I’m standing in front of a huge villa, staring at it in silence.
Why would they need such a big house, I wonder. There are only four of them — just like us — yet my whole family lives in barely 30 square meters.
I watch her walk inside. The nanny greets her at the door.
She throws her things on the floor and asks me what I want to eat.
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter, whatever you want.”
We sit at the desk. I open my neatly bound notebooks, covered with shiny decorative paper. I remember how proud I felt when I finished them.
I show her what homework we got for today. It always ends the same — I do everything while she goes off to play or take a nap.
After lunch, I go home.
Sometimes her mother meets me at the door, kisses me on the cheek, and strokes my hair gently.
The next day at school, she barely says hello.
It feels strange.
Why wouldn’t she, when we spend almost every afternoon together?
And then I realize — she’s ashamed.
Maybe because her mother asked me to help her with schoolwork?
During PE class, I hear her laugh. Everyone’s laughing.
I turn around and catch her voice:
“She’s a refugee — she literally lives in a barn.”
The ground disappears beneath me.
A barn.
Everyone’s laughing. I can’t breathe.
It’s true — our place is small.
An old garage our landlords renovated to rent out. Just one room. But it’s always tidy.
We don’t have much, and everything is old, but it’s clean, warm, ours.
I don’t understand why anyone would hold that against me.
What kind of person does that?
Doesn’t she value our friendship?
Is she ashamed of me?
I run ahead of everyone, trying to hide the ache in my chest — the kind of sadness that comes when you realize how people look at others.
Does only money matter?
Later, I hear my classmates tell her off — they tell her to stop, to be quiet, that she’s cruel.
When my parents find out what happened, they forbid me from going back.
They tell me I have nothing to be ashamed of — that I should be proud of the family that loves me, of my clean clothes, my smart head, and my kind heart.
That material things don’t define me.
And that people who can’t see my worth could never be my real friends.
Some lessons I learned early in life.
I spoke with a Bosnian accent because that’s where I came from. I didn’t have much, but I loved to learn. I devoured books during recess. Some kids didn’t like that. I was beaten, yelled at, threatened, had my things taken away.
Now, when I see where those people are — so many of them are unhappy, lost, unfulfilled — I realize they were just sad children who never had love at home. Those sad children became bullies.
The scars stayed with me, but they made me stronger.
Because I had my parents’ love, everything they tried to break became fuel.
To show them what a “refugee who lived in a barn” could become.
Therefore, dear parents — talk to your children.
Teach them real values.
Teach them kindness.
Teach them to understand those who are different from them — and not to hurt them.
Most of all…
Teach them to be good human beings.
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Dan kada sam shvatila šta znači- vršnjačko nasilje
Gledam ogromnu vilu ispred sebe. Zašto li im treba tolika kuća, pitam se, njih je samo četvoro, dok je mojih isto toliko, a živimo u 30 kvadrata? Gledam je kako ulazi u kuću. Dadilja je dočekuje. Baca sve stvari na pod. Pita šta želim da jedem. Odgovaram – svejedno, šta god ti želiš.
Sedamo za radni sto, otvaram svoje uredne sveske, ukoričene sjajnim ukrasnim papirom, veoma sam bila ponosna kada sam ukoričila svoje sveske i knjige, i pokazujem joj šta smo danas dobili za domaći. Završava se tako što ja uradim sve, a ona ode da se igra ili spava. Nakon jela odlazim kući. Često me njena mama sretne pri izlasku i gleda sa toplinom.
Sutradan u školi opet jedva da mi se javi. Bilo mi je čudno zašto se ne bi javila kada skoro svaki dan provodimo zajedno posle škole. Shvatam da je sramota.
Opet se pitam, možda zato što me je njena mama zamolila da joj pomognem oko škole?
Tokom fizičkog, čujem njen smeh. Svi se smeju. Okrenem se i čujem: “ona je izbeglica i živi bukvalno u štali”. Propala sam u zemlju. U “štali”. Svi se smeju… gušim se… istina, to je mali prostor… stara garaža koju su stanodavci preuredili da bi izdavali… ima samo jednu sobu… ali je uvek uredno. Nemamo mnogo i stvari su stare jako, ali je uvek čisto, ne znam zašto bi meni neko to zamerio. Kakva je to osoba? Ona ne ceni naše drugarstvo? Ona se zapravo sramoti mene?
Trčim ispred svih da sakrijem tugu u meni. Tugu jer sam shvatila kako ljudi gledaju na druge… samo je bitno koliko novca imaš? Čujem kasnije moje drugove kako su joj rekli da ćuti i da ona živi u štali, da je bezobrazna…
Kada su moji čuli kako se ponela prema meni, zabranili su mi da idem. Rekli su mi da nemam čega da se sramotim, da treba da budem ponosna što imam porodicu koja me voli, čistu odeću, pametnu glavu i dobru dušu. Da je materijalno nebitno i da ljudi koji me ne poštuju nisu oni koji će biti moji pravi prijatelji.
Neke lekcije sam dosta rano naučila u životu. Možda i previše brzo.
Pričala sam ijekavicu jer sam došla iz Bosne, većina stvari mi je bila baggy i pozajmljena od brata koji je bio 8 godina stariji, čak sam nosila i njegov ranac za knjige, išaran potpisima njegovih drugova. Malo je reći da mi nismo imali mnogo. Uprkos svemu, ja sam volela da učim i gutala sam knjige na odmoru. Bila sam znatiželjna kako da se izvučem iz ove nemaštine. Zamislite kada imate taj teret na ledjima kao dete. Deca su me naravno zvala-“štreber”. Nekima je i to bill malo, pa sam bila i tučena, drali su se na mene, pretili i otimali mi stvari.
Kada vidim sve te ljude gde su sada, ili su strašno tužni, neuspešni, neostvareni, očigledno nikada nisu imali podršku roditelja i ta tužna deca su bila siledžije. Da li se i vi osvrnete da vidite gde su ljudi koji su vas maltretirali?
Tačno je da su meni ostali ožiljci, ali sam izašla jača baš zbog podrške roditelja. Meni je sve to bila dodatna motivacija. Da pokažem ja njima šta jedna izbeglica koja je živela u “štali” može.
Zato, dragi ljudi, pričajte sa svojom decom, učite ih pravim vrednostima. Učite ih poštovanju i učite ih da razumeju one različite od sebe, a pri tom da ih ne maltretiraju.
A pre svega, učite ih da budu dobri ljudi.
Tanja's diary 🧚🏻♂️ 