SLOVENIA'S 5 CORE VALUES

One week here, another week there. While other children talked at home, I drew two houses in my mind, two ends, two wardrobes, two groups of children. And I didn't quite fit in anywhere.

I was in Bistrica the one from Konjic, and I was in Konjice the one that only comes sometimes. I was kind, hard-working, quiet. Maybe too quiet. When they made plans for holidays or birthdays, they rarely thought of me. And even though I could draw a lot and always helped, I often sat a little on the sidelines. Even while singing songs.

That winter, when I was three years old, we were drawing Grandpa Frost and making snowflakes out of paper every day in the kindergarten in Bistrica. The teacher said he would come soon. The other children were excited, but I was cautious. I wasn't sure if I would even be on his list.

He arrived on Friday morning. He was wearing a white coat and a white beard, which was a little wobbly, but nobody commented on it. When he entered the casino, we all fell silent. We children stood in a circle, holding each other with our tiny hands. I was on the edge again. At least that's how I felt. I didn't want to risk disappointment.

But Grandfather Frost looked at us differently. He wasn't just looking for the loud kids, the ones in the centre. When his gaze landed on me, I flinched. He smiled and asked me my name. For the first time in a long time, I had the feeling that someone really saw me.

I got a present - a booklet and dried fruit. Books have always meant a lot to me, so I was really excited. But more than anything else, it was important that I got attention. That it was my turn. That I was included.

It was the first time since I was in kindergarten that I felt I belonged. That it didn't matter where I was from or where I would be next week. That I was part of a group. The children have looked at me in a different way since that event. They invited me closer to them. One of them even told me to draw with them. It seemed to me that Grandfather Frost had brought something invisible with his sack that winter: permission to be me and that that was enough.

Later, when I moved back to Konjice and started going to kindergarten there, I often thought about that day. Not because of the gift, but because of that quiet, inner click feeling. Only now I can name it.

Adults call it belonging.

Zala Krupljan, 11. 6. 2025