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Bitter coffee sweetly drunk, 2019. 

Life in the Balkans, the Balkans which were “everyones” and “no ones”, but always themself, bigoted and choleric, is bittersweet. Its history is both bloody and honey, and its tradition is to be bragged and defied about. So, one can choose. Analysis of ideological, cultural, historical and every other heritage of our beloved homeland, seems like entering the Minotaur’s labyrinth. most of the times. What was left to us as ‘ours’ is both anathematized and holy, blinding and sight-giving, it is stopping and moving us. The ‘ours’ has been bloodbathing and writing in golden letters. What do we recognize as ‘ours’ in the dialectics of the heritage? What we choose as ‘ours’ tells a lot about who we are. But what is truly ours? Is it what was left to us, or what we leave behind? A lot has been left to me, but for now, I am leaving behind the junction of incompatible. The history is life’s teacher, the compromise is the future. Death to fascism, freedom to synthesis.

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