There is hidden treasure, deep
inside ourselves, only we can see it, touch it, only we can have it whenever we
want, to spend it as much as we wish and not to spend all of it ever. It's name
is Memories. And in the moment when something is missing a lot, you go to your
hidden treasure and search for the thing you haven't had for a long time and you
would really like to have it once again, touch your sorrow, and again in one
moment, happy like that. You remember one of those many days that changed your
life. In the sea of memories you look for the answers to many questions, in only
one moment you realize that many things you could not prevent and stop but you
are happy that you have memories, your endless treasure house, you could carry
every joy and every sorrow of your heart in it and to enjoy them whenever you
want. If there had not been so much joy, you would have never known how much the
life is beautiful and only one, if there had not been so much sorrow, I could
not have written this to you now, there would not have been enough colours in my
paintings. I return to my short childhood with smile on my face, I remember my
first coloured paintings and little dreams, little wishes, first small dog,
first violin that I rejoiced that much. And I would like to be a child again
just for one moment, to touch all those clean and forgotten things, to be happy
for small presents, for every flower in my mother's garden, every colourful bird
that would by chance flew to our windows, every coulored pencil and my grandpa's
big boxes of candies. Now I know that I was a child for such short time, but
that short time never died in me at least a small part of every my painting I
will give to my childhood - maybe to blueness of the sky, that was carrying our
first kites, maybe to greenness of grass, where we were trolling so many times,
maybe to silver twinkling of river, where we chased frogs for the first time and
laughed for long time. I return to my first school days, to first wickedness
when we did not even know what we wanted. The thing that we were young and
immature was enough. I return to my first sea and its waves, first shells which
I was looking for hours and hours on the other beaches. I return to those people
who are not present anymore but who gave me a lot, to my grandfather, who was my
voice of wisdom, who took with himself all our secrets into one world far away,
who gave me a heart that big, I return to our last talk. I return to my friends
and our sleepless nights. I return to my Peggy who knew how to love, to look
after and to protect my peaceful dream. Every day I return to my mother and my
father who live for my smile. I return to day before when for the first time I
wished to write down these words. I quest for my memories, for the day when I
stopped being a child and I know that I will search for it forever since it does
not exist. Every new morning was brining me new drops of life that were
collecting, disappearing and again falling down on our soul, heavy and
inexplicable. And in the moment we do not want that at all, we hear them again
persistently banging on the windows. And we can not handle with them, we can
only wait for the sunshine to melt them but the Sun is not allways shining on
our windows. I remember my sorrows and unfinished stories, I remember the life
that did not want to give a lot and wanted to take a lot. And if there it had
not been I would not have remembered one love on wheels, I would not have
remembered one March and deep dark eyes in purple colour of sunset, I would have
not known why I like Carmen and Forrest Gump. If there had not been that much of
darkness, my paintings would not have had that light. If there had not been that
many unfulfilled wishes I would not have dreamt. And again I rejoice at every
new day although I know that it is full of sorrow and disappointment, I rejoice
the fact that I exist, the fact that I breed, that I create, that I transform
everything bad into good, I rejoice at every smile that I see in someone's face,
every warm word. And I know that everything is not still lost since we exist and
our memories too.
Memories, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.27.2006.
۞
Postoji jedno sakriveno blago, duboko
u nama. Samo mi možemo da ga vidimo i dodirnemo, samo mi možemo da ga imamo uvek
kada poželimo, da ga trošimo koliko hoćemo i da ga nikada ne potrošimo. Njegovo
ime je Sećanja. I onda kada ti nešto mnogo nedostaje odeš do svog sakrivenog
blaga i potražiš ono što odavno nemaš a voleo bi ponovo da imaš, dodirneš svoju
tugu i ponovo si na trenutak srećan. Setiš se jednog od mnogih dana koji ti je
promenio život. U moru sećanja tražiš odgovore na mnoga pitanja. U samo jednom
trenu shvatiš da mnogo toga i da si hteo nisi mogao da zaustaviš i da zadržiš,
ali si srećan što imaš sećanja, svoju beskrajnu riznicu u kojoj možeš da čuvaš
sve radosti i tuge svoga srca i da si sa njima uvek kada poželiš. Da nije bilo
toliko radosti nikada ne bih znala koliko je život lep i samo jedan, da nije
bilo toliko tuge ne bih mogla sada da vam pišem, ne bi bilo dovoljno boja na
mojim slikama. Vraćam se u svoje kratko detinjstvo i sa osmehom na licu sećam se
svojih prvih šarenih slika i malih snova, malih želja, prvog malenog psa, prve
violine kojoj sam se toliko radovala. I volela bih da samo na jedan tren ponovo
budem dete, da dodirnem sve ono čisto i zaboravljeno, da se radujem malim
poklonima, svakom cvetu u dvorištu moje drage majke, svakoj šarenoj ptici koja
bi slučajno doletela na naše prozore, svakoj šarenoj olovci i velikim kutijama
slatkiša moga dede. Sada znam da mnogo sam malo bila dete, ali i to malo nikada
nije umrlo u meni, makar samo jedan delić svake svoje slike pokloniću svom
detinjstvu: možda u plavetnilu neba koje je nosilo naše prve zmajeve, možda u
zelenilu trave po kojoj smo se toliko puta valjali, možda u srebrnom treperenju
reke u kojoj smo prvi put jurili žabe i dugo se smejali. Vraćam se u svoje prve
školske dane, u prve nestašluke kada nismo znali šta smo hteli. Bilo je dovoljno
samo to što smo mladi i nezreli. Vraćam se svom prvom moru i njegovim talasima,
prvim školjkama za kojima sam satima tragala po dugim obalama. Vraćam se onima
kojih više nema a mnogo su mi dali, svom dedi koji je bio moj glas razuma, koji
je sve naše tajne odneo sa sobom u daleki svet, koji mi je toliko sreće
poklonio, vraćam se našem poslednjem dugom razgovoru. Vraćam se svojim
prijateljima i našim neprospavanim noćima. Vraćam se svojoj Pegi koja je znala
da voli, da čuva i da brani moj miran san. Vraćam se svakog dana svom ocu i
majci koji žive za moj osmeh. Vraćam se u juče kada prvi put poželela sam da
napišem ove reči. Tragam u svojim sećanjima za danom kada sam prestala da budem
dete i znam da ću tragati uvek jer on ne postoji. Svako novo jutro donosilo nam
je nove kapi života koje su se polako taložile, nestajale i ponovo padale na
našu dušu, teške, neobjašnjive. I onda kada to najmanje želimo ponovo ih čujemo
kako uporno lupaju po našim prozorima. I ne možemo im ništa, možemo samo da
čekamo sunce da ih istopi ali sunca nema uvek na našim prozorima. Setih se
svojih tuga i nedorečenih priča, setih se života koji nije hteo puno da daje a
voleo je da uzima. I da nije bilo njega ne bih se sećala jedne ljubavi na
točkovima, ne bih se sećala jednog marta i dubokih tamnih očiju u purpurju
zalazećeg sunca, ne bih znala zašto volim Carmen i Forrest Gump. Da nije bilo
toliko mraka moje slike imale bi malo svetla. Da nije bilo toliko neispunjenih
želja ne bih sanjala. I opet se radujem svakom novom danu iako znam da puno je
tuge i razočarenja u njemu, radujem se što postojim, što dišem, što stvaram, što
želim da pretvorim sve loše u dobro, radujem se svakom osmehu koji vidim na
nečijem licu, svakoj toploj reči. I znam da još uvek nije sve izgubljeno dok je
nas i naših sećanja.
Sećanja, autor Suzana Stojanović,
27.07.2006.
