full of holes, the whole building is sagging. Life is no longer possible inside. Time takes everything we humans build within it. We are in it and we disappear in it.
At the edge of the cemetery, I discover a pile of gravel. There is a gravestone with a picture of a young-looking man. The inscription has faded, the grave has been opened and cleared. No one knows who this man was. No one who knew him is still alive. There is no one left to look after his memory.
But sometimes the memory is also a torture and it would be better if it disappeared forever. Once again, my past catches up with me. And once again it is more present than I would like. Patterns long thought to be behind me awaken. I wish I didn't have this mental pain with me. This emptiness. And I wish I wasn't so helplessly at it's mercy. Above all, the fear of abandonment is so present that it robs me of any sense of being in the moment.
But back to the forest. I don't remember us talking. I can remember hot summer days. And I can remember feelings. One of them is excitement. What awaits us here in these magical surroundings? Wild animals? Other people? Mythical creatures? I was cautious, a little apprehensive, but ready to embark on the adventure.
The first few times I went with my grandfather. After that, I always went on my own. I don't remember where he was going, only that it was through the woods to the other side of the road where I am standing now. I know that I had no destination. The magic of the forest was my goal, the fantasies and the adventures it triggered in me. That's what I got.
I have never been lost in it, but here in this world so often.
And when I do, I find myself lost between worlds. I can't call any of them home. Familiar and strange, always both at the same time. No swing to one or the other, the pendulum stands still. And that's how my life feels too. The magic I felt back then has remained in this forest. Remembering has stayed with me.
But sometimes the magic comes out and I dream of a wonderful life. And when I wake up from these dreams and am free from the tormenting memories of the past, I even realize that I am living a life full of wonder.
The sound of water. Birdsong. Chirping crickets. Fresh air that still has the scent of rain in it. Trees. Trees everywhere. A dense forest and me in the middle of it. A forest without a path, but with memories. I was here as a little boy with my grandpa, eager to explore the world, about four or five years old. The house I lived in is on the other side of the road.
It's still there. But it's falling apart. Time is wearing it down. The façade is crumbling and cracked. The wall is full of holes, the whole building is sagging. Life is no longer possible inside. Time takes everything we humans build within it. We are in it and we disappear in it.
At the edge of the cemetery, I discover a pile of gravel. There is a gravestone with a picture of a young-looking man. The inscription has faded, the grave has been opened and cleared. No one knows who this man was. No one who knew him is still alive. There is no one left to look after his memory.
But sometimes the memory is also a torture and it would be better if it disappeared forever. Once again, my past catches up with me. And once again it is more present than I would like. Patterns long thought to be behind me awaken. I wish I didn't have this mental pain with me. This emptiness. And I wish I wasn't so helplessly at it's mercy. Above all, the fear of abandonment is so present that it robs me of any sense of being in the moment.
But back to the forest. I don't remember us talking. I can remember hot summer days. And I can remember feelings. One of them is excitement. What awaits us here in these magical surroundings? Wild animals? Other people? Mythical creatures? I was cautious, a little apprehensive, but ready to embark on the adventure.
The first few times I went with my grandfather. After that, I always went on my own. I don't remember where he was going, only that it was through the woods to the other side of the road where I am standing now. I know that I had no destination. The magic of the forest was my goal, the fantasies and the adventures it triggered in me. That's what I got.
I have never been lost in it, but here in this world so often.
And when I do, I find myself lost between worlds. I can't call any of them home. Familiar and strange, always both at the same time. No swing to one or the other, the pendulum stands still. And that's how my life feels too. The magic I felt back then has remained in this forest. Remembering has stayed with me.
But sometimes the magic comes out and I dream of a wonderful life. And when I wake up from these dreams and am free from the tormenting memories of the past, I even realize that I am living a life full of wonder.