Sometimes it takes a close encounter with death to create a life worth living

The day after the opening night of the Yugoslav Wars at Brezovica crossroads. (Photo Rudi Klaric)

I’m celebrating the 25 anniversary of my second close encounter with death this month. I did not go through a near-death experience in a sense of falling into a coma or almost dying due to some major trauma, but I nevertheless did not know whether I’d live or die on that lovely summer night over two decades ago.

Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher,

vanity of vanities! All is vanity. (Ecclesiastes 1)

Most of my fellow citizens celebrate June 25 as the Statehood Day of Slovenia. I, though, still think of it as the day when I inadvertently found myself in the middle of the very first act of what later turned into a full blown massacre known as the Yugoslav Wars. Nobody knew what was coming and those who knew kept it a secret while the whole nation celebrated the Slovenian Declaration of Independence and even the members of the press were oblivious to what was about to happen on that very night.

I had a rare privilege of not only being able to get a seat in the front row but also to actively participate in the opening night of the Yugoslav Wars.

I worked for the national TV as a freelance journalist at the time and was as such present at the official celebration in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. The streets were packed with people and the air filled with an unprecedented sense of joy and pride. After centuries of oppression and a series of foreign invasions, we finally became a free country. It was a moment like none before.

I had a drink with my friends after the official part of the program and then returned to the TV station while the whole town kept partying late into the night. I did not party much but instead worked late. It was way past midnight when I finally headed home.

Little did I know that at about the same time the war began and that the excitements of the day would turn out to be insignificant in comparison to what was yet to come.

The road was empty as I drove out of town. I did not make much of it, for I enjoyed a slow drive thinking about what our independence will bring and how greatly our lives will change as a result. I was, for the first time in my life, living in a democracy. No more communism, no more a part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, we were now the independent democratic Republic of Slovenia. What could be more exciting than that?

There were vehicles scattered all over the crossroads at Brezovica, blocking my way home. A man in uniform signaled me to stop the car. I was appalled. “How could they even think of sending out traffic officers on a night like this*,” I said to myself as I stopped the car and lowered the window. “And what kind of a uniform is that,” I silently noted, “not blue but olive drab. Have they changed the police uniforms and when did that happen?”

“GET OUT OF THE CAR!” the man in the strange uniform shouted straight into my face. I was shocked. “What the hell?! I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” ran through my mind as the man kept shouting: “GET OUT OF THE CAR, NOW!” Since he was wearing a uniform, as mysterious as it was, I thought it would be best to comply and try to reason with him later on. I instinctively grabbed my designer handbag and stepped out of the car.

A deafening roar paralyzed me. It was a sound like none I have ever heard before. It erased the man’s voice and all other sounds around, near and far.

My brain desperately tried to make sense of it. I was standing there for what seemed like an eternity but was, in fact, a fraction of a second when I finally realized where the sound was coming from. The car just in front of me collapsed like a pack of matches under the tank that came forth out of the darkness. The roaring beast headed straight towards me as if nothing had ever stood on its way.

As a psychologist, I am familiar with the concept of fight-or-flight response to danger. Based on my experience, however, I find it inadequate, for there are more than just two possible responses to life-and-death situations. I, for instance, froze and would just keep standing there if it weren’t for the man in the uniform. He pulled my hand and dragged me into the nearby ditch where we watched the dance of the tanks.

At that point, my perception of reality drastically changed. It was an Alice in Wonderland kind of experience. There were layers of thoughts and perceptions that refused to merge into one single reality but kept running simultaneously as separate threads and at different speeds.

My body was lying in the ditch dressed in a pretty business suit and high heels that all of a sudden seemed completely out of place. A part of me was sobbing, tears kept running down my face and I kept asking “Why are they doing this? Why, why, why…?”

Another part of me observed in disbelief how the tanks effortlessly danced around, squashing and annihilating the cars that were supposed to stop them. I watched as they went out of their way to make sure that each and every vehicle, no matter how big or small, was destroyed and they even took the time to tear down the traffic lights.

The observing part of me didn’t cry for it refused to accept the reality. It resisted for as long as it could until the tanks reached my car. At that point a little voice in my head said: “If they take my car down too, then this must be real.” It was real, but the observer vigorously fought against it. I saw the destruction of my car in slow motion.

The sound disappeared and I was suddenly watching a silent video clip. The window shields exploded under the weight of the tank and hundreds of little pieces of glass flew through the air ever so slowly. My car was gone. The observer was defeated and with that, my perception returned to normal.

My car was torn in two. (Photo Rudi Klaric)

While all this went on, the third part of me dealt with the very real possibility that this was the day when I die. It became clear that if what just happened was possible, anything was possible. Will they settle for the cars or will they come and shoot us all? Is there an army marching behind the tanks?

I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. It was as if I could hear Saruman’s voice saying “You have no power here, you helpless little human,” mocking me and my infinite smallness in the face of forces I could do nothing against. I realized how superficial and without substance my life was.

The things I was most proud of, such as hosting my own TV show, became meaningless and pointless in the face of death. There really was nothing I could be proud of, nothing to show for all the years of my life.

And then it was over, the tanks left, the deafening noise diminished, and a very long silence ensued.

This used to be the engine of my car. Symbolically enough, it was a Yugo. (Photo: Rudi Klaric)

Note: *In the former Yugoslavia, it was common for the police to randomly stop cars and check the drivers regardless of whether they did something or not.