#kosovo2.0

[0rgesa]

#KTHEKRYTE is a campaign I initiated working as a PR and Multimedia Expert in Cultural Heritage without Borders Kosovo.

Read more about the main goal behind the campaign and the debate held in the old train stations: http://kosovotwopointzero.com/en/turn-head-kthekryte-gaze-upon-cultural-heritage/

[madgirlf]

Kosovo 2.0 is a Supreme Network Site that will serve as an interactive generator of stories, commentaries and documentations from Kosovo and the world.

if you guys want to read work of mine that isn't poems, check out the articles i write for Kosovo 2.0 and if the article you click isn't in English, just click "EN" on the top right part of the page to translate it into English. happy reading!

xo

[morphinemushroom]

If someone makes me pick only one song to hear for the rest of my life, it would be this. ❤ Long live to the Lizard King 

[typeinks-blog]

Kosovo two point zero Street sticker

[suerealism-blog-blog]

Pack up your troubles, leave your blues behind

This text was originally published in Kosovo2.0

If someone had told me a year ago that I would be having a light saber duel with a Lebanese chick on the Boston subway, I would have given them a condescending look (to say the least).

Last October my life did not appear even half as sci-fi. Looking back, that period was also quite the turning point. I went from being the girl in The Kooks’ “Ooh La,” a goody-two-shoes Shalala person, whose dysfunctional relationship with the world makes for a catchy third-person tune, to an Eliza Doolittle “Pack Up” non-fictional I dictate the rules one.

The first couple of days into October, I had to adjust to two major changes. One – I was back to living on my own, and two – I had gotten a cat. Since both had a thorough effect on my sleeping pattern, I found more time than ever for myself. However, they also posed a serious question: Palidhje, now what?

Thus, I started packing. Packing, as I found out later, was just as thorough of a spiritual journey, as some authors make traveling to be. Mostly because traveling relies on the laws of physics: an object in motion tends to stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. But, sometimes, an inside force is needed to prompt said-object to move in the first place.  

I had already decided I needed to achieve peace and happiness, and not in a hippie way. Since nothing makes me quite as blissfully oblivious to the world as my little idiosyncrasy of collecting college degrees, I made up my mind to do a Master’s. However, in order to do that, I had to get rid of quite some stuff.  First of all, a bunch of information on my younger self had to be summarized and distributed to random locations around the globe. Writing each admissions essay, I underwent a pseudo-therapeutical process. I had to retell my story to a whole new audience of people, whom I could consider close only in a six degrees of separationkind of way. So I dug deep. I opened all the boxes with “me” stuff, analyzed all of my personal memorabilia, and went to extremes sifting through all I discovered, so as to explain the choices I made, and the decisions I took. I answered all questions, based on what I had collected, and by doing so, I upcycled a new Sue, so to speak.

It wasn’t a complicated process; just incredibly exhausting and tricky, as I have the natural tendency to overpack. I would try to hide the things that bothered me, as deep as possible, underneath the overall pile. I wasn’t in denial, just in delay. But bumping into something, that would make me wobble emotionally, was always a possibility. I had periods when I was very enthusiastic, and such when I was trying hard to bounce off the walls, before I hit rock bottom again. Deciding what would be valuable to my existence in the following year, was anything but easy.

So I distracted myself, and tricked myself into being positive, zen and optimistic. I spoiled myself by not thinking about anything when I was taking a break, by enjoying nights out as much as I enjoyed nights in, and by waking up to the thought that my day does not necessarily have to be bad just because it’s a weekday. I was exhausted but for the first time my body was catching up to my emotional wariness. As I tended to overlook the little things that made me feel anxious, I never quite got the big picture. It’s easy to forgive when you’re facing a larger problem, but not bother to see what prompted it in the first place. When I finally did, I noticed a trend; problems that were tangled up in “we” and “us” were mostly singular. Plural makes for a great excuse, singular makes for an observation, which seldom leads to pluralistic ramifications. I put my observations away in a folder named “Emotional literacy,” and moved on.  

My existential audit gave results in August, when I finally moved out. My rented apartment had become foreign to me. It was nothing but a one-bedroom warehouse, and an emotional graveyard. I left it with no remorse. I observed calmly as my landladies took note of the damages done in the last two years. “It looks quite well, considering two people lived here,” she said. “Well, I’m pretty good at repairing damage,” I answered. She laughed.

An overly-saturated-with-goodness August led to me picking up the two suitcases which bore all of my belongings, I considered precious enough to cross an ocean with. Remnants of the last years laid in boxes, carefully tucked away by my grandma (meaning I had no idea where she put anything). My small step on the flight to Boston took me to the other side of the East-West cultural gulf, where yoghurt is sweet, cheese is processed and “How are you?” is a greeting.

But I’m here – all hip and upcycled. The thought of unpacking and giving it the best shot I can, does not make me anxious. Well, plus the force is with me.

[suerealism-blog-blog]

We’re All Famous on the Internet

he other day CNN reported that people should abstain from twitting in the heat of the moment because it can cost them their friends and even their job. See, I’m from Generation Y - computers were new to me when I was seven, and by the time I was nine I had an email (one of those we all had, but are too embarrassed to admit it, like cuteangel123 or i_like_kittens_86) . My technological advancement had its peak in third grade when I had a Tamagochi, and to my mother’s horror, I learned English off Cartoon Network and computer games. I literally grew up side by side with social networks. But Twitter and I, we’re still not best friends.

Discovering one’s inner self in epistolary form has been in fashion since men learnt how to write. And I’m pretty sure before that they used to draw their utmost fears and desires on cave walls and carve their emotions in tree barks. Blogspot on the other hand, was hip some five years ago, when teenagers shared their growing pains with the world and reciprocated their sympathy with others. Eventually these blogs started to take up on a new direction as soon as college life kicked in. Now many have been transformed into places where international or local politics are discussed or simply cussed on, where news and links are shared and smart writing is utterly encouraged. Change kicked in and all of a sudden everybody became creative, and Facebook promoted that type of acquired creativity most.

We’ve all (or at least the ones of us, who have a Facebook account) seen those statuses that are just simply so philosophical that we need to think and rethink them, until they have acquired a mysticism mostly peculiar to Lost. Now that we’re all authors, that we’re all published somewhere, we feel the need to live up to that expectation and give the best of us. Who knows who’ll google us tomorrow, only to find that according to Facebook we’re “enjoying the sun on the balcony/” No, here’s where all the knowledge we ripped off series we watched and books we didn’t read, kicks in to produce something on the lines of: “Oh holly, how you roll and shine my day and night with your peppermint tentacles of joy and essence,” accompanied with several smart comments of people who not only claim to understand what we mean, but feel for us and suggest that we find closure in some link they’ll share on our Wall.  

But let’s not be too judgmental. Coming up with a good story line for a novel or TV series has always been hard, so why should coming up with a good Facebook status be much easier. So we abstain from writing “what’s on your mind” and stick with commenting on other people’s thoughts, or simply “like”-ing them.

And then along came Twitter. Unlike Facebook, Twitter is only used to share 140 letters of emotional/informative/cool mojo. Twitter is what happened to Facebook due to peer pressure. You create an account, cause it’s cool, cause all of your friends have one, and then you feel inevitably pressured to share something with the world, too.  I have never felt more informed about people’s personal lives before. Maybe it’s just the ones that I’m following, or maybe it’s some sort of a trend, since the list is more or less international. Among the hundreds of recommended links, there are those occasional messages aimed to promote the smart-assness of the author, and that does not apply solely to the people in the creative biz. Mozart’s 40th symphony has never before fallen in battle to the historical chicken soup sold at the pub downstairs to X’s office, schmaltzy early morning chocolate adventures have never been so publically displayed, and emotional landmarks of love and hate were never this easy to spot.

I asked a friend of mine why she feels obligated to share everything that comes to her mind on the internet. She said it’s a free way to get a second opinion, an answer or just some attention. Turns out that Facebook/Twitter is the new modern psycho therapy – you post your anguish online and get immediate sympathy. Plus, people always want to know more, as gossip makes the world go round.

So, anyways, before you twit ahead, just try to think how famous do you want your emotions to be?

This article was posted on Kosovo2.0.

P.S.: I did eventually get more friendly with Twitter, reaching the "good acquaintances" phase.