Amara Stupac, Cernica, Bosnia & Herzegovina
From 2 to 5
Author: Amara Stupac
“Come inside the house; there are house rules, and you’re disturbing the neighbors,” parents scold their playful child. It is precisely when creativity reaches its peak, and even the most introverted individuals shed their self-consciousness, that we are abruptly halted and required to retreat indoors. Reflecting on this, I can now admit that, as children, it felt as if the world was coming to an end.
A4 posters displaying the designated quiet hours, from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m., are prominently placed on notice boards in the building entrances by the homeowners’ association. Each building has its own president, sometimes self-appointed, sometimes elected, akin to the political framework of the city. In reality, it is primarily the retirees who can afford to embrace and enjoy this regulation. Having long bid farewell to school benches, they have earned their pensions through financial endeavors and trades, granting them the luxury to have lunch and unwind on their sofas during the specified hours while following the latest developments in soap operas. I vividly recall my late grandmother, during my tender age of 6, she used to be engrossed in shows like “The Black Forest Clinic” and “Back to Eden,” whereas today, similar plot twists are masterfully crafted by Turkish heroes and heroines. Their on-screen triumphs and tribulations, accompanied by the subtle hum of flies’ wings, are the only audible tones within the building entrances and the public spaces of the Bulevar settlement.
As I reflect on my own experiences, now that I’m older but still not quite old enough to fully understand, I find myself questioning the necessity of imposing such strict household regulations on my child. I wonder whether it’s realistic to maintain such a high level of compliance with these rules.
During weekends, when the hustle and bustle of school takes a break, children seize the opportunity to use their time for study. In vacation periods, their creativity shifts to nearby swimming pools. Office employees temporarily step away from their comfortable chairs, and although they might glance at the A4 notice in the entrance, a portion of the population doesn’t rely on state assistance. To meet financial obligations and provide their families with a comfortable home and a well-stocked refrigerator, they work on weekends. For them, the luxury of the designated period from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. is rarely afforded. During that time, they try to steal a few quiet moments and pay homage to the captivating storyline of a Turkish soap opera, while carefully choosing their outfit.
“There is a possibility that residents can endure the law, but it’s not solely up to us, the residents.” The geographical location of Bulevar holds greater significance for tranquility. This neighborhood, rich with tall buildings in the heart of Mostar, with the front part of the complex extending towards the busiest street, serves as a lifeline. One of the perennial attractions for Mostar locals to open cafes in the ground-floor commercial spaces is their proximity to the Radobolja River, which touches one side of Bulevar as it flows towards its confluence with the Neretva River. The riverbed is adorned with lush greenery, providing shade in the scorching summer heat, cooling the melted asphalt and sizzling concrete of the settlement. The captivating balance between urban and natural splendor encourages establishment owners to further enhance the ambiance for their patrons, allowing us to enjoy a cup of coffee in the shade of palm trees.
“Behind the New Gymnasium, a new chapter begins; behind the New Gymnasium, her hands are weaving…” resonates the refrain of the beloved Mostar band Šareno Kamenje (Colorful Rocks). Synchronizing with the rhythm of the chorus, I take a seat and order a robust espresso, known as a “short,” along with a glass of iced water. Continuing the lyrics, “a wreath around another neck, a wreath of new love. The old love is forgotten…” Suddenly, I hear only my own voice murmuring, “The winds carry her away…” and the voice of the singer, Haris Ovčina, comes to an abrupt stop. With a mix of sorrow and curiosity, I shift my gaze to the waiter, who responds without me uttering a question: “House rules from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m.” Under the shade of a palm tree, on the heated concrete, I observe the bustling flow of cars on the Boulevard, and I discover my answer. “It’s next to impossible to calm the lifeline from 2 to 5 p.m., but we can, each in our own way, adapt to the importance of the house rules.”