It is said that, on a train,
there is hope and fear of setting off into the world, the pain of many goodbyes
and the sorrow of aimless journeys, the restlessness of youth and the
uselessness of many expectations. Train journeys are long, they may represent
the only moment when we feel that all the time in this world belongs to us. As
the images of cities and people are quickly passing by, we are slowly thinking
about our own life. On that long journey we have to choose whether to live our
own life or to let ourselves lead a fake one. We meet different people, hear
their life stories which are sometimes tragic and sometimes beautiful. This is a
story about a man lost somewhere on the bridge between family and work, in the
crowd of people and reality. I met him by accident twenty years ago when I
decided to take a step into the far away world and face all its beauty and
dangers. Somewhere in that world I met him, the man who reappeared so many times
in my thoughts. I remember that time when we were young and brave but at the
same time conscious that freedom is our greatest treasure, the priceless
treasure. Our home were trains and freedom, the sky full of stars which we
observed for so long, fantasizing. And then everything changed. War ruined our
wishes and dreams, we could no longer see the stars. Everything turned into dust
and the wind that carried lives and people into an unknown direction...We have
never seen or heard from each other again. All that left was a memory and the
promise we gave one another a long time ago. I’ve been keeping him deep in my
heart for all these years. Now, while I’m writing this, I’m coming back to him
for the last time; for the last time I remember everything with tears in my
eyes...After twenty years someone from the far away world tried to refresh his
memories. I don’t know how but I knew it was him. Everything seemed unreal, I
thought I was dreaming...and then, suddenly, I started waking up from that
dream. My memory started to fade away somewhere into the distance, in the shadow
of the man who was looking at me without the sparkle in his eyes, in the shadow
of bodyguards who kept his freedom...- I’ve become a powerful man - was one of
the first sentences he pronounced. - And what is power? - I asked. His blurred
look wandered around the black limousine with dark windows, his bodyguards were
waiting like trained dogs, being quiet, listening...An unnatural smile was
spreading across the room while he was telling me about his wealth, about people
whose destinies he created. While I was watching a strange man in the same body,
pain was ripping through my chest. He was in the clouds not knowing that greater
height brings greater desolation. That powerful man I no more recognised tried
to buy my freedom with gifts, he forgot that once he knew that freedom cannot be
bought and that generosity isn’t in one’s pocket but in one’s heart. He couldn’t
face the fact that I remained the same, that in spite of all the temptations I
managed to preserve myself; the price wasn’t important. He was planning our
happiness without knowing that nothing’s more hopeless than its planning. - Do
you remember the promise? - I asked. He was quiet. That was some kind of an
answer, too. While he was enjoying his power I was creating. I created My world
and gave it to him as a present, I gave something priceless, the part of my
heart where I kept and nurtured the memory and the promise. It was hard saying
goodbye, not to the strange man in the same body but to the memories. I said
goodbye and kissed my freedom. And yes, I felt powerful!
Freedom is power, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.10.2008.
Freedom is power, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.10.2008.
۞
Kažu da je u vozu nada i
bojazan polaska u svet, bol mnogih rastanaka i sav jad besciljnih putovanja,
nemir mladosti i uzaludnost mnogih očekivanja. Putovanja u vozu su duga, možda
jedini trenuci kada imamo osećaj da sve vreme ovoga sveta pripada nama. Dok
slike gradova i ljudi brzo prolaze pored nas, mi sporo razmišljamo o svom
životu. Na tom dugom putu moramo da odaberemo da li ćemo živeti sopstvenim
životom ili ćemo sebi dopustiti da vodimo lažan život. Upoznajemo razne ljude,
slušamo njihove životne priče, ponekad tragične, ponekad lepe. Ovo je priča o
jednom čoveku, izgubljenom negde na mostu između porodice i poslova, u gomili
ljudi i realnosti. Upoznala sam ga slučajno pre dvadeset godina kada sam
odlučila da zakoračim u daleki svet i da se suočim sa svim njegovim lepotama i
opasnostima. Negde u tom svetu srela sam njega, čoveka kome sam se mnogo puta
vraćala u mislima. Sećam se tog vremena kada smo bili mladi i hrabri, ali isto
tako svesni da je sloboda naše najveće bogatstvo, bogatstvo koje nema cenu. Naš
dom bili su vozovi i sloboda, nebo puno zvezda koje smo dugo posmatrali i
maštali. A onda se sve promenilo. Rat je opustošio naše želje i snove, više
nismo mogli da vidimo zvezde. Sve se pretvorilo u prašinu i vetar koji je nosio
živote i ljude u nekom nepoznatom pravcu... Više se nikada nismo videli ni čuli.
Ostalo je samo sećanje i obećanje koje smo jedno drugom davno dali. Svih ovih
godina čuvala sam ga duboko u svom srcu. Sada dok ovo pišem poslednji put mu se
vraćam, poslednji put se sećam svega sa suzama u očima... Posle dvadeset godina
neko iz dalekog sveta pokušao je da osveži sećanja. Ne znam kako, ali znala sam
da je on. Sve je izgledalo nestvarno, mislila sam da sanjam... a onda, iznenada,
počela sam da se budim iz sna. Moje sećanje počelo je da nestaje negde u
daljini, u senci čoveka koji me posmatrao bez sjaja u očima, u senci
telohranitelja koji su čuvali njegovu slobodu... - Postao sam moćan čovek - bila
je jedna od prvih rečenica koje je izgovorio. - A šta je to moć? - pitala sam.
Njegov zamućeni pogled lutao je po crnoj limuzini sa tamnim prozorima, njegovi
telohranitelji su poput dresiranih pasa čekali, ćutali, slušali. Izveštačeni
smeh širio se po sobi dok je pričao o svom bogatstvu, o ljudima čije je sudbine
krojio. Dok sam posmatrala nepoznatog čoveka u istom telu, bol mi je cepao
grudi. Leteo je pomahnitalo ka visini ne znajući da veća visina donosi i veću
pustoš. Taj nepoznati moćni čovek pokušao je da kupi moju slobodu poklonima,
zaboravio je da je nekada znao da se sloboda ne kupuje i da darežljivost nije u
džepu nego u srcu. Nije mogao da se suoči sa činjenicom da sam ostala ista, da
sam uprkos svim iskušenjima uspela da sačuvam sebe; cena nije bila bitna.
Planirao je našu sreću i ne znajući da ništa nije beznadežnije od njenog
planiranja. - Da li se sećas obećanja? - pitala sam. Ćutao je. I to je bila neka
vrsta odgovora. Dok je uživao u svojoj moći ja sam stvarala. Stvorila sam "My
world" i poklonila ga njemu, poklonila sam nešto što nema cenu, deo svog srca u
kome sam čuvala i negovala sećanje i obećanje. Bilo je teško reći zbogom, ne
nepoznatom čoveku u istom telu, već sećanjima. Rekla sam zbogom i poljubila
svoju slobodu. I da, osećala sam se moćno!
Sloboda je moć, autor
Suzana Stojanović, 10.07.2008.
