I cried while I was hanging my wet books on my clothes dryer. Do you call it like that in English, it doesn’t matter anyway. Recent weather in London caused so much damage all over the Uk and I only had a small leak in my flat. I woke up in the morning, as usually at 5.30 am and while looking through the window in my living room I noticed water all over the window shelf. Like lots of water. It was raining so much and the windows are quite old and rotten. My landlady wants to change them but there is some kind of problem with the owner of the lease, it doesn’t matter anyway, second. When I was about to move my books I noticed they were full of water, like soaked with water. I start having this lump in my throat and put them all on the table next to the window and focused on drying the water on the shelf. In all this cleaning I completely forgot about books until later, a few hours later. Well, I forgot about them until my friend said, you have to open them to dry out otherwise they will become mouldy. I did it immediately. When I was opening them one by one, the water was just dripping out. It was raining all night and the books protected the wooden floor because there was no damage in my flat. I had to dry books with towels, but they were so bendy due to the amount of water they soaked and could not do anything with them until today. I left them open on my sofa edge for 3 days. And today on the day 4 I moved them on the clothes dryer. I mean, I hang them there. Finally, I see you saying, she is getting to the point if you are still reading lol.
The damaged books are/were my poetry collection and consists of 6 books:
- The Princess Saves Herself In This One by Amanda Lovelace
- Falling Awake by Alice Oswald
- Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur
- The Sun and her flowers by Rupi Kaur
- Plum by Hollie McNish
- Tiho Romanje k Zadnji pesmi by Ciril Zlobec
What kind of poetry collection is 6 books only, I hear you, but still the pain was real. These were the books I was reading and re-reading while going through my break up. These are the books that I had next to me when I could not sleep at night. I care about these books. The reason I cried, while hanging them to dry out, was because they looked after me when I needed them and now they are ruined because I put them the window shelf. And this my dears, is called self-sabotaging moment. I am telling you this because I am learning about this from Jan this year. And it goes like this, why did you put them on the window shelf, who puts books on the window shelf, stupid Pinterest ideas, books should be in bookshelves, you need bookshelf now, but I can’t afford bookshelf because I need money for more important things, books are ruined anyway, it’s too late now, just hang them and see what will happen, etc. So thinking like this could go on and on, but not today.
Today, when I am hanging wet books on my clothes dryer and cry, I say to myself, such a shame. I am very sad about this, especially about book number six which was written by Ciril Zlobec one of biggest Slovenian writers and poets, he wrote a personal message addressed to me, and he, unfortunately, passed away, so I can’t just get a new book. His book Tiho Romanje K Zadnji Pesmi was for his daughter, who passed away way before him. He lost both of his children but was writing all his life about love. He was kicked out of school in Goriza and Koper in 1941 because he was writing in Slovenian language and that was not allowed at that time. I was learning about him in secondary school, he wrote one of the most famous Slovenian poetry books together with 3 other big Slovenian writers. Why am I saying all this story, now in 2020, in London, in Uk? Why am I thinking about Ciril Zlobec and crying over wet books? I don’t know, I just feel I have to share this and write about it.
Little I did know that I will be meeting him and his lovely wife Veronika, nearly every month in theatre in Ljubljana when I was working as a journalist and photographer. Slowly, we got to know each other and soon they became my favourite couple in the theatre. I know, silly, because, they have been so nice to everyone. This wet book, that has been damaged in my first own, rented, home in London, far from home is proof that I met this writing legend from my childhood. His signature proofs it and he wrote my name and personal note in it. And now it’s wet. That’s why it hurts. That’s why I am crying. And I know its silly, but I do not feel bad about it. The book might dry or not, but I wanted to share this story in case if it gets ruined, I can still have a record of this once a upon a time moment that actually happened. That’s all. And about a self-sabotaging thing, I accept it, hold it for a moment, yes it’s shame that books got wet, but then I just stop it. I do not carry this feeling with me. I made a mistake putting them there in the first place, but this mistake encouraged me to write about the writer I admired so much and I will keep in my heart. This mistake reminded me, that once upon a time I knew this writer and talked with him about love. Love. Who even care about shame. Its all about love right? Right.