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Last year, on Independence and Unity Day, Marjana Marguč, an eloquent and smiling lady from the picturesque village of Spodnji Jernej, went on a trip to Koper with her husband Franco, their loyal friends Jožica and Mito and their granddaughter Emma.
It was in the spring of 2018 when I encountered something that changed my perspective on everyday life forever.
The story happened 15 years ago in the centre of Murska Sobota. It was described in a unique way by Sabina, the mother of Jan, then eight years old.
My family story is deep-rooted and branched; like an old oak tree. I bow to it again and again with respect and gratitude, because love and respect are the main words in it.
It was a hot summer day. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, irritating my throat and bringing tears to my eyes.
On Saturday afternoon, my son-in-law Leonardo and I drove from Istria in Croatia to Nova Gorica. It was a rough day and it was raining.
On the slopes of Pohorje is an idyllic village called Modrič. It is a village dotted with fields and meadows that spread across the undulating hilly landscape.
My wife is an angel. She works in a nursing home. She is very bright, but she chose to work as a carer with a capital letter. It makes her happy.
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