Dremkë #1
Prizren, August 2019. Witnessing the sun disappear behind Pashtrik while sipping on free champagne as people gathered for a musical performance/film at the age-old fortress. A couple of hours prior, I was knocking back glass after glass of pear raki and having a chin-wag with a theater actor (my host) in Ivica Dačić’s childhood home (where he stays now with his wife and son). I was walking down the street, enjoying the wafts of laughter tickling my throat. I was surrounded by friends and family. “The air was thin and sweet,” as Isakov would put it. It’s easy to find reasons to worry. It oftentimes seems that, as soon as something good happens, it quickly loses it’s extraordinariness and “downgrades” to assumed normality. On the other hand, bad things hurt us, destroy us, and define us. Taking things for granted is foolish as fuck, but life shifts focus too quickly for it to matter. However, everything is indeed a sunset. Every tear shed on a Sunday afternoon, every perfect meal you share with a loved one, every bottle of rosé you hurl out of the window when there’s none left and you need more. Every step forward (or backward), every frustration, every split second of bliss — they’re all sunsets, it only depends on whether you look.
