Chronic Shortness of Breath

by Marija Dejanova (Germany)

A leap into the unknown Macedonia

This is not a story of a former visit to a destination. This is a story of an unending travel. A story that begins and ends every month, and cycles throughout the years. Inbound flights to a place that feels warm and inviting and outbound flights to a place that feels secure. Two countries, with their opposites, forming my chronic shortness of breath. Five years ago, I moved to Germany. Not sure if I was ready for this step, but the economic situation of my home country, Macedonia, is forcing people to pursue their dreams abroad. And those dreams don’t include a ‘’home away from home’’, but simply moving to a place where one can earn for a living, derail from the political influence on everyday life and reduce the stress of uncertainty. And if luck is on your side, color it with a bit of happiness. Just a little bit. I settled nicely, adapted to the environment, appreciated my job. People are respectful, honest and hard working. The payment is good, the air is clean, and the beer is brilliant. In Macedonia, we have a very popular saying: A whole is when it has everything. Does it? It felt fundamentally wrong being somewhere with just a piece of my heart, as the air I was breathing could never really reach my lungs. Shortness of breath. And where is this whirling feeling coming from? Is it the cultural differences, the polarity of mindsets or the morning grey clouds that make it impossible for me to wake up fresh? Or perhaps, my incapacity to build a new life? And just when I was about the loose balance, it was time to go home again. Time to rejuvenate. ‘’Have a safe trip honey, I’m counting the hours’’, my mother’s voice, melting down in happiness, as I was heading to the airport. She, and my precious little dog, Garo, were my only family left. My father died four years ago. The cancer was so progressive that I didn’t manage to spend more time with him. My dreams are a constant reminder of the scenarios I wished for the past. Or, as I like to believe more in, my dreams are representing what’s happening in another, parallel universe. The universe where I’m home, manifesting my dad’s healing. Having no siblings to take care of my mother, the commitment to travel back and forth every month was inevitable. ‘’You arrived my darling’’, she says, as my dog was giving me the greet of a celebrity. Homemade spinach pie, fresh fruits from our garden and dozens of hugs for my arrival. The morning after, I would have coffee in my favorite bar in the open, absorbing sunshine to the very last atom of my being. A short walk around, faces me with warmhearted neighbors, always eager to have a chat. And in case you need to be filled in with the latest happenings, just pay a visit to a hairdresser – they serve as a local news hub. There is no space for feeling blue, someone is always willing to lift your spirits up. Oh, we Macedonians really know to turn each concern into a good, healthy laugh. ‘’Sweetheart, I didn’t won’t to worry you, but Garo is missing for a couple of hours now’’. As my mother suffers from limited mobility, the poor dog learned how to take walks by itself. That night it didn’t make its way back. After two days of active search, a neighbor found his cold dead body. It was hit by a car. I felt like I hit a rock bottom as guilt raised instantly, with a mighty stare at my conscious. I wasn’t there again. I’m stuck in a quantum, whilst my parallel self is creating the life not lived.