Ana-log No. 14 (September and October)

 

Photo: @newfaceevryday on Instagram

Hey friends! I am bringing you into September as promised. It is also September as I am writing these words, which is rare if you’re familiar with my record. It feels good to be on time for once! So, without further ado, let us begin!

Whole of September, and especially the beginning of the month was bathed in the shadows of my leave. As you are well aware by now, I have decided to leave the editorship, and although I was completely ready to leave, it all kind of slapped me in the face when it was laid out in front of me. The final decision was there and there was no turning back. I was resolute to leave, but I still felt sad about leaving some people and the few things I actually enjoyed. I spent a whole year there after all. That’s quite a long stretch. I am surprised I prevailed as long as I did, just between you and I. Right now, all I want to use this opportunity to reflect on my year of journalism.

First of all, I need to set the scene. I was fresh out of the pandemic haze and more importantly, even fresher out of the pretty severely traumatic situation that led me back to Belgrade where I was set on finding a job and attempting to run away from less favorable conditions I was facing in Montenegro. So there I was with only my skills and good faith leading me forward towards fulfilling my dream of becoming one of the voices of free media. I applied to a few positions and I was finally accepted at AMG (I’ll use the abbreviation of the media company Adria Media Group because it’s simpler). I sat with the two top editors and was sort of accepted on the spot. Looking back that should’ve been my first red flag, but I shall go into that in a second.

Anyways, I accepted the position and promised to start work on the 1^st of September once I come back from Kotor. That’s exactly what happened. I got to work as soon as I returned from sunny Montenegro. Mind you, this was supposed to be my internship for the first three months, yet I was doing everything regular journalists who have been in the business for years, were doing. I barely had any training. They were sort of bouncing me around like a ping pong ball as they were working on their own tasks. They didn’t have much time and even less patience. I fully understood that, but I felt like I was misunderstood by them. For instance, I didn’t need anyone throwing a hissy fit when I made a mistake or asked a genuine question. I needed someone who would be a mentor, a confidant, a friend; someone who’d listen and truly care about who I was as a person, not being just another cog in the mass media machine. This brings me to my next point.

There was practically no room for individuality or self-expression. We were all seen as carbon copies of the picture of what they deemed an acceptable journalist should look like. It was abundantly clear to me that I wouldn’t stay there for long from the get go, but I knew I had to stick it out because I lacked experience. I was determined to do what I am told, make no fuss and try to find avenues to express my self even when it seemed impossible.

The first couple of months (from September, up until January/February) were not all too bad. If you exclude the stress, phone anxiety and the crappy energy, it was kind of manageable. I could deal with the negative because the positive was all so exciting, and also my expectations were giving me motivation to keep pushing forward. I was thrilled when I got to interview people and actually write my own articles, but once those opportunities became fewer and further apart, the adrenaline slowly began to wear off.

My first of many grievances occurred when I was delegated to work on the world news, which meant I would have even less time to focus on my own original articles and even when I had the time I’d have to write about the stuff that was currently popular (this annoyed me a little, but I was mostly fine with it), and that I would have to work even harder on reaching the number of clicks because Balkan people don’t really care about world news. If you don’t put ‘Serbia’ or ‘Serbian’ in the title you might as well scrap the entire article. Again, I understand, but what bothered me was the bar that was set for our column. We clearly couldn’t compete with the articles focusing on Serbian news and entertainment, yet we were expected to. Also, the numbers never really made any difference to us personally. High numbers wouldn’t give us a pay rise and low numbers wouldn’t get us fired, just scolded by our superiors, which was nothing but a minor inconvenience, because we knew they didn’t have the luxury to remove us from our positions since there were so few journalists working there.

I don’t even want to go into what kind of nonsense we had to feed into the collective mouth of the public in order to reach our targets, but I’ll just say the more ridiculous the content was, the higher the numbers became. It didn’t even have to be fitting within the format of world news, it just had to be shocking and/or inappropriate. Needless to say, I was over it pretty much as soon as I started, because it just didn’t make any sense to me. Why would I take something senseless that someone else had written, copy it word for word and regurgitate its message solely for the shock value it inspired within the primitive society that favored it? It was not gratifying, it was not original, nor clever, and I was not having it.

The very few instances when I was content with my work was when I collaborated with international figures to create inspiring articles. Some of my colleagues praised me, but my superiors were not too thrilled about it and it showed because those instances expressed my superiority in terms of language proficiency and general capability as a journalist, and they just couldn’t handle anyone being better or more knowledgeable than them. What a spiteful sad little world they have created for themselves. Oh well, that didn’t stop me, but inspired me to persist even harder.

Speaking of people, as I mentioned before, it wasn’t a very inspiring or motivational environment. I don’t think anyone was there because they wanted to, but because they couldn’t find anything better, or had no desire to look for other job opportunities. What was supposed to be thrilling, vibrant and highly energetic environment proved to be depressing, miserable, judgmental and surprisingly homophobic, sexist and close-minded. It just blew my mind that they had the chance to work in one of the most entertaining industries in the world and managed to suck out all the fun of it. I just could not understand. How can you be supposedly doing what you love and be miserable every single day? It was as if someone sent them off to fight in Ukraine. For Goodness sake!

The people weren’t outwardly horrible. They were able to contain their more negative traits under the veil of professionalism, but the negativity still emanated from them clear enough for newcomers to notice and be repulsed by it. There was a lot of passive aggression, snide remarks, comments on peoples appearance and lifestyle choices, etc. If they saw something they disagreed with or even found unusual, they would jump on it and wouldn’t let go. No one and nothing was safe. I dreaded walking into that office each morning, especially when two particular people were there.

That is pretty much everything I want to write about as of right now. I am certain I’ll have more things to add once the impressions settle down a bit. But I just want end on a high note by saying how appreciative I still am for this opportunity. I really mean it. I am truly grateful that I was able to come back to Belgrade and cut my teeth in the world of media. No matter what happens in the future, I can rest assured knowing that I have completely fulfilled my childhood dream and a part of my purpose here on this Earth. I am proud of myself for handling each situation with as much courage and grace as I could muster.

“What happens next?”, you may be wondering. I am not sure as of now, but I promise it will be fun. That is my whole intention in whatever I choose to do. I want it to be fun and I want it to be creatively challenging and fulfilling.

My goal in the weeks to come is to heal my spirit by doing anything and everything that pleases it. I may take more walks, I may exercise again, I may see my friends more and travel again… I don’t have a concrete plan right now, but I’ll figure it out as I go. After I am done, and only then, will I look for a new job. That may take a week or two or it may take a couple of months. It’ll be fine either way. Thankfully I am in no rush. But still keep your fingers crossed for me, will you? I need all the positive vibes I can get moving forward.

Moving right into October where I felt burning jolts of panic and anxiety permeate through my body and mind. Actually, the first thing that occurred was excruciating boredom that was, oh so difficult to shake off. I literally didn’t know what to do with myself. It all boiled down to waiting and waiting and more waiting. I felt like my hands were tied and I couldn’t do anything about it. Alas, a ray of light illuminated my life when I decided to get back out there, dating-wise. I dove head first, as I typically do. This time, however, I had done so with far more conviction and less expectations. Was it easy? Absolutely not. Was it fun? Hell yes! It was perhaps the most fun I ever had and I want to do it over and over again until I get plain sick of it. I realized just how much I loved dating. Sure it’s hard sometimes and rejection hurts like hell, but it’s worth it.

Now, I have to say that I wrote those words in the highest thrill I ever felt in my adult life. I cannot say that the unbearable pain that ensued was entirely worth it, but here I am still, I guess. I am still alive and breathing and hoping to get the best out of the experience. You may be a bit confused, so let me take you through two of the most significant weeks thus far.

It all started on the 23^rd of October when my college bestie Caka and I decided to have a full week of productivity in which we would take each other on our respective errand runs. That would all have been fun and dandy should I have just stuck to the plan. Alas, I had to jump into the dating pool, knowing well enough it would be far too exciting and possibly risky and painful. But you know, it was something I just had to do.

So we started on Monday, two days after I had an awkward video date with a Swedish guy from Boo. Mind you, this only inspired me to move forward onto another app, which was Bumble. My resurgence was slow but steady. I managed to arrange two or three dates by Monday. But let me first continue with the story of Caka and I.

Anyways, Caka and I were strolling along the streets of Belgrade trying to sort all of our documents whilst chatting about all kinds of different topics. I was telling her about my potential dates and she was really excited for me. We’ve done all we could errand-wise, said our goodbyes and that concluded our Monday. It was fine and calm and neither of us thought anything would happen before at least Wednesday or Friday. Well, certain sweetheart of a guy had very different plans, or was it me? Whatever.

This is how it started: Caka and I were going about business as usual, as I continued texting. I genuinely did not think anything would happen… well, at least not as quickly as it did. The guy I mentioned and I sort of decided to meet that day, that Tuesday. Caka and I first went out to meet or colleague from college. We had coffee with him and then I went to meet my date. I stood there wondering from which direction he’ll appear. I was a tad nervous, but I managed to brush it off. It helped that I was in a great mood and had a killer outfit. He arrived a few minutes past six, all cute and shy, and I was right there with him. I was initially kind of shy as well, but not for long. We got on pretty quickly and had a great time talking and poking fun at each other. We walked all over the downtown of Belgrade, chatting and laughing and kissing, of course. He later walked me to the bus stop where we said our goodbyes, promising to meet again on Saturday.

Two days passed without a message of confirmation, so I just decided to make the first move. Absolutely no answer. Cue the cricket noises. So what could’ve I done? I just moved on, for a bit, at least. I went on another date, which was an utter failure in comparison. I was sad, dispirited and hurt in a way I hadn’t quite imagined I’d be. All of these feelings didn’t inspire me to wallow in my misery, but take action, or to demand an explanation, more precisely. I sent yet another message that actually received a response. He very nicely apologized and promised to explain everything once we met on Saturday, should I agree to meet him. I thought about it for a bit and responded the next morning, after the funeral of a close family friend. I basically agreed with him, crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. I wasn’t exactly hoping to jump back where we ended on Tuesday, but more so thinking of how this would be a necessary step towards becoming a more mature and self-aware person. I knew I had to do it because it made me feel so uncomfortable. I felt like I wanted to run and hide, and I just couldn’t allow myself to be that person again. I knew I had to face him, even if nothing came from it.

And so we met on Saturday in the local forest. We had a lovely picnic and talked about everything. The conversation was a bit static due to the prior events, but we slowly began to open up to each other. He told me about his concerns and I explained where I was coming from and why I acted the way I did. We even had a drawing session. We each drew little doodles, which was so cute. I never drew with a guy before. That was a first one. Speaking of which, 2022 was chalk-full of first time experiences, from being with a much older man, to having brand new sexual experiences, to interviewing and meeting so many new and interesting people, skating, traveling and so much more! This year won’t be forgotten for long, that is for sure.

Going back to our date in the forest- as it was getting dark and cold, we decided to move on over to civilization, or rather sit at a cafe. That is where our conversations became more serious and our affection more heated. Although there was some tension and indecisiveness, it felt like our rapport was going fairly smoothly. I felt like this was something that could be worked on, something that had the potential to grow.

After that we had dinner and went dancing. We were having so much time dancing and singing and having long, long make out sessions. When it was time to go he walked me to my place. He went back to kiss me again. The kiss was burning with passion as his hands moved all over my body. Surprisingly, as turned on as I was, I had not even thought about resisting to temptation and that was because I knew I wanted to take it slow, that is as slow as I possibly could. I kind of regret that decision now, and I will soon explain why.

After we said our goodbyes, it felt like everything would be fine, even if just for a while. I went to bed and when I woke up it was time to pack my bags because I was set on traveling to Skopje to meet my online friend. I felt every emotion in the book. I was excited and happy because I was infatuated with him and because I was about to cross off a major thing off my bucket list, I was scared because I had no idea if I’d be able to find my way around a completely new country and also because I didn’t know what our relationship would be like once I returned to Belgrade. 

Nevertheless, I set about my journey to North Macedonia. I arrived right on time and was hanging around my apartment for a bit until my friend told me to come and meet her for the very first time. As soon as she told me she’s ready I hopped in the taxi and came to Rekord stop where she was waiting for me. She recognized me right away and gave me a big hug. It felt like seeing an old friend that you hadn’t seen in a long time. It was comfortable and safe. We already knew everything about each other so it was pretty easy to have a solid conversation. I gave her a little present because she just got married (she’s also pregnant with her first child). She absolutely loved it! Her husband took me back to my place afterwards, or so I thought because it was indeed close but I still had no idea where I was.

This is where all hell broke lose. Well, let me first say- thank Lord for the nice Macedonians who where helping me find my way back to the apartment. I first stumbled upon one gentleman who took me in his car in an attempt to help me find the address quicker. We were helplessly circling the place for solid 15-20 minutes. In the meantime I received a message from you know who and it was not a pretty message. He sent something along the lines of: “Ana, I no longer wish to go out with you. It’s not your fault. You’re a lovely person and I had a great time with you, but I just feel like I don’t want to go further.” When I tell you that everything around me disappeared and I felt my spirit leave my body, I mean it. The man was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. Obviously I had to come back to my senses because I had to work with him, and later with his son and daughter-in-law, in trying to identify the apartment building. We were walking around the neighborhood and then they drove me in their car which helped find the place fairly quickly. I was beyond grateful. I hope those wonderful people are safe and well and I wish them nothing but happiness.

The first thing I felt as I entered the apartment was clearly a sense of relief, followed by exhaustion. I was overwhelmed, tired, scared and incredibly starved. I knew how I’d respond to his message, but I just had no energy to type, so I went to bed. I slept for perhaps four or five hours. It was around 5:30 am when I woke up. I was numb, but resolute to have a snack and some tea and respond to his message. I thought I would just get it over with and go about my day, but his response absolutely crushed me.

I can’t be bothered to type out the entire conversation, and it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. All that matters is the part where he wrote this: “you have a friend in me”. That killed me right there and then. I froze and then I started bawling my eyes out. A friend? Are you f**ing serious right now? After everything that happened he has the audacity to be my friend. Not only is it wildly inaccurate, it is simply unfathomable. Even the word acquaintance wouldn’t do it justice. I don’t have a word to describe what this is and I don’t think I ever will.

Anyways, I spent that entire day ugly crying. In my defense, part of that was due to extreme exhaustion, fear, sleeplessness, excitement, PMS and hunger. I hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep and a proper meal in about a week. I knew it was bad when I couldn’t recognize my face in the mirror. Pain does that to you. It digs out your spirit and morphs your perception of reality and time. However, as hurt as I was, I still picked myself up and tried to move on. I showered, got dressed, I ate for the first time in days and I believe I napped a little before stepping outside. The beautiful city and its people really helped in providing me with the comfort I needed.

I was far from being actually healed, but I knew in my heart of hearts that everything would be fine. I struggled to understand why everything happened the way it did. Why did I feel such a strong connection with someone so reckless? Nothing made sense and it was driving me insane. I couldn’t find a reason why we met, but then it just clicked. There were at least two reasons; the first being the fact that he was a new and improved (believe it or not) version of the guy I met two years ago, who I believed was my soulmate. This guy very clearly stepped into the shoes of his namesake “friend” by giving me the opportunity to do what I couldn’t with the former guy two years ago. I may not have been able to make a relationship work, but I still could’ve done something. I still managed to communicate my thoughts and feelings, and that was enough. The second reason was my steadily deteriorating relationship with my father, causing me to have poor choices in male suitors. My sisters sort of broke the pattern, but I am yet to do so. That is something I hope to work on, or at least be aware of when choosing potential partners. Now that I think about it, most of them were quite familiarly toxic and that is not good.

Needless to say, I moved into November a scarred woman with a new perspective on life and love, and a story that I shall continue in the final part of this year. See you soon!