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Maggie's Room Posts

Immigrant Song

I used to wonder what it would be like, living abroad for 5 years. Would I forget my language? Would I lose my friends? Would I even last that long? Now I know what it feels like. It feels weird. It feels weird not to be able to drive to my parent’s house and get a hug from my mum. It feels weird having to make a well optimized algorithm just to have a cup of coffee in the sun. It feels weird not going ice-skating in the winter. Or having a proper winter for that matter. It feels weird…

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The Summer Is Over

I’m watching the sun go down on the horizon, and I’m coming to the realization: The summer is finally over. I smile. This was the wickedest and the weirdest summer of my life (and I’ve had a few of pretty nasty ones). I should have guessed it would be a twisted one by the way it started. The weather was incredibly nice. Ireland got three weeks of uninterrupted sun. Croatia was kicking it in the World Cup. That’s how it goes: Universe gives you some, but takes some back. As the summer began I was sipping gin tonic on a…

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Trust Me On the Sunscreen

Past few months have been a havoc in my life. Things were spiralling out of my control and the more I tried to stop them, the worse they were getting. I was beating myself over it, until I realized that sometimes you just have to sit tight and let the storm pass. Looking back at those few months, I’ve learned a few valuable lessons. 1. Don’t live to make your presence noticed; live to make your absence felt A few weeks ago my grandmother died. One of the saddest moments of my life was standing there by the grave as…

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The Storm

The air is hot and humid. Its weight is pressuring on her skin, making it almost too hard to breathe. She should get going or she’ll be late. Slowly, she drags herself to the car. The radio is playing Slave to Love.  The streets are almost deserted, as the city quiets down during summertime. The drive seems shorter than usual. She leaves the car in the nearby parking spot. As she is entering the park, she greets the ice-cream seller. Standing there in his truck, he’s been guarding the park entrance for years. “The usual?”, he asks. He hands her two…

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Priča o Sjeni

Nitko mu nije znao ime niti odakle dolazi. Zvali su ga Sjena. Nosio je dug sivi baloner podignutog ovratnika. Bio je visok i mršav. Lice mu je bilo hladno i bezizražajno. Da ste upitali nekog da Vam opiše njegov izgled, vjerojatno ne bi znao kako. Možda zbog toga što je na glavi uvijek nosio crni šešir, a na licu sunčane naočale. Možda jer bi Vas, u rijetkim trenucima kad bi skinuo sunčane naočale i pogled mu se zaustavio na Vama, obuzeo iznenadan osjećaj hladnoće, kao da ste iznenada prošli ispod hladnog slapa. Vjerojatno se zato nitko nije zaustavljao da progovori…

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