Maybe Bosnia was my future.
Seven long hours after boarding the bus in Belgrade, I finally arrived outside of Sarajevo. The last time I’d been here was nine years ago, and I’d let my older sister handle everything. But now it was just me…all alone.
I’d exchanged some money before leaving Belgrade and thus was able to negotiate a cab ride. The driver flirted with me and called me “American Girl,” despite the fact that I spoke to him in fluent Bosnian.
I supposed I had an accent now.
This only emphasized that feeling of never fully belonging in either place. Maybe because I hadn’t allowed myself to belong? Maybe it was time to let myself do just that.
You deserve permanence, and I want to be the man who gives it to you.
Maybe I did…but apparently, I didn’t deserve him.
Twenty minutes later, I handed the cab driver my money and popped out of the taxi. He unloaded my suitcase and set it beside me on the sidewalk. “Hvala,” I said, thanking him.
“You speak Bosnian very well, American Girl.”
With a sigh, I picked up my suitcase, entered the apartment building and then climbed the steps toward Mama’s apartment.
Mama and Maja were both home, having taken the day off from work to wait for me. When I showed up at the door, Mama and Maja pounced on me immediately with screaming, crying and kisses. Mama, with tears in her eyes, smooshed my cheeks together and said I was beautiful but way too skinny.
Maja introduced me to her fiancé, a tall, thin, dark-haired man with crooked teeth and a sweet, soft-spoken voice. They told me Sanjin was a beautiful singer in the church choir, which reminded me that I probably needed to attend church while I was here. It had been ages.
“Janjica, I can’t believe it. I can’t. You’ve come back to us at last,” Mama said.
Maja smiled at me, tugging playfully on a lock of my hair. “Sanjin has four brothers. We should introduce them. Maybe we’ll find you a Bosnian boyfriend, Janja, so you won’t go back to America.”
That sharp pang in the center of my chest made it a little harder to breathe. I sighed. “No boyfriends for me. But I do want to stay for a while.” Sanjin grabbed my suitcase and carried it up a floor to Maja’s room, where I’d sleep in the extra bed they’d borrowed for me.
That night, we stayed up way too late drinking wine, eating amazing food—ćevapi and somun, kebabs and flat Bosnian bread—talking and laughing. It felt so good to be here.
I spent my days exploring Stari Grad—the oldest district of the city, dating back to the fifteenth century—along with the Baščaršija, one of Europe’s most ancient bazaars. I also ran pre-wedding errands for my sister while she was at work. In doing so, I discovered that my Bosnian vocabulary was painfully lacking, so I attempted to relearn my own language and culture.
One night as Maja prepared to turn in, I lay on my bed flipping through one of her books I’d pulled off the shelf. It was a children’s book written entirely in Bosnian-Serb-Croatian, and I struggled to read it. After ten minutes, I slapped the book shut.
“You have anything to read in English?”
“A few old books. I don’t read in English anymore.”
I smiled. Maja now had an accent when she spoke English. Probably the way I had one in Bosnian, I imagined. And yes, everyone in the neighborhood referred to me as either Maja’s American sister or Silvija’s American daughter.
I smiled as I watched Maja rubbing moisturizer into her face. “You’re going to a beautiful bride.”
She glowed. “And you, my beautiful bridesmaid! Wait ‘til you see your dress.” At the mention of the dress, I pictured the beautiful blue gown that William had given me. I blinked, frustrated that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Maja watched me. “Are you homesick?” she asked suddenly.
I guessed I would be, if I actually had a home…
But I was starting to question what “home” meant for me. Was it people or a place? My people were scattered on opposite sides of the earth. In Bosnia, in California…
“Not really. I’m glad to be here,” I hedged.
“There wasn’t someone special you left behind in California?”
I rolled over on my back to look at her. “You are so madly in love that you look at everything through love glasses.”
She gave me a strange look. “You’re as silly as ever, Janja.”
My eyes wandered up to the ceiling. “I sure am…silly.”
“But you’re also sad.”
I frowned. “Yes.”
“If you’re not homesick, then what is it?”
I sighed. “There was someone. But it’s over now. And…it still hurts.”