#PERIOD AFTER Jasmina Tesanovic - 11/04/1999- Belgrade

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 April 11th, 1999
Just a small Easter thought: if somebody is killing, raping, ethnically-cleansing Albanians, why should I be spared of it? My friend, a very decent person, cannot believe it is happening; as far as I am concerned I believe everything too much.
Last night at midnight Belgrade was on foot, sirens were on but still people were crowding in the churches, around the churches for the midnight service: the Easter service. I was looking at the people: old, simple and poor ragged people, young and middle-aged snobs and then the fewest, those who really believe. All crowding together with the same tragic expression in their face, as in an staged opera in La Scala. On the other hand, at the same time on the bridge crossing the Sava, the concert, rock folk whatever, was raging, people were angry, patriotic, believing in their power instead of God's.

I couldn't find my place on either side: I don't believe in God but I don't believe in myself against the world as it is. I am afraid when the alarm is on, I don't want my children to risk anything for anybody. So I went to the video club and took some films to watch. It was a Mickey Rourke film, my favorite actor until 18 days ago: he was so foolish, I thought, he knew nothing of my life anymore, he doesn't love me anymore, so I couldn't pay him back with adoration. We don't share the crucial experience of my life, so Mickey Rourke and I had to split after so many years...

I went to bed early and slept like a log, my fridge emits terrible sounds, worse than air raids, so I decided to switch it off and clean it today, even though it is bad omen to clean on Easter, my granny used to say.
When I was five my granny took me for Easter to church, secretly, so that my parents, communists wouldn't know. I remember the secrecy, the fear and excitement on entering the biggest building I ever saw in my life, smelling of strange odors and glimmering with candles, from roof to the pavement, all round me. After the first moment of joy, I remember this feeling that until today never abandoned me when entering a church: the feeling of nothingness, powerlessness, invisibility of my little person. I started crying like crazy, in a fit, saying to my granny, I will be burned, I will be punished... She took me out, much in distress over her failed mission. She bought me an ice cream and a toy dog. Never again did we speak about Easter or church. Not until many years later did I enter a church again, the feeling was pretty the same, but I was stronger, my mystical crisis was over, not resolved, but over. And my granny wasn't alive anymore to give me an answer or comfort.

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