Now it is night. One Christmas night. All unarmed wars in my little castle slept. Not awake or your brother or your sister. Even your mother now sleeps. Not only woke up zaspalite birds until he came to this polusvetla room.
I am far from you! But let oslepeya if even for a moment your portrait has disappeared from my eyes. It was here – on the table here – to my heart. But where are you? There – prikazniya in Paris, of the magnificent dance theater scene Shan h `Elize. I know that, like in a quiet night you hear footsteps, to see your eyes shining like stars in the winter darkness. I heard that your role in this party and light show is the role of Persian Beauty, captive from Tatar Khan. Be fair and dance. Be a star and siyay. But if vaztorzite and they thanked the audience intoxicated, if the flavor of flowers sent to you, they zamae, you sit in a corner, read my letter and listen to the voice of his father.
I am your father, Zheraldin!
I’m Charlie, Charlie Chaplin!
You know how many nights I sat by your bed for you to tell stories when I was small – the Sleeping Beauty for budniya dragon in the field … And when the dream comes to rest my eyes, I get him and says: “Go! I sleep with dreams of his daughter! “I see these dreams, Zheraldin see your future, today’s your day! I see a girl playing on the stage, a fairy dancing in the sky. I heard the crowd say: “See that girl? It is the daughter of the old fool. Remember how I said – Charlie? ”
Yes! I’m Charlie! I am old fool!
Today is your day. Dance! I dancing in a wide okasan and trousers, and you in silk dress of a princess. These dances and the sound of applause will sometimes rise in the heavens.
Go! Go there! But back on earth! And look at people’s lives, the lives of those street dancers in the final quarters to play hungry and shiver and beggary. I was like them, Zheraldin! In those nights, those Charming nights sleep in my talk, I stay awake. I saw your face, hit felt your heart and ask: “Charlie! Really this kitten will ever know? “You do not know me, Zheraldin … As I talk to razkazval those long nights, its story I never razkazval you … And it is also interesting … Story about a hungry fool who peeshe and dancing in the poor neighborhoods of London, and then … gathering alms … This is my story!
I vkusil hunger, I know what it means to be without a roof! Moreover, I felt pain of the humiliating skitnika poll in whose breasts Ocean raged all of pride, had a coin toss to drain. But nevertheless I am alive and live normally for a little talk.
Better to talk to you!
After your name, Zheraldin is my – Chaplin. It more than forty years I laugh people on earth. But I cried more than they are brave, Zheraldin! In the world in which you live, there is only dance and music!
At midnight, when leaving the great hall you forget richest fans, but do not forget to ask a taxi driver who takes home to his wife … And if brememnna if no money to buy a coat child, you put money in his hand. I told the bank to pay your these costs. But for others – you have to send the correct account! From time to time by subway or bus examine city walk se.Gleday people! And at least once a day said: “I am one of them!” Yes! You are one, my girl. More! Art before a human wings for excursions in visinite usually schupva his legs. And when the moment in which you feel yourself more than the audience, immediately leave the scene! Go with the first charges in the vicinity of Paris. I know them very well! … There you will see many dancers like you – even more beautiful than you, and more proud of you. Glare from the spotlight of your theater no clue! Projector is for them the moon. Look, look good! Do not dance better than you? Admit it, my girl! Always someone who dance better! And know – the family of Charlie no one was so rude to make a hack rugae or podigrae beggar, sitting near the Seine …
I will die, but you will live … I want you never to live in poverty! Along with this letter you send a white check. As you write to it. But when spending two francs, do not forget to say that the third coin is not yours. It must belong to nepoznatiya man who needs one franc. And it you can easily find. I want to see these strangers pauperism, you can find them everywhere. If you talk about money, do this because I know izmamnata force these devils … You know, I spent a long time in the circus. And I always bezpokoyal of twister. But I gotta tell you a true, my girl – making people more easily than solid ground than players of precarious rope. Maybe one night glory of the most expensive diamond will fraud. In the same night that your diamond will be unstable and fall rope you safe. Perhaps one day the beautiful face of a prince will fraud. On the same day you will be unversed twister, a twister neopitnite always fall … Not to sell my heart for gold and jewelry. For the largest diamond is the Sun. Fortunately he shine in the face of every man!
And when one day falling in love with a man, you all be with him. Your mom told you I write about it. She knows better love me, it applicable to her as you talk about it …
Your job is very difficult. I know that. Your body is covered only with a piece of silk. Because art can and will appear naked on stage, but to come back from there in wearing and cleaner …
But nothing and no one else in this world deserves to see even the nails of the feet of a girl. Nakedness is a disease of our time.
I am old and my words might sound funny. But me, your naked body must belong to one who loves Face your soul. It is not scary if your belief that is ten years from the time you go. Fear not – those ten years they will not sastaryat. But as it is, I want you to be the last person who is subject of the island of bare! …
I know that sons and fathers are always bivali in a duel. With me, fight with my thoughts, my girl. I love children subject. And before kapnat tears from my eyes on this letter, I believe – this is Christmas night, night of miracles. I want to become a miracle – you really know you all I want to tell you.
Charlie is already outdated, Zheraldin! Sooner or later, instead of white silk to the scene, you will have to wear black to go to my grave. Now I do not want to bother. Only from time to time look in the mirror, there will see me. My blood runs in your veins. I even when in my veins the blood dried up, not to forget his father – Charlie. I was not an angel, but as far as could be stremyah to be a man. Try it and you.

    Сегодня более, чем актуально процитировать эту гениальную мысль выраженную Григорием Гориным, устами своего вечного героя Барона Мюнхгаузена. В дополнение к чему, говорится…

- Я никогда не боялся быть смешным, а это не каждый может себе позволить.

(С) “Тот самый Мюнхгаузен”

of happiness.

Why? I was wondering if everything should have been happen like this. 

Every time I watch him feeling sorry for his behavior I think why he is so weak?

Every time I expect him to give me the answer or just to help me to make him

Stronger.  My hope gets less and less…

What does he want to get from his life? What he thinks I want from my life?

Does he think I feel happy or sad? Can he feel me when I say nothing? Can he read

my mind as well I can do it? I don’t know if it touches his heart when I feel pain or sad?

So many things to know and to ask, it means that we are getting know each other.   

Doubtless it is more important to get answers to these questions… and to the most

Important one Shall we live together happy life or Shall we dance and say good bye?

Zelim da krenem sa pisanjem jednog dnevnika koji ce da se zove Dnevnik jedne MIRNE BORBE…

Ja cu biti glavni borac u te price, medjutim sve ostale ce takodje biti borci SVAK za SVOJU istinu.

Borba prva/Prvi dan

Borim se za svoje pravo da zivim tako kako zelim, ne zelim ja nista izuzetno niti neobicno.

Zelim da drzim sama svoje odluke i da drzim odgovornost za to i da mi ljidi ne smetaju svojim

vizijom toga kako bih ja trebala da zivim svoj zivot.

Danas sam krenula sa borbom koja ce trajat dugo, toliko koliko cu imati snage.

Spremam se za drugi dan…

Gde su ulice srece sto nas vodili negde gde smo ziveli nekad, gde smo ziveli nesto?

Peva mi komp kasanim danom…  Sva sam u secanjima… Gde si sada? Sta radis?  Kako si mi?

Odlucila sam da napravim jako vazni korak u svom zivotu, a nema te nigde da mi krivis. Znam da si sada sapavas u bele posleljine sa crvenim cvecama, znam da ces piti tursku kafu kad se probudis… A nekad si zvao tu kafu domaca, samo zbog mene, jer znao si da mrzim turaka, … Nema te da me zezas da pricam kao hrvatica, ili posto kazem kaFa u mesto da kazem kaVa…

Dan je zaista kisan… Sutra je Uskrs… Icicu u crkvu i opet cu traziti Boga samo jedno, da me uslise ako postoji i ako se pise sa velikim slovom kao Bog a ne sa malim kao bog…

Uvek mislim na tebe kad je dan kisan, uvek se pitam kako si uspeo da mi se iskovas u srcu u tako kratkom roku,… ili mozda si vec bio iskovan odavno, cak pre nego smo se nasli… Gde god da se okrenem svugde si mi ti pored ocima.

Izbrisala sam tvoje slike, plakala sam. Izbrisala sam tvoje poruke, opet sam plakala. Izbrisala sam tvoje mejlove, bolelo mi je. Znam da mi nikad vise neces pisati ni da ces se javiti, pa sada patim od tog saznanja.

Gde su mali ulice, onog malog grada gde smo setali kisanim danima, cak i ako to je bila iluzija ili varka? Gde si mi ti? O cemu razmisljas kad je dan kisan? Radujes li se suncu?

Dal cemo jednog dana se sresti na Kalemegdanu nakon toliko vremena i prezivljenih emocija? 

Znam da cu danas izbrisati svi tvoji brojevi, nece mi biti lako znam i to da i dalje cu misleti na tebe. Ali obecala sam sebi da cu izbrisati tvoje brojeve i hocu.

Nista nije slucajnost, i mi nismo se sreli slucajno.. ali saznacemo to kasnije, kad nam mladost ce postati proslost, a mudra starost ce zaliti o glupostima koji smo dozvoljavali u mladosti.

I tada vec nece biti bitno ni pismo od 7 stranica koje si mi napisao, ali po ironije sudbine nije mi to pismo stiglo, niti razlog zasto? sta? kako?  

Ne mogu te da izbrisem iz svojoj glave i zivota, ali mogu da izbrisem tvoj broj koji svakako se vise ne koristi. 

I read this novel right the time I needed as well as I read “the Alchemist” and “Maktub”. Amazingly Paulo Coelho is right here in my life always at the time his presence is needed.

I am sure many people have the same feeling about Paulo. I allow myself call the genius simply Paulo because I define him my friend. He did a lot for me without even knowing my existence.

Please pay attention to the first sentence “For S.T. de L, who began to help me without my realizing it.” The same did Paulo. It has began in May 2006 when I first took “the Alchemist” to read while I have been traveling to Belgrade and Vienna.

It was the beginning of my big and long trip around the World aimed to find my own Right Space in this World. It was not so long ago, still I have to mention that at the begining I didn’t know the Voice of Universe exists and there are signs everywhere that we should learn to read. So I started my trip deaf and blind. From today’s view it seems to me very funny though and I feel no regret for anything done.  Do you think Santiago had the feeling of regret in the end of his journey? I am sure he didn’t, neither do I.

Paulo’s Veronika gave me another serious reason to go for deep self analysis.  And since ‘nothing in this world happens by chance’ I accept the sign.

Coming back to Veronika, I have to say that I believe one could kill herself for a simple question written by a Homme’s correspondent saying “Where is Slovenia?” Maybe the reason is that after my journey nation’s honor and pride are in the list of my main concerns.

I have a feeling that the question wasn’t chosen randomly. It was difficult time for all of former Yugoslavian countries. Slovenia has got the independence relatively easy in comparison to Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, etc. Still there is a colossal problem of finding national identity and ideology for new country, which is a painful process with lots of losses and finds. My country has same problems for many years now after the USSR split. 

She thought that Homme’s correspondent had probably told his fellow journalists on the magazine various untrue stories about local customs too, and said how badly Slovene women dress.* I think we already get used to one sided stories in press about our “third world” countries with no chance to have the truth disclosed loud enough to be heard by them.

The feeling of being unprotected of lies and inability to say the truth loud enough to be heard can cause the sense of complete hopelessly which itself can kill without even taking sleeping pills.

In a world where everyone struggles to survive whatever the cost, how could one judge those people who decide to die? No one can judge. Each person knows the extent of their own suffering, or the total absence of meaning in their lives.   

Maybe this is right, maybe wrong but at the point one think that the life is meaningless, what they need the most is to be insured the opposite.

What did she want from her life? Obviously she is one of the women that I define “statistical mistake”. I define myself statistical mistake as well. What is that and why I do so?

These are woman which are perfectly happy with the quantity of dresses in their closet, which don’t spend days on shopping at Christmas sales, can park the car in a narrow space by first try, who know first aid and quickly help instead of screaming when sees the blood, which will bring a full suitcase of books from the trip, spend maximum five minutes per day on the phone, don’t watch soaps, prefer museum to fashion show, don’t spend hours to do daily make-up and STILL they are interesting and charming for others.

Veronika brought her interior monologue to a close and made herself a promise: she would not leave Villette alive. It was best to put an end to everything now, while she was still brave and healthy enough to die.*  Her monologue was about a family model a lot of people are perfectly happy with. In my opinion she was way to romantic to accept the prosaic model of the family and happiness which was doubtless real.

People mostly don’t pay attention to friendship in relationships but to love.  Love is important but not really enough, because love knows to be selfish, which kills healthy understanding of partner. Doubtless for a relationship you need one who is relatively close to your level of understanding and accepts you the way you are.

“That’s not the lack of love, but lack of friendship that makes unhappy families”, true.

Veronika was all alone, since her monologue was addressed herself , her behavior was introverted. 

I honestly lived and felt her last minutes.

I have the same concerns about my future as well, but I am not “brave” enough to even decide to die…

… she was proud she did that,

… I am proud I can’t

This what our shootings look like…

Later on I start understand some of the quotes about marriages and divorces, I will post several quotes sometime soon.

The story is written from different prospectives. It’s sort of confrontation of two different backgrounds, mentalities and types of a woman.

I truly believe one can enjoy reading this story as well as watching the film soon.