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[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

What Once was One

My mother still considers herself Yugoslav. When you ask her where she's from, she often says, "Macedonia, former Yugoslavia". When we talk about the war, it's the dissolution of Yugoslavia. I've always considered it a civil war and in many ways thought that was the generally accepted term. To me, a multi-ethnic, multi-cultural state (despite its challenges) sounds like a progressively radical step toward a borderless future. I know the end did not match these hopes, but I continue to be inspired by the half-century or so where this collective existed.

So in my mind, as a Macedonian at least, there would be some remaining sentiments of camaraderie between the descendants of Yugoslavia. I reiterate this as a Macedonian – I know and agree this cannot easily be true for my Bosniak siblings who experienced literal genocide during the war. Even here I say siblings because I feel linked with all the former republics, not just Macedonia.

This is all to say that I thought going to Croatia as a Macedonian would result in some connection between myself and the people and places I would come into contact with. I'd come up with the idea that if I were to tell a local Croat I was Macedonian, the fact that we used to be a part of the same country would somehow matter. I was met with more apathy than I expected. More curt nods and even oh, Macedonians usually go to Greece because it's closer. That's so far from here. I did not expect that Macedonians would be regarded as foreigners in the same way that someone from somewhere like New Zealand would be. Truthfully, the only Macedonians I ran into were transplants working in the Old Town in Dubrovnik. I didn't meet any other tourists from Eastern Europe. Everyone was from Australia or the US or Western Europe. In fact, when I told people in Macedonia that I would be visiting Dubrovnik the general response was I've never been or it's so expensive there. To me, it's sad that the wealth disparity between Macedonia and Croatia, two former Yugoslav republics, is so dramatic that Macedonians cannot afford to visit somewhere that they could once access without a passport.

As my writing is concerned greatly with ethnicity, and again specifically ethnicities in the Balkans, this was an important experience for me to see how, in the 25 or so years since the war, national identity has changed. I wish I had more conversations with people about this specific topic, but it's not an easy one to breach as an American tourist. Even as a Macedonian-American, what right do I have to ask so blatantly for the pain of strangers? I have not even had these conversations in as much depth with my family as I planned. I have so much more to learn.

Below are pictures I took inside the Zagreb 80's Museum, which contained the only mentions of Yugoslavia (outside of the war) that I saw in Croatia.

[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

Long Pause

Sometimes I slip into idealism. A silk robe draped over me, a dreamish veneer to lure out the muses. I aggrandize my ambitions of being a translator for Macedonian poetry to anyone who asks what are you doing here? Then people offer what connections they have and I feel as if the robe I’ve been wearing has slinked off my frame and fallen to my feet. 

In a way, it’s arrogant of me to strut into another country and publicize myself like a prophet, no matter if I have blood ties here or not. In the month I have been here, I’ve certainly learned more Macedonian, but not enough to be telling well-educated, talented writers and artists that my goal is to render their work to audiences in another language. I am finally meeting people who have dedicated their lives not just to literature, but to Macedonian literature, and I am eager to forge bonds with these people and hide from them all at once. 

I’ll be 25 later this month, and I feel like an adult for the first time. I have a profession. Publications. Degrees. Yet there’s so much I still have to learn! How can I propose ambitions of bringing the literary works of an entire language to the USA when I still don’t feel qualified? 

This is more vulnerable of a post than I planned on sharing, but staring at the rain and seeing what little work I’ve done in a month’s time has thinned my skin. This is not a request for validation though –– more a writing exercise than anything else. I’m reminding myself that I can put words together to communicate how I’m feeling, and additionally, I am supposed to be pretty good at it. 

[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

Zdravo!

I haven’t posted much as I’ve been working on a massive piece of writing to summarize my experience at the Struga Poetry Evenings. Until I can get that where I’d like it, I’ll be sharing what I’ve been up to in Prespa this past week!

This is a short video of me helping to make ajvar. Ajvar is at the heart of Macedonian cuisine - a roasted red pepper spread that takes a lot of labor to make. I felt like a witch stirring a potion in her cauldron 🧙🏼‍♀️

You can buy jarred ajvar in the states, but homemade is best of course!

🌶🌶🌶

[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

Moussaka, street corn, shopska salata i kielbasa, and Nutella & banana waffles 🍌🧇🌽🍅🥒🥘

[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

Promaja

The heat in Skopje has been tyrannical. I don’t believe my phone when it says the temperature has dropped to 67 degrees Fahrenheit when I check at 3 AM. I keep the windows open at all times but it’s like there’s nothing on the other side allowed to come in. In the Balkans, there is a fear of promaja, which is loosely defined as a breeze created by open windows or doors that brings death into the home. Yet, as much as I bade the wind welcome in the night I think the collective superstition of the buildings’ residents keeps the draft I desperately want away. I am reckless with the wind. 

So today when a thunderstorm engulfed the city, I sat outside on the balcony to give it my welcome. I became ancient watching the sky as it cycled from an absorbing black mass into a sepia downpour and then into a drizzle. The mist magnetized towards my feet and the electricity powering the steady tapping of my toes was the same that split the sky above the courtyard. 

I kept the door leading back inside shut behind me. Promaja could not enter but I met it at its limit and for the first time in a week I felt physically comfortable. The rain replaced sleep. I am now awake but rejuvenated. I’ve never believed in astrology much, but as a libra I know I’m an air sign. Maybe that means I can catch na promaja before it can strike – I can tame the lion breeze. 

[tiara-dinevska-mcguire]

My first week has been co-opted by Covid. After two and a half years of dodging the virus, it decided to strike right as I began my fellowship. Luckily, I have been staying with my cousin Denis and his family, where they have been taking extremely good care of me. 

I will start posting actual highlights (and lowlights) from my journey soon. 

Чиао!