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For half a year, surrounded by forests, I lived in the Hunting Ground. Life there was simple, but full of challenges.
It was late afternoon when I received a message from an acquaintance I hadn't heard from for some time. There was a sense of reticence, but also a sincere request.
The day came when my body couldn't take it anymore. Stress, too much work and food that I, like everyone else, believed was healthy, pushed me to the brink.
It was a beautiful sunny day when my friend Petra and I agreed to go on a trip. We were both young mothers with two babies, just a few months old.
It was a normal working day with all the commitments that awaited me. One of them was attending an event entitled Our Stories, Your Questions, organised by the Golden Ribbon Institute.
At a time when we are faced with intolerance everywhere, which is sometimes justified when it comes to the Roma here in Dolenjska, introvert that I am, I look back to my youth and to a friendship that was forged by chance, but which lasted until the death of one of the two main protagonists.
Like many other couples, my husband and I have a habit of having coffee together after lunch, sometimes with a biscuit.
Somewhere deep in my dreams, I hear the sound of an alarm clock, calling me insistently to a new day. "Cin cin cin," it calls in my ears.
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