Author: Stamena Kozić, a high school student from Serbia In many areas of life, we unconsciously mirror the people we admire- a phenomenon psychologists often refer to as the Chameleon Effect. Over time, this imitation can be harmless, even flattering, and often helps us connect, or feel understood. But in relationships, the rules are quite different. When it happens too quickly, before you truly know each other, admiration can cross a line. What starts as flattery can almost imperceptibly turn into something else entirely, an erasure. Illustration photo. Retrieved from Pexels (www.pexels.com) Take, for example, someone you've just started dating- a new person entering your life. Weeks in, they begin changing themselves to mirror you, adopting your style, your tastes, even life decisions of great importance they once resisted or opposed. They may switch their hair color, modify their wardrobe, or suddenly embrace hobbies and opinions they previously dismissed. At first, it might seem flattering, like they're captivated by you, eager to connect, to be close. But when admiration moves faster than the relationship itself, the unease sets in. There's something disorienting about watching someone erase their own preferences and bend their identity around yours- especially when the choices they make now reflect you, and not the person you thought you were falling for. Admiration starts morphing into a warning sign, signaling that something deeper, more concerning, is unfolding. Many philosophers throughout history have emphasized the importance of individuality. Socrates once encouraged people to think for themselves rather than simply follow the crowd. In the context of relationships this advice becomes more relevant. To maintain connection without losing oneself, we must define our desires and resist the pull to mirror someone else blindly. And yet, the phenomenon persists. French anthropologist Rene Girard, famous for his work on desire and imitation, developed what he called the theory of mimetic desire: the idea that we often want people not for who they truly are, but because someone else desires them. Desire is contagious, and admiration can be less about the person and more about the reflection they inspire in us. In relationships, this can appear as someone bending themselves- intensely and unexpectedly- to match your preferences and life choices before the connection has had a chance to form naturally. So, why does this happen? Quite often, it stems from insecurity, fear of rejection, or even borderline tendencies, where validation from others feels essential to one's sense of self. Jealousy and a desire to keep up with perceived standards or to secure affection can accelerate this imitation, making admiration feel too urgent and overwhelming. In these cases, the person isn't connecting with you, instead they're seeking approval, safety, or identity in your reflection, erasing the boundaries between desire and obsession. The healthiest relationships don't demand transformation. They invite it, slowly, over time, with respect for boundaries and selfhood. True connection encourages curiosity, growth and exploration on both sides, rather than bending to fit someone's reflection. To navigate intimacy without losing yourself pay attention to subtle signs: Are boundaries respected, or quietly dissolved? Are choices made freely, or to please? Admiration feels uplifting, inspiring one to become their true self without fear or pressure. When desire becomes imitation, it's easy to mistake intensity for connection, but connection that truly matters doesn't erase identity. In the end, the most lasting connection, isn't the one that mirrors us perfectly, but the one that is built on contrast, the one that can fill the gaps without erasing individuality.

Author: Vladimir Stojković Although I am someone who was very small when the breakup of Yugoslavia began, I became aware of the importance of the idea of ​​such a federation. The very idea of ​​such a community was significantly progressive and went beyond the primitive narrow ethnic views of a multicultural society. In the idea of ​​Yugoslavia, I saw at least an attempt at the formation of nations that happened after the French Revolution throughout Europe. It meant connecting people from different regions and different cultures. Like say in France and Italy. People created and adopted their new common identity over time. This is how societies of free people were formed, who voluntarily took part in such a community. However, something like that in the Balkans, i.e. former Yugoslavia was not possible. In other words, Yugoslavia was an attempt to achieve something like this here as well, but the nationalism of the ethnic groups interrupted that good idea. Mostar, city in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Author: Marcel Dominic, pixabay.com This is the climate of societies that base their existence on mythology. This constant need for societies to compete in who has a "richer" national history, etc. they cannot lead to progress and the survival of a social community. The aim of such "histories" is to glorify ethnic virtues and to somehow develop a sense of uniqueness of a certain ethnic group and supremacy in relation to its neighbors in the region. It is especially interesting to see this in the area of ​​the former Yugoslavia, where peoples who speak the same language live and who are much closer to each other in terms of mentality than, say, Italians from southern and northern Italy. The wars of the 1990s on the territory of the former Yugoslavia set a lot of things back. People argue over territories and drawing borders. The dominance of a certain ethnic group and the suppression of minority groups is one of the main characteristics of such societies. That way of functioning of a society has been absolutely surpassed and reminds of some medieval times and the age of feudalism. It is difficult to expect the restoration of Yugoslavia as we knew it in the near future, but the idea of ​​association and federalism certainly exists and that is what we should strive for. Perhaps the peoples of this area can once again be in some form of a common federation. The political and security situation in Europe and the world is such that the entry of all the countries of the former Yugoslavia, and the Balkans as a whole, into the EU would be a rational step forward. In this way, the idea of ​​uniting into one union would be realized. It would be a stimulating injection for the Balkan countries, which would definitely push our societies into much more progressive trends in order to try to cross paths with the ghosts of the past.

Author: Vladimir Stojkovic The student protests that followed the fall of the canopy are certainly not the first protests to take place in the modern history of Serbia. In many aspects, they resemble the protests of previous decades. However, what distinguishes these student protests is the level of general mobilization that is, the awakening of the broader community. This awakening did not occur only in urban centers, but also extended to rural areas, which had long been politically marginalized. Sourced from https://protesti.pics      For months, now more than a year, students have been walking proudly along their path of freedom. Many had considered this generation to be completely lost and apolitical, yet the students proved the opposite through their actions. Beyond the powerful and inspiring slogans reminiscent of the protests of the 1990s, these demonstrations have played a crucial role in raising social awareness across various spheres of life. They addressed issues ranging from respect for individual and minority rights to the importance of independent state institutions. Of course, activists, party members, NGOs, and individuals had been pointing out social problems long before these protests, and their persistence deserves recognition. However, students managed to find a formula that reached a much wider audience, including the rural parts of the country that had often been overlooked.      As students moved across Serbia, from cities, across fields and meadows, to the smallest villages, they awakened hope and initiated a form of social catharsis. They jolted people out of long-standing apathy and fear. Decades of injustice, particularly intensified over the past thirteen years, had accumulated within society. The arrival of students in remote villages helped dismantle that fear. They restored people’s pride, encouraged them to stand upright once again, and revived a sense of solidarity that had been sorely lacking. Under the influence of the student movement, citizens began participating more actively in public life. Public assemblies and discussions emerged, and people became increasingly interested in social and political issues. The students managed to wake society from a prolonged state of political passivity. The long-term effect of this awakening will be greater civic engagement, especially through participation in democratic processes such as elections, whether as observers, controllers, or candidates. What matters most is the realization that citizens hold power in their own hands.      Students have faced attacks from various ideological positions. Some label them clerofascists, while others accuse them of being Eurofanatics. Such criticism ignores the fact that students represent a heterogeneous community, and total homogeneity would be both unrealistic and dangerous. Their diversity has not hindered dialogue; on the contrary, it has fostered tolerance and mutual respect. The authorities in Serbia, along with similarly minded political actors, fear scenes of unity, people of different religions embracing one another, or showing solidarity regardless of sexual orientation. Such moments represent a defeat for politics built on division and hatred.      Ultimately, the most significant outcomes of the student protests include the disappearance of fear, increased interest in social affairs, and greater awareness of individual rights. The students also delivered a powerful lesson on corruption, helping citizens better understand its direct impact on their lives. The flame of the student protests has spread throughout Serbia, and it is clear that nothing will be the same again. The spirit of freedom has escaped the bottle, the waves of change have been set in motion, and it is now up to all of us to sustain that energy and work toward improving our society.

Author: Vladyslava Oliinyk What do a child in Sarajevo in the 1990s and a child in Ukraine today have in common? A historian and student shares how moderating an exhibition at the Museum of War Childhood in Kyiv sparked a personal and academic journey into Balkan history, empathy, and the power of cultural memory. This blog reflects on how museums can connect past and present across borders—and how stories of childhood in wartime can bring people and nations closer together. Last summer, I had the unique opportunity to moderate a temporary exhibition at the Museum of War Childhood in Kyiv. Although the exhibition was managed by the museum’s Ukrainian branch, moderators like myself had to familiarize ourselves with the institution’s origins in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina. The Museum of War Childhood is a relatively young institution—its permanent exhibition opened only in 2017—but its conceptual depth is striking. The idea behind the museum lies in the tension between the uniqueness and universality of growing up during wartime, as first explored in the book War Childhood by Bosnian entrepreneur and author Jasminko Halilović. Halilović transformed his personal experiences as a child during the Bosnian War (1992–1995) into a literary work and, eventually, a cultural institution. Photo by Oliinyk Vladyslava As a historian, I was familiar with the basic chronology and causes of the Bosnian War, but I had never examined the conflict on a micro level. During my undergraduate studies, my focus was on the history of visual art in Victorian Britain, and I gave little attention to Central or Eastern Europe. It wasn’t until Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine that I felt a personal urgency to understand the region’s post-Soviet transitions and the independence movements of neighboring countries. The complex and often painful recent history of the Balkans earned my deep respect, but at first, I struggled to see how our experiences were connected. Encountering the Museum of War Childhood changed that. I began to recognize parallels between the Russian-Ukrainian war and the Bosnian conflict—especially in how children navigate trauma, displacement, and interrupted childhoods during wartime. The museum made these connections tangible, offering a space where individual stories speak across national and temporal boundaries. Photo by Oliinyk Vladyslava In my growing curiosity about the Balkans, I chose to join a Central European University specifically because it offered a course on Balkan Studies. Ukrainian universities also offer Central and Eastern European studies, but I realized that to truly understand the region, I needed to learn from the people who live there. Who can speak more vividly about the intricacies of student protests in Serbia than those participating in them? Who can reflect more truthfully on the Bosnian war than those who lived through it? Through my studies and encounters, these questions are finding meaningful answers. My experience taught me how cultural institutions, like museums, can provide powerful tools for rethinking war, trauma, and identity. Today’s museums can connect the histories of different nations, revealing shared tragedies and common challenges—particularly for children navigating the chaos of war. This renewed focus on the experiences of minors has led me to new research interests and opened a new chapter of European history I had never expected to engage with so deeply. Museums, I’ve learned, can simultaneously build bridges and highlight difference—and in doing so, they provide a space where empathy, inquiry, and healing can coexist. Photo by Oliinyk Vladyslava Photo by Oliinyk Vladyslava

Meeting with Angel Igov, The Meek, Rene Karabash, She Who Remains, and their translator Marie Vrinat-Nikolov, Lyon, France, March 28th 2024 This article summarizes the following Bulgarian literary meeting: "Two voices of contemporary Bulgarian literature". The two voices are those of Angel Igor for his historical novel The Meek and Rene Karabash for her fictive biography She Who Remains. There was a third voice, this of their French translator Marie Vrinat-Nikolov. Presentation of the meeting On Thursday, 28 March 2024, at 7 p.m., the Terre des Livre bookshop in Lyon hosted the literary event "Two Voices of Contemporary Bulgarian Literature". Hosted by their translator, Marie Vrinat-Nikolov, Angel Igov and Rene Karabash spoke about their novels. Around thirty people attended the one-hour-and-a-half event. That was more than expected! So, excellent news. This Bulgarian literature event featured the novels The Meek by Angel Igov and She Who Remains by Rene Karabash. Both authors were present. The Terre des Livres bookshop organized the meeting in partnership with the Bulgarian Cultural Institute of Paris. Another book presented (without its author) but linked to the theme of the evening was ViktorPaskov’s Germany obscene tale. Presentation of the books and the three speakers The historical novel The Meek is the fruit of extensive research. Its protagonist, the poet Emil Strezov, becomes one of the judges of People’s Court, set up in Bulgaria between 1944 and 1945. This court condemned thousands  of dissidents" and opponents to the new Soviet regime in power at the time, including death sentences. The story then follows the evolution of Strezov, whose power is going to his head. The novel is in Bulgarian and translated into German, Macedonian, and French. She Who Remains is a fictive biography by Rene Karabash. The story set in Albania is the monologue (stream of awareness) of Matia, formerly Bekia. On the eve of her wedding, Bekia is raped and decides to become a sworn virgin. She renounces her identity as a woman and takes on the status and role of a man under the name "Matia". It provoked her fiancé's honor and the kanun (a set of Albanian traditional laws), leading to a vendetta. The novel, written in Bulgarian, has been translated into Bosnian, Macedonian, French, Polish, and Arabic. Marie Vrinat-Nikolov moderated the meeting "Power and its abuses" as the central theme of the evening. The discussion revolved around History and how it interferes with everyone's personal (hi)story. Punctuated by readings of excerpts in Bulgarian and French, the talks between the three speakers revealed the authors’ inspirations and writing processes. The Meek, Angel Igov The author of The Meek shares the three main reasons that inspired him to write his novel. The first was a comment he heard one day from someone close to his father. This person mentioned his participation in the People’s Court as a young judge. He then insisted on convicting a defendant who, in the end, was not that guilty. The second reason is that Angel is very interested in this period of Bulgarian History. The third reason is that this moment in Bulgarian History, particularly 1944-1945, is crucial to study and speak about. The subjects of the People’s Court and the Communist period in Bulgaria have already been documented. However, they had yet to be a subject in literature or fiction. The author consulted many archives related to this court to write his novel. One of the primary sources he used was the newspapers of that time. Angel said, "Yesterday's newspapers are always more interesting than today's". This applies even more to research purposes. During his research, the rise of fascism and the cruelty of youth were what caught his attention the most. The majority of the tribunal's members were (very) young. Nevertheless, Angel emphasizes this several times: neither History nor human beings are black or white. Indeed, his book does not present a Manichean vision of events or characters. The figures, motivations, and motives of the members of this tribunal are diverse. Some took part out of opportunism, careerism, or a desire for revenge. Or for power, death, or a way to escape poverty. And sometimes for several reasons at once. This illustrates that History and individual stories bear several dimensions. History and stories are not abstract but very concrete. And The Meek shows that. She Who Remains, Rene Karabash Like Angel Igov, the author of She Who Remains, led much research over two years. She did it through books (including Broken April by Ismail Kadare) and rare interviews of sworn virgins. Rene wanted to travel to Albania, but it was difficult and risky. It didn't prevent her from writing a realistic book. Indeed, Albania's specialists at Sofia University believed she had gone there to document and conduct her research. Rene Karabash shares her inspirations and motivations with us. Through this book, she wanted to document violence, one of the facets of a patriarchal society. Although extreme in this case, the author, who grew up in the Bulgarian countryside, comments that the background is the same whether you're in Albania, Bulgaria, or elsewhere. Society is violent, and patriarchal society is violent. This violence and the trauma it produces are very vivid in the narration of She Who Remains. The author describes her narration as "schizophrenic". Written without full stops or capitals, Matia’s stream of awareness/consciousness and words are punctuated only by commas. The protagonist opens up, tells his story, and tells what's inside of him and has to be told. And this is precisely what Rene warns us about: is the protagonist reliable? What is true in this stream of memories and thoughts? The comments Rene received for her novel are all robust, full of shock and pity. They evoke the violence of the subject and the traumas often shared. The author would have liked illiterate people who are frequently the victims of trauma and have less opportunity to talk about it to read her book. The aim would have been to see their reactions and feelings about the(ir) story. Voices: The translator Marie Vrinat-Nikolov Marie Vrinat-Nikolov, the foremost translator of Bulgarian literature into French, also reveals some aspects of her work regarding translating these two books and shares her concerns, questions, and difficulties. For The Meek in particular, but this applies to all translations, she stresses the importance of sound and sonority. She uses the announcement of the condemned death's sentence as an example. In Bulgarian, смърт (read "smurt" with a rolled R) sounds sharp and violent. Both "death" and "(la) mort" in French sound less sudden and tragic. However, using another translation for this word would have modified the wanted effect in Bulgarian, which is nonetheless conveyed in French. Of course, for She Who Remains, it was necessary to keep Matia's stream of consciousness and, therefore, of words. The character spits out his thoughts and overwhelms us with violent memories. The effect these memories have on the reader is multiplied by the words, which follow one another without a pause, moment to breathe, or even to catch a breath. Conclusion This Bulgarian literary meeting with Angel Igov and his novel The Meek and Karabash's She Who Remains marks the revival of the meetings organized by the bookshop Terre des Livres. From the number of interested participants present on Thursday evening, everyone could see that both Bulgarian literature AND events of this kind attract many people. The bookshop, the organizers, the speakers, the editors, and the public all deserve our thanks. We can only hope that others such event will happen in the future.

In the annals of World War II, the Partisan movement in Albania stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of resistance and the quest for liberation. Born out of the crucible of occupation and oppression, the Albanian Partisans emerged as a formidable force against fascist tyranny, forging a path towards freedom and national sovereignty. Occupied by Italian forces in 1939 and subsequently by Nazi Germany in 1943, Albania found itself caught in the crossfire of global conflict. Yet, amidst the chaos and despair, a new chapter in Albanian history was written — one of courage, sacrifice, and unwavering determination to reclaim the nation's destiny. The roots of the Partisan movement can be traced back to the early days of occupation when a diverse coalition of patriots, communists, nationalists, and ordinary citizens united in resistance against foreign domination. Led by figures such as Enver Hoxha, Mehmet Shehu, and others, the Partisans embarked on a daring struggle for liberation, confronting the might of fascist armies with guerrilla tactics and popular mobilization. Central to the Partisan ethos was the belief in the power of the people — the conviction that ordinary men and women, united in common cause, could overcome even the most formidable adversaries. Drawing strength from Albania's rich history of resistance against foreign invaders, the Partisans tapped into a deep well of national pride and solidarity, rallying people from all walks of life to join the fight for freedom. The rugged terrain of Albania's mountains became both sanctuary and battleground for the Partisans, providing refuge from enemy patrols and a strategic advantage in their guerrilla warfare tactics. Operating in small, mobile units, they launched ambushes, sabotaged enemy supply lines, and rallied support from rural communities, turning the tide of war in their favor. But the Partisan struggle was not just a military campaign; it was also a social revolution — a movement to overturn centuries of feudal oppression and build a more just and egalitarian society. Through their actions, the Partisans sought to empower the disenfranchised, elevate the status of women, and promote education and literacy among the masses. One of the most remarkable aspects of the Albanian Partisan movement was its ability to transcend ethnic and religious divisions, uniting Albanians of all backgrounds in a common struggle for liberation. In a region plagued by ethnic tensions and sectarian violence, the Partisans stood as a beacon of unity and solidarity, embodying the ideal of "Albania for Albanians." The culmination of the Partisan struggle came in November 1944, when the combined forces of the Partisans and the Allied powers liberated Albania from fascist rule, heralding a new era of independence and self-determination. Yet, the victory came at a great cost, with thousands of Partisans sacrificing their lives in the fight for freedom. Today, the legacy of the Albanian Partisan movement lives on as a symbol of courage and resilience, inspiring future generations to stand up against injustice and oppression. As Albania continues its journey towards democracy and development, the spirit of the Partisans remains a guiding light, reminding us of the power of ordinary people to shape their own destiny and forge a better tomorrow.