Coming this Fall! Cozier than ever!
Remember Me is about to become available in audio! Here’s a short excerpt snippet to give you a little sneak-peak. Narrated by Lindsay Carrillo. Enjoy!
Love always,
Sanela
A short taste of Remember Me
“I know the feeling of confusion and betrayal. I know the feeling of fearing for my life.”
~Jason Reynolds
There’s something to be said about finding someone who just gets you. There’s really nothing like it. Finding that person is the same feeling as coming home. You just feel comfortable. You feel like you can relax and be who you really are. They’re exactly what you’ve been missing.
As I contemplate about which story to write about today, I am feeling lonely. I am feeling betrayed by someone I love. I am feeling confused and scared. I am feeling … blah, and so, what I need today is some Johnny-therapy. Every time I get betrayed by someone I love, I go back to the memory of him to remind myself that it is possible to be loved by someone so completely that you don’t have to censor what you say around them because they get you and they love you anyway. You can be as goofy as you want around them and they will love you anyway. You can cry and fall apart in-front of them and they will still love you anyway … finding a person like that is rare.
For me, a little Johnny therapy is what’s desperately needed this weekend. It’s what’s necessary to get me through to the next chapter of my life. So, instead of coming up with a new inspirational story to tell you today, I am bringing Johnny back to life instead.
Here’s a short excerpt from my favorite book.
Enjoy!
Copyright © 2022 by Sanela Ramic Jurich. All rights reserved.
Pg 205-207 in Remember Me
The door to his office was open, and as I walked in, I saw this tall, handsome, blond man holding the phone to his ear and talking loudly. There was a faint accent in his voice. He had his back turned to me, but his voice was enough to tell me it was him. It was my Johnny. I couldn’t stop the tears from embarrassing me; they flew out of my eyes like rivers before he even turned to face me. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack. My mind was telling me it was impossible and that I was finally losing it, but my heart – my heart was humming, slowly wrapping around his voice, soaking it in, treasuring it. He turned… slowly dropping the phone to the floor. Shock was all over his face as he just stood there, obviously stunned. The sight of him made me catch my breath. Though his blond hair was now expertly trimmed, and his body had filled out; he still had the most mesmerizing blue eyes I’d ever seen, looking even more like a god than before. I noticed the one dimple he had when he smiled. His one flaw – a dimple on only one side, his left. To me it wasn’t a flaw at all; it just made him look even more adorable.
“Selma,” he whispered, as if he was afraid if he spoke louder or moved I’d suddenly disappear. I couldn’t say anything from fear of sobbing loudly, so we just stood there looking at each other, neither one making the first move for a few moments. Then, finally, he walked gradually toward me. The nightmare I’d had for years popped into my head, and I thought to myself that if this was another tribulation and he suddenly disappeared, I’d die. My heart would break, and I wouldn’t recover from this one.
“Selma,” he repeated softly, finally reaching me.
“Hi…” was all I could whimper out as my whole body trembled, mostly from the closeness of him and a little from the shock it just went through. The hug he gave me was soft at first, but it became stronger and stronger with each passing second. His arms were wrapped around me tightly; I thought he’d break my rib cage, but I didn’t mind if he did. I wanted him close, closer. I was afraid if I let go, I’d never be able to hold him like that again. I had millions of questions on my mind and knew nothing about this grown-up Johnny. For all I knew he was happily married. Oh, how I hoped he wasn’t.
Selfish–I was so selfish to hope that….
Hope this short excerpt brightens up your day a little. It’s certainly putting a smile to my face.
Thanks for hanging out with me.
Love always,
Sanela
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AGED TO PERFECTION
“We don’t receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.” ~Marcel Proust
As my birthday approaches, so does my anxiety. Not for the reasons one might think. I’m not afraid of getting old or dying. I’ve faced death more times than I can count and it no longer scares me. It taunts me at times though. When I wish for it and beg for it to come and end the misery, it laughs in my face. It squeezes so hard sometimes, it feels like my soul is about to leave my body. Then it eases its grip on me as it grins and whispers: no, not just yet, you haven’t suffered enough yet. There are more lessons to be learned, still.
No, death does not cause my anxiety any more. Death feels like a sweet release. Freedom. My anxiety is caused by life and the evil that exists in it. In my experience, birthdays are reminders of the evil that plagues the human nature.
Someone once said to me that birthdays are a celebration of sheer privilege of being alive and, although, I truly am grateful for all the years of life I’ve lived after my sixteenth birthday, I still can’t escape this immense ache in my heart that seems to be getting stronger with each passing year; every single year my birthday rolls around.
My sixteenth Birthday — Bosnia 1992
The day I left my home country forever was August 26, 1992. It was my sixteenth birthday.
As I stood on the street, waiting for a bus to take me away to an unknown hell, I was feeling ashamed of my own thoughts. I was brooding over my birthday. I was being a typical sixteen-year-old; a teenager. I wanted a birthday party. I wanted my friends and family to fuss over me. I wanted the sweet in the “sweet-sixteenth.” Why could’t I have all that?! Why was I being robbed of that?! For whom?! Instead of getting a birthday party, I was being forced out of my home. Being forced to watch as evil men killed my family, friends, neighbors. Being forced out of my freedom! Had to stay quiet as they called me names and tried to touch me inappropriately — had to let them do it! Had to keep quiet as they stole every single possession my parents and I owned. Why?! For whom?! For what?!
Five days before … August 21, 1992, I was in a convoy that was transporting me from my home-town, Prijedor to Travnik. It was supposed to be a safe passage, but half way to our destination, the Serb army stopped the convoy, forcing over 250 men and boys out of it and killing them in a place called Koričanske Stijene on Mount Vlašić. The rest of us were taken to the other side of the mountain and thrown onto the field of mines. (Read Remember Me).
The walk down the mountain was very long and tiring. My mom tripped and fell so many times … I had to pee so badly, I could barely walk. When it got dark out, we weren’t allowed to turn on any flashlights because if we did, the Serb army could see us. They were already throwing grenades over our heads, trying to guess where exactly we were. I remember some guy lighting a cigarette and three other men jumping up and tackling him to the ground. The cigarette was going to give our whereabouts away.
When we left home, we took nothing with us. We had no money and no belongings. All was taken away. (Read Remember Me).
And so I just stood there — at the bus-stop — hopelessly. Feeling as if someone had dumped a bucket of manure on my head. Feeling guilty for wanting something better for myself on my birthday as if I hadn’t just witnessed a mass murder take place only five days before.
My mom, noticing the look on my face, leaned closer and whispered: “Sanela, you’re alive. We’re alive. Isn’t that something to celebrate? We’re leaving hell on your birthday. That’s something, isn’t it?”
I stood quiet as her words made me feel worse, not better as she intended.
I felt hatred, but not toward the men who forced us out of our home, but toward myself. I wasn’t good enough to have a party. To celebrate my sweet sixteenth like all the other kids my age did and at the same time, I felt guilty for even wanting it now while all this misery was going on around me.
“It could be worse,” she continued. “We must hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”
“What do you mean it could be worse?!” I snapped, “why do you always have to say that?! How about this, from now on you say, it could be better! Huh?! Maybe then it’ll start getting better, not worse!”
I turned my back to her, not wanting to talk any more. I felt even worse than before. I realized I had hurt her. She was only trying to make me feel better. She didn’t know anything either. She didn’t want this for me, I knew, but she was an easy target for me to take some frustration out on. She forgave me, I’m sure. She probably doesn’t even remember those words spoken in so much pain, but I do and I still feel guilty for dragging her down to that hell with me as if she didn’t have enough to deal with herself.
A few minutes later, I heard someone calling my name. Turning around I noticed a boy a couple of years older than I, whom I’d just met a day before, running to catch up as the bus we were waiting on slowly approached.
He was out of breath when he finally reached me. Almir was his name. I only remembered him because when he had introduced himself the day before, I’d noticed a hole in his forehead. It looked as if someone had scooped up half of his forehead and covered the hole with skin. After he had introduced himself, we had talked for a little bit. He had explained to me that the hole in his head was created by a shrapnel from a grenade that fell on his house killing his mother and two sisters.
It could be worse. My mom’s words rang in my head as I watched him approach.
“I have something for you,” he said earnestly, “Happy Birthday.”
He handed me something wrapped up in newspaper. “Don’t open it just yet. Wait until I’m gone.”
My voice was filled with emotion as I asked how he knew it was my birthday.
“Your cousin told me last night,” he smiled, “although it’s not much, it’s something to remind you you’re not alone. Be happy on your day Sanela,” he smiled sadly adding, “birthdays are a celebration of privilege of being alive and that’s what we are. Alive. We get to live another day. To meet some new people. To love. If nothing else, then to see what happens next.”
I’ve lived by those words every day of my life since, always wanting to see what happens next.
And so, as my 46th birthday approaches, I am thrilled to report that I am better than ever. It took me a while to get here, but here I am, basking in awesomeness. Despite everything, I came out beautiful and strong.
Cheers to the next 46!
Sanela
“I truly believe that I survived for one reason and one reason only: to tell our story, to give a voice to those who don’t have it anymore. I was there as a witness. As a survivor, I have an obligation. I have to talk about what had happened in Prijedor, Bosnia back in 1992, no matter the cost!” ~Sanela Ramic Jurich
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Once upon a time…
Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt like you’ve known them forever? Against all odds, you know deep inside that you know them. They feel familiar and comforting. You are drawn to them, but you only just met them. How can that be? Could it be some kind of a karmic connection? Soulmates? Is such a thing even possible? Could it all be just a figment of your imagination or could there be an actual rational explanation for feeling this way? Is there a scientific explanation or is it fate?
The Story of Us by Sanela Ramic Jurich
Another gorgeous summer day. I shouldn’t be surprised by that; days here are always gorgeous. It’s summer all the time. The only time it rains and is gloomy is when we have an argument. He pulls the anger out of me. He knows which buttons to push, and he pushes them well. He understands the extent of effect he has on me. He’s the only one who can bring the storm, lightning, darkness, rain … out of me. It never lasts, of course, but it shows the power he has over me and he loves it. Oh, I’m sure I have the same effect on him too, but men can’t bring out the storms with their emotions like women can. Men can only walk away and hide. He hides in his man-cave until the storms of his emotions die down and then he comes back out looking more handsome than before; if that’s even possible. His smile can light up an entire universe. He is warm and inviting. The blue shade of his eyes doesn’t exist anywhere else in any universe. It only exists inside of him and when he’s calm and content, his eyes deepen and darken just a tiny bit. No one else can see it but me. I watch him so closely all the time. I soak him in. His beauty is indescribable to me. I don’t just physically see it; I feel it deeply. I know him so well that the beauty of him–all of him inside and out–overwhelms me. Soulmates.
We’ve known each other a long time. Ions. I don’t even remember the first time I laid eyes on him. We must have been created at the same time. Each lifetime we lived, we lived it together: learning and growing, driving each other mad at times too, but always ending up here; back home. He’s my opposite. There’s no me without him.
Our home is created for the two of us. That’s where we go after each life-time. No matter where we end up in life, or whom we end up with, once it’s over, we retire here.
The house itself is not huge nor fancy looking. A small cottage over a big mansion was my idea. He went along with it because of the promise I made: I would let him rebuild it any way he liked if he wasn’t satisfied with the way it looked now. Later, however, he admitted he loved it too.
The house is white. Brown shutters on windows and the oval door with an old-fashioned knocker in the middle of it are brown too. The roof is red and peaky. Multi-colored flowers are everywhere in the front. Red roses are climbing up the house and their scent is alluring. The front yard is cozy and is covered in freshly cut grass surrounded by a picket fence. The fence is not white, but natural color of the wood it was made of. There’s a path passing by the house. Across the path is a waist-size wall and behind it–in its entire glory–is the ocean. Oh, the smell in the air is captivating. Even though the sound of the waves hitting the rocks is loud, it gets drowned out by birdsong, an occasional bee buzzing, a bark of a dog, a horse neighing somewhere in the distance … but the best part about the surroundings here is that no noise is ever caused by a car, train, airplane. There are no neighbors in sight, but we know they are nearby if we need them.
To the left of the house, the dirt path leads to a green hill. It takes some effort to climb it, but once up there it feels like an accomplishment. The view of the ocean–once on top–is spectacular and is well worth the climb. There are no fences there. Walking down the hill in the opposite direction, leads to a white, sandy beach. The beach is vast. Lots to explore. Caves and a small forest are not too far away either.
This particular evening, we went out for a walk. We climbed up our hill and laid down our blanket so we could have a picnic. Even though we don’t need to eat here, we still do it. We love the comforting taste of food and wine. We teased and made each other laugh until our bellies ached. We talked for hours and hours like we usually do. We lost track of time and before we knew it, we were blanketed by the night. Night creatures were slowly coming out of their hiding places and were making noises. It felt like there was something heavy in the air though. Couldn’t put my finger on it; couldn’t truly understand the feeling. He seemed somewhat different. I could tell there was something he wanted to talk about but was struggling to find the right words. The worry written on his face he was trying to conceal was overwhelming.
“What is it?” I asked slowly, even though I dreaded the answer. I, as an empath, was soaking up the emotion he was feeling right now, and it felt like his nerves were getting the best of him. He was worried about my reaction. He was worried I would say no.
He looked deeply into my eyes as if he was trying to see what my answer would be. Not able to read me, he groaned, then whispered: “Let’s do it! I’m ready to go again!”
I didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. I instantly knew what it was he wanted to do again. It was not something I ever look forward to doing because that something terrifies me. Each time we did it in the past, he was the one who insisted. He was the one who initiated it and even though I was reluctant to do it, each time he asked, I always said yes, but I only agreed to it because of his promise to be close. To keep me safe. Continue reading
Happy Independence Day!
Proud to be an American!
American by choice. That’s what I consider myself to be. I entered this world in a far away land across the Atlantic Ocean. When I was fifteen years old, my whole life changed in a blink of an eye. I became exposed to the trials and tribulations of war overnight, and had to live through an unimaginable horror and pain. However, on August 10, 1993, sixteen days before my seventeenth birthday, my biggest wish came true. With not a penny to my name, nor any knowledge of the English Language, I landed in Chicago.
Although being a refugee was almost as bad as living in a war, it didn’t take much for me to progress. Americans made it easy for me to feel comfortable and accepted. I am now a proud American and nobody can take that away from me. Each day is a blessing and I thank God for giving me the opportunity to move here, to learn and grow. Independence Day has a special meaning for me and I celebrate it with so much love, pride and gratitude in my heart.
As Americans, we are individuals who come from different cultures, religions and economic backgrounds– but our future is made together, made in the USA!
May God bless our country!
I wish you all a safe and happy Independence Day celebration.
~Sanela
“Ms. Jurich is a master story teller with a historically important background that must be read in its entirety to be appreciated – Don’t worry, once she’s introduced, you’ll hang on every word.” – iSTAR
A mother is your first friend, your best friend, your forever friend.
Although mom should be celebrated every day of the year, there is a special day dedicated just for her.
A fun fact, Mother’s Day isn’t always on the same date, but on every second Sunday in May. In 2022, you’ll be showering her with love and appreciation on Sunday, May 8th.
I bet you didn’t know that one of the earliest Mother’s Day celebrations was in Ancient Greece. They had spring celebrations in honor of Rhea, the goddess of fertility, motherhood, and generation.
The American Mother’s Day celebrations started with peacemaker Ann Jarvis during and following the civil war. Ann Jarvis made an effort to foster friendship and community between the mothers on both sides of the war. She started a committee in 1868 which established the first glimmer of today’s holiday: “Mother’s Friendship Day.”
Ann’s daughter, Anna, continued her mother’s legacy by creating the official holiday. The very first Mother’s Day was celebrated in 1908. After Anna Jarvis created the Mother’s Day International Association in order to streamline the intimate day of observance to the second Sunday in May, Woodrow Wilson legitimized the celebration as a nationwide holiday. However, the holiday quickly became a commercialized opportunity for producers to sell flowers, candies, and cards. Anna Reeves Jarvis felt this was detracting from the personal and intimate aspects of the holiday and defied this by starting boycotts, walkouts, and even condemned first lady Eleanor Roosevelt for using the day as a means of fundraising. According to townandcountrymag.com, Jarvis would eventually use all her money in this fight, and died at the age of 84 in a sanatorium.
Today, a Mother’s Day is celebrated all over the world, but on different days. Continue reading
May from Hell!
When most people think of the month of May, in their mind’s eye, they see: spring-time, renewal, rebirth, flowers, sunshine, laughter of children playing outside. I, on the other hand, see the beginning of an end. The beginning of unimaginable hell. Most specifically, I see a teenage Bosniak girl being raped by Serb paramilitary units. Her parents restrained behind a fence while she’s being raped repeatedly. After a while she’s left alone in a pool of her own blood …
My birth-town, Prijedor, Bosnia in 1992.
The other day, a ninety year old man, said to me: “You can’t possibly understand what those poor people in Ukraine are going through!”
“I’m Bosnian.” I replied quietly. Not giving him any more information than that, knowing full-well he knew about the war in Bosnia. He lived through the early 1990’s and was hearing about the horrible war in Europe on the news then, just like we’re hearing about Ukraine now. He didn’t say anything else to me about the subject. His confrontational demeanor changed instantly while the look on his face became a little softer as he understood why I was reluctant to carry on the conversation about the Ukraine in the first place, which he obviously craved so much in hopes of teaching this “ignorant, spoiled, young American girl” about the “real” struggles of the world. He assumed I was younger than I am, therefore, he assumed, I was spoiled and didn’t know anything.
en.wikipedia.org
I let it go. He wasn’t worth my time nor energy. He did, however, bring up the memories I just can’t escape no matter how hard I try.
I was born in Prijedor and in 1992, I was only 15.
You see, when other people talk about the war, what they think is happening is army against another army, buildings being blown-up, dead bodies on the street and screaming children … for those are the images that are constantly being displayed on our TV sets. But what I see–in my mind’s eye– behind those news-images is a little different and a lot darker. What I see and know first hand is truly happening is a young girl being raped repeatedly by men in uniform, while her parents are restrained behind the fence.
Let me tell you about her: she is scrawny. Tall, but skinny. Shy beyond comprehension. She only speaks when spoken to. Always quiet. She is beautiful, although, she doesn’t know it yet and she wouldn’t believe you if you told her so. She loves her school-mates and her teachers. She loves her parents and grandparents, her aunts and uncles and even though she has no siblings, she thinks of her cousins as her brothers and sisters. Most of all, she loves books. She reads about distant places and people she would love to visit and meet some day. She’s a day-dreamer. She is happy. She is your typical little girl. She could be your daughter or your sister. Maybe a cousin or even a girl you’re crushing on. She could be you.
She doesn’t know anything about politics and quite frankly, she doesn’t care about such adult matters. She thinks she’s in love with her childhood crush.
In 1992 her whole world crumbles. Her loved ones are being tortured and killed. Thrown away into concentration camps. She doesn’t know why. She’s being punished, but she can’t understand nor remember what it was that she did that was so horrible to be punished so severely … Continue reading
EARTH DAY 2022 – APRIL 22
Source: https://www.earthday.org/
This is the moment to change it all — the business climate, the political climate, and how we take action on climate. Now is the time for the unstoppable courage to preserve and protect our health, our families, and our livelihoods.
For Earth Day 2022, we need to act (boldly), innovate (broadly), and implement (equitably). It’s going to take all of us. All in. Businesses, governments, and citizens — everyone accounted for, and everyone accountable. A partnership for the planet.
Go to https://www.earthday.org/ for ideas on how we can save our planet.
A good starting point would be to stop all wars!
Back then, I often thought that being a refugee was worse than living in a war.
I moved to America as a refugee from Prijedor, Bosnia in 1993. It was the worst time of my life. Now, however, I feel very blessed and fortunate for I moved to the best country in the world, the United States of America. America gave me a fresh start, a second chance at life!
I wrote two books about my experience as a refugee and life in a war.
There are just a few words of encouragement I would like to say to today’s refugees of the world. It is a quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe:
“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.”
#prayforpeace
Happy Easter!
The very first Easter taught us this: that life never ends and love never dies.
Easter season has finally arrived, so grab your baskets for festive egg hunts!
Somebody once told me that the earth laughs in flowers and I cannot agree more. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be hitting my favorite nursery for plants—I can’t wait! The storm has finally passed. The spring has come. Love, hope, and renewal are in the air. It is time for a second chance!
I haven’t done many blogs over the last few months because not much has been going on. My life is finally calming down after a storm that hit it so hard and lasted for so long — a storm I thought I would not survive, but here I am. Reborn again. Some day I will tell you all about the latest storm that was determined to destroyed me, but not today. Today, I am happy. I’m happy to report that not much has been going on. I write, work-out, cook. On the weekends I clean and make it a point to visit my parents.
That’s pretty much how it goes.
The rest of my time is spent with these two gorgeous humans.
Tomorrow I’m making beignets, my guilty pleasure.
So, while celebrating with the yummiest Easter candy and snapping pictures of you and your family looking your Sunday best, it’s also important to remember what this springtime holiday is really about: the season of renewal. This day marks rebirth in so many different ways, whether you celebrate the religious origins of the holiday or not, one thing is for certain, spring will come and so will happiness. Hold on. Life will get warmer.
“Easter is the only time when it’s perfectly safe to put all of your eggs in one basket.”
And with that being said, I’m going to curl up with a book for awhile. Wishing you and your loved ones a happy and safe Easter weekend.
Sanela
HAUNTING FROM THE PAST EXCERPT
HAUNTING FROM THE PAST EXCERPT
“Have you ever opened the cover of a book and wondered what you would find inside? Where you would go? Whom you would meet? A story has the power to send you back in time or into the future, to transport you to other lands and kingdoms.”
I am pleased to present an excerpt from my second book, Haunting from the Past.
Here’s the official book description:
As Selma tries to move on and recover from the horrible experience she had went through while living in Bosnia in 1992—where she and her parents had found themselves targets of the Bosnian war and where Selma had lost nearly all those she loved, was abused by those whom she once trusted, and had witnessed prejudice at its ugliest—the hell from which, she thought, she had finally escaped, found her in America and started haunting her again, reminding her that there was unfinished business some place else.
Selma is a respected business woman, living in Chicago with the love of her life and their son. From the outside, it looks as if she finally has it all; career and family many people could only wish for. She thinks she is the luckiest person on the planet who had survived and escaped hell. One day she receives a phone call that forces her to go back to the place she had left behind almost two decades before. She had promised never to go back there, but now, she finds herself in a desperate situation from which there is no way out. She goes back to face her demons once again.
Will this trip finally, push Selma over the edge and be the end of her? Who knows, it might even help her get some kind of conclusion. Follow Selma’s journey back to the past through despair, hatred, love, hope, and peace in author Sanela Jurich’s Haunting from the Past.
Experience the brutality of the Bosnian Genocide and understand the courage it takes to face your attackers and relive the pain in the name of justice.
You’ll find chapter 6 here. Enjoy!
Sanela