Would we consider living in Serbia?

Recently, Aleksa and I took on the joyous task that is moving apartments in New York City. And after a month of scouring Facebook Marketplace for new furniture and surviving without air conditioning, the place is really starting to come along. 

We’re still on the hunt for a bigger bed — and we still haven’t agreed on where the bookcase should go — but it’s home. 

My hope is that by October, it will be the perfect little den for old movies and fall drinks. (Also, Aleksa and I have never spent an October together!)

Moving homes is stressful and exciting: it marks the beginning of a new chapter. Inevitably, it invites questions about the future, too: How much longer do we see ourselves in New York? What’s our five-year plan? Do we plan on having children?

We don’t know. Aleksa just got here; his green card came in this weekend! And we fought for four years to live in the United States. Up until now, it was all about making that dream happen; it was a clear-cut (but grueling) process of paperwork and plane tickets.

For the first time ever, we don’t know what’s next. (That seems to be the common theme with everyone in my post-graduate life, lately.)

But more often than not, we’re asked if we will [eventually] move to Serbia. Specifically, Belgrade.

I suppose anything is a possibility. It’s not that I am against living in Serbia — I adore my in-laws, the lifestyle, the food, and the culture — but a major move like that would be difficult for me.

(I say this with the highest respect and admiration for my husband, who did leave his life behind to move to my country. Some of the things I am about to write are a little selfish or silly — but it’s my blog!)

For one, Aleksa is fluent in English — I’m not fluent in Serbian. I’m learning, but I’m not there yet. 

Second, my background is in English creative writing. 

As far as I know, I wouldn’t be able to work in publishing since the books would be in Serbian. I suppose I could find an English publisher within Belgrade, or I could pull off some kind of Emily in Paris situation by working as an expat — but I haven’t committed the proper research to know if that opportunity exists.

Considering I just completed my manuscript and Master’s degree, I owe it to myself to explore this field. I’ve put a lot of time and care into this. 

Of course, my thinking is completely American. It clashes with the general European mentality that life is not about work — nor should one find “passion” in their job.

The difference, I would argue, is that I chose my passion as a career. Not the other way around. And while it’s true, I could write on the side and work a different job in Serbia, I still don’t know what that job could look like if I can’t fully speak the language. So that would be my first and second hurdle — mastering the language and a not-so-flexible career.

My second hurdle, besides leaving behind my family and friends, would be just about everything else. I’d miss birthday parties (Serbs just do it differently) and diner food (Intergalactic Diner is cute, but not a real diner!) 

I’d miss Halloween decorations. I’d miss pumpkin picking, apple pies, and hayrides. I’d miss my mom’s Thanksgiving food and my dad’s early-morning dash to the Black Friday sales. I would miss Christmas Eve on December 24th — I just can’t get used to Christmas in January. 

Then there are the big things, like social-political. I have so many wonderful friends who are a part of the LGBTQIA community — I know Belgrade and Novi Sad are generally not as welcoming toward this community. That pains me.

I know that my nationality would upset some people. Even now, on my Youtube vlogs or blog posts, I receive comments from Serbians who simply “do not want” me in Belgrade. 

I know that [English] poetry events and open mics would be much rarer to come by. It would be more difficult finding a literary community that does writing workshops or readings. That would be a shift from the New York scene.

But when you’re somewhere new, even walking into a mall can be a shift. You don’t recognize half the stores, let alone the songs playing in the stores. The food court is different. The currency is different. The outfits, the energy — all different.

I don’t mean to seem like I am complaining; these are also the differences that make travel and lifestyle so exciting. It’s all brand new. 

There would be perks to moving to Belgrade, too — health care being a huge one. I wouldn’t have to worry about crazy-expensive medical bills. 

It would be nice to sit in a cafe more often. It would be nice to enjoy the coffee instead of running off with it in a paper cup that scalds your hand. 

It would be nice to prioritize work less and lifestyle more. I would enjoy seeing my wonderful in-laws. And I would be happy for Aleksa, most of all. He would be in his beautiful country, speaking his native language, surrounded by his family and friends.

The difficult thing about falling in love with someone from another country is deciding where both of you will live. 

Right now, Aleksa and I agree it is not our time to live in Serbia. It doesn’t mean it’s off the table. But we have fought to be in the US together, so we deserve to give it a proper try.

This answer seems to satisfy people, but it brings us back to the question cycle of children, the five-year plan, and the future.

We’re not ready for children. We haven’t even had the chance to celebrate each other’s birthdays together in person. Respectfully, children are not even a thought right now!

(When people ask me this, I keep forgetting I’m almost twenty-five and not eighteen. It’s not a ridiculous question to ask, but it’s just not on my radar at all.)

A five-year plan… can anyone really count on a five-year plan? If the pandemic taught me anything, it was to plan less. 

Here are our dreams for the future: good health, a loving marriage, and the freedom to explore opportunities in the city where we fell in love.

 And if nothing more, a working air conditioner to be delivered ASAP.