2000 (5/6)
In 2000, I became one of the oldest children in kindergarten. It was my last year there, and I was about to start school. It felt like I was on the brink of becoming an adult. My grandmother from Split told me that we would be going to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, to visit her family and relatives. One day, we boarded a plane, and I was excited—it was my first airplane ride. I was served a breakfast with a sandwich and juice. I sat by the window, watching the clouds and the ground below.
When we arrived in Zagreb, we took a bus to Samobor, where we visited my grandmother’s family. There, I met my cousin, a girl who gave me colored pencils, and I spent my time drawing. It was a great visit, and we even went to a café where I had a locally prepared cream cake.
Autumn
Behind the garage, we had a small pig pen. During late fall, some people would come to slaughter the pigs. My mom told me to go inside the house, but I could still hear the pigs squealing.
2001 (6/7)
We celebrated the New Year of 2001 with the usual tradition of firecrackers and fireworks lighting up the night. As spring arrived, nature began to wake up, and the suburbs took on a special charm. The air was filled with the fragrant smell of flowers blooming around the house. I noticed, for the first time, the cherry trees bursting into white blossoms—something I hadn’t paid attention to before.
My grandfather, who had a small plot of farmland on the outskirts of the suburbs toward Split, would often take his walk-behind tractor with wheels and a small trailer to the field. I’d go with him, along with my grandmother, parents, uncle, and some aunts. Once there, he’d replace the wheels with rotating metal cultivators and began preparing the land. The smell of freshly turned soil mixed with the exhaust from the tractor was oddly wonderful. Together, we planted potatoes.
A river flowed through the suburbs, adding a natural charm to the area. My family had some land nearby, and I’d often go there with my father to pick walnuts for making walnut liqueur. The river was the ultimate “decoration” of the suburb, flowing under the mountain and emptying into the sea a few miles to the south. Water was free in the area because local residents had built their own supply system. In the summer, we’d fill a giant plastic tank with water to cool watermelons, beer, and other drinks.
Every year on August 15, we celebrated the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The whole family gathered for a big lunch with prosciutto, cheese, roasted lamb, and more. That summer, I discovered Coca-Cola and enjoyed the carefree days.
Kindergarten had ended, and I was preparing to start school in the fall.
During the summer, we often went to the sea to swim and sunbathe. The sea was nearby, warm, and freely accessible. The sound of crickets filled the air, and I loved being in the beautiful blue water. There was a striking contrast between the blue sea, green pine trees, and the green-gray mountains and hills. I noticed tourists from other countries visiting our area for vacation.
One day, I saw some Mercedes and BMWs parked at our neighbor’s house—relatives of theirs had come to visit. When night fell, I went for a walk with my aunt. We passed a bus stop near our house where a group of “older kids,” as I thought of them—teenagers between 13 and 18—gathered on warm summer nights to chat and have fun. My aunt told me that one day, when I grew up and my parents allowed it, I’d join groups like that too.
As summer drew to a close in September 2001, our garden near the house was quiet, with no more tomato or potato plants left for the season. I’d often take a hoe and play in the soil, imagining my own little adventures.
I spent hours digging holes, creating imaginary roads, tunnels, and landscapes. Sometimes, I pretended to be a giant, using the hoe to mimic “explosions” on the ground.
School began on September 10. My mom walked me to a school just a 10-minute walk from our house. The school was situated at the foot of a hill, with a local soccer field nearby. Close to the field was the river I had mentioned before, and on the south side of the hill was a quarry where my grandfather worked as a transport truck driver.
It was also the era of Pokémon, those imaginary creatures from the popular TV cartoon. They were everywhere—on TV, in conversations with friends, and in our imaginations.
When we arrived at the school, I noticed that part of it was still under construction. On one of the unfinished walls, someone had painted a large graffiti of a Pokémon. My mom took a picture of me standing in front of it.
The first day of school was exciting. We started with an introduction activity where each of us wrote our name on a paper fish cutout. That week, classes were held in the afternoon, which felt a bit unusual but also kind of cool.
The next day, September 11, I was playing in the garden that morning. When I walked into the house, the TV was showing footage of buildings on fire in New York, USA. They were called “The Twins.” I overheard that two planes had crashed into the buildings.
Later that evening, after school, I watched the news again and saw the moment those buildings collapsed. I wasn’t traumatized by the event—perhaps because violence felt like the new normal, or maybe because I was too young to fully understand what was happening.
I made some new friends at school, one of whom was Lenny. He lived in the southern part of the suburbs, closer to the sea. School felt like a “kindergarten on steroids.”
It was also where I started using swear words, just like my friends. In our conversations, words like “fuck,” “pussy,” “dick,” and “jerk off” were thrown around regularly. I’m not sure who started the trend, but I got hooked. It felt liberating in a way I’d never experienced before.
Since I lived close to the school, my friends would stop by my house so we could walk together. My first-grade teacher was beautiful, and I had a crush on her, even though she was likely three times my age. I wasn’t madly in love, but I really liked her.
She seemed effortlessly cool, especially during breaks, sipping coffee and smoking. I still remember how, during class, she leaned over to explain something, and her breath smelled like cigarettes and coffee—but in a strangely pleasant way.
@Limbo 
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