Sarajevska crvena linija

Friday marked the 20th “anniversary” of the siege of Sarajevo. Honestly, I've never really enjoyed using that word to describe tragic events. For the lucky person who has never experienced loss, the term anniversary only calls into memory happy celebrations of life such as weddings, first dates, and birthdays. For the rest of us, it sometimes means concentrating on living rather than dwelling on all of the tough things we have been through.

Sarajevo Red Line

To commemorate 20 years, Sarajevo's main street was filled with empty red chairs, each of which represented one of 11,541 people who were killed during the siege. There were even smaller chairs near the Children's Memorial to represent each child. A screen displaying the names of all of the victims stood roughly every 50 meters along the street, while nearby speakers blared a heartbreaking rendition of Albinoni's Adagio in g, the piece Vedran Smailović, the Cellist of Sarajevo, was most known for performing. People stopped to place flowers, teddy bears, and other gifts on the chairs in memory of their loved ones. Others gathered around the screens to watch their loved one's name appear on the lengthy list of casualties. Though most of the people I saw were reverent, some of them caught me offguard. One lady was grinning ear to ear while she happily took photos of the memorial. I don't think she really got it...

As I walked along the street from Ali Pasha's Mosque to the Eternal Flame, I was quite moved by the vastness of the memorial. In fact, I could not bear to look at the screens with the victims' names or truly listen to the music that looped endlessly throughout my 20-minute observance. I've heard the statistics from the war: how many people died, how many children died, how many shells fell on the city per day, etc. I've heard stories from my friends who were in Sarajevo during the siege. I've even watched real video footage from some of the massacres. Nothing prepared me for this though. It was the first time I could actually comprehend how much was lost during the war.

Sarajevo Rose

I have seen the signs of war damage every day since I came to Bosnia six months ago. There are still houses in my neighborhood with clear mortar scars and bullet holes. Next to those houses are new ones though, a symbol of hope and forward progress. On the tram ride from Ilidža to the center, it is hard not to notice the skeleton of a building so damaged that you can see the beautiful mountains through its remains. Closer to the center appears a cemetary covering an entire hill with densely-packed tombstones. Even my daily walk in the center is accompanied by the passing of a Sarajevo Rose. I am continually impressed with Sarajevans' ability to continue to live fairly normal lives in a place so touched by the scars of hatred.

If there is only one thing that I take away from my time in Sarajevo, it will be one part of the mindset of its people: the inclination to celebrate life. People here seem to live their lives to the fullest. They tell someone that they love them instead of waiting and making excuses for themselves. They take time to eat lunch or drink coffee in the sunshine. They make plenty of extra time for family and friends. Sure, I've realized in the past that these things are important, but it helps to be reminded of that. Coming from a society which seems to value success in terms of career rather than happiness, I found that I had to change my mindset quite a bit in order to feel like I belong here. I truly hope to be able to continue to party hearty when I go home.