SLOVENIA'S 5 CORE VALUES

In the morning, the fog descended over the Dravinja, in the afternoon the sun warmed the blocks on Škalska Street, and in the evening, one by one, the lights lit up like little stars, reflecting off the hard concrete of the city. Between the parked cars we children played, ran and hid - this was our world; modest and simple, but in my eyes it was unmistakable.

That's where I lived - little Zala. I was a quiet girl. The kind who listened more than she talked. One who often stood a little to the side, wondering if she belonged anywhere. I was quick to notice when someone wasn't taking me seriously. In the glances that rushed past, in the words that were overheard and in the tiny moments that formed into a feeling that I wasn't important enough, so I often closed in on myself.

Mr Slavko Klokočovnik lived in the same block as my mother and me. He was not a very loud or noticeable man, but he had something that many people don't have - a deep respect for people. He walked slowly, spoke gently and always knew how to look you in the eye. When he greeted you, you had the feeling that you were not just one of the passers-by, but someone who counted.

One day he invited me to his place. I remember his living room, the soft light filtering through the red velvet curtains, the table by the window and the tapestries, and next to it, thousands of coloured threads arranged by shades. It was as if I had stepped into a world where nothing happens quickly and every thing happens at the right time.

»Would you like to try it?« he asked me. He put a needle in my arm. He didn't say I was too small, even though I was only six years old. He never said it was too hard for me. He simply trusted me.

My hands were shaking. The first stabs were to blame. The thread got tangled (repeatedly). Fear awoke in me that I would spoil everything and that I would disappoint him. I looked at him expecting a scolding, but instead he gave me a smile.

»It's OK, Zala,« he said. »We are all learning.«

That was the first time I felt what it was like to be respected. When they don't see you as someone who can't yet, but as someone who is worthy of patience and trust.

While sewing, we talked about school, my fears and how I sometimes feel alone, even when I'm around people. I talked to him about things I had never told anyone before. He listened to me; not because he had to, but because he cared.

He never told me I was exaggerating. He never belittled my feelings and he never laughed at me. My words were safe with him.

That's why I started to trust him. I trusted him with my thoughts, my doubts and my dreams. And he never betrayed them.

Growing up, I realised that the world is not always like this. That people often don't know how to respect. That trust can be easily hurt and sometimes trampled on without remorse. But Slavko did not make me cold.

In my childhood (also because of him) I experienced how very nice it feels when someone respects you enough to trust you, and how precious it is when someone protects your trust as something inviolable.

Slavko didn't just teach me how to sew. He taught me that respect means seeing people as they are, that trust means not breaking their vulnerability, and that true closeness comes when we dare to be honest and safe at the same time.

And the fact that today I know how to respect the people around me, how to pay attention to their feelings, how to trust and how to keep that trust, is because someone once showed me how to do it in a quite simple way and with a lot of heartfelt feelings.

For with him I learned that trust without respect cannot exist and that respect without trust has no weight; that they walk together, hand in hand, like threads in the same tapestry. Yes Trust means stepping on a path where someone sees you, and respect means being protected along the way. And that true closeness only happens when you have someone by your side who never pushes, pulls or judges, but walks beside you.

Zala Krupljan, 1. 2. 2026