2m x 1m x 1m;
Installation; body of a pig, small bag, travel boots, boarding passes.
“It seems so easy for you there! The sea is close, the sun, fresh fruits, and euros!”
Often, one can hear that migrants are lucky. They are lucky to live in a country where there is no winter, where salaries are in euros, ripe fruits are available year-round, and the sea is as close as a weekend getaway. Europe is within arm's reach, with a 50 euro ticket. It feels like a year-long vacation. It all sounds so appealing.
But there's another side to the story. No money for rent and food, surviving on an income six times lower, and now paying for housing that used to be free.
And when your shoes wear out, you don't buy new ones; instead, you head to the tailor with them and your torn dress, which has seen many seasons.
And the job hunt consumes so much time and energy that thoughts of cooking for a luckier migrant or looking after their children start creeping in.
And sometimes, you're torn between staying or returning.
And your thoughts of muscled Serbian men and women constantly drift towards reflections on what “homeland” really means. Where is it? Where will it be? Is it here or somewhere else? It's a choice you'll have to make. Or perhaps, it’s time to return home. But where is that home?
And your reputation, status, and achievements remain somewhere back there, while here, you grapple with feelings of guilt and shame for everything.
And then there's the question: Is who I am now what I wanted for myself? Who or what led me to this point? Is my current situation a result of my actions or merely a consequence of circumstances?
And even as an adult, you still need someone mature.
And every day, as you wake up, you question whether you're doing everything right. And there's no clear answer.
Well, yes, there it is, +30°C at the end of September...
