Last night wasn’t just a concert. It was a moment stitched into the story of a nation and somehow, into mine as well.
From the comfort of my home in Croatia, I tuned in like half a million others, watching the lights, the crowd, the rhythm of history unfolding through music. The energy was undeniable, even through a screen. And then the music began.
When Geni kameni echoed through the speakers, something shifted. It wasn’t just a song, it was a call from deep within the land. The dancer from Petrovo Polje, I later learned, didn’t just perform; they embodied the spirit of the song. Their movements were rooted, ancestral, raw. It wasn’t choreography. It was a declaration.
And then came Početak.
The final song. The quietest moment of the night and somehow, the loudest. It wasn’t just about endings. It was a return. A reminder. A whisper to the soul:"You forgot who you are, and where you came from..."
Love was never invented.Truth doesn’t need to be made, only remembered.
There’s something about Thompson’s music that lives between anthem and prayer. It carries the weight of history, the ache of identity, and a kind of hope that doesn’t shout, it endures. Whether you agree with all of it or not, you feel it. And last night, I did.
As I sat in my living room, in my recliner, no less, I felt something rare: completely present. I wasn't just watching a concert. I was remembering who I am, where I come from, and how deeply sound can stir memory. For a few moments, I wasn’t a woman watching from a distance. I was part of it, part of the story, the rhythm, the land.
As the night closed, I realized something else: the beginning is always waiting. And so I start again, a little more aware, a little more grateful for the music, the meaning, and this wild, beautiful journey called life.