It was a seemingly ordinary summer’s morning in 2006. The then twelve-year-old me woke up early and sat down at the computer, wanting to complete a level in some game—as I had done on many a previous morning. My mum burst into the room and declared loudly that I had absolutely no chance of getting into the Mathematical Grammar School with such an approach! And yet, this day was not quite ordinary: I had to take the entrance exam for the MGS’s 7th grade experimental class in just a few hours. Perhaps I had more luck than smarts, as I had major issues with the material that was taught at MGS over the following years—especially geometry—but my actions with that exam changed my life completely.

That wasn’t the only day that marked a turning point in my career, but it is the one I remember most vividly. Subsequent moments – my entrance exam for Computer Science undergraduate studies at Trinity College, University of Cambridge (where I received a full scholarship), the day I chose to leapfrog a Master’s degree and embark on a Ph.D. in Artificial Intelligence at Cambridge, without any preparation, or the days I decided to send unsolicited emails to some of the most influential scientists seeking collaboration – further shaped me into the scientist and person that my colleagues and friends know me as today.

Teaching is a simple way to gain superpowers: explaining complex topics to others is the best way to explain them to yourself

My job entails working on artificial intelligence on graphs. Most modern AI systems work on simple data, such as images, text or sound. However, data from nature aren’t simple and often have an irregular structure. My path in researching them has led me to exciting achievements: a system that predicts travel times in Google Maps, helping mathematicians discover hidden structures in complex objects (a paper that graced the cover of Nature, the world’s most prestigious scientific journal) and, most recently, collaborating with Liverpool Football Club on the development of the first AI system capable of providing useful suggestions to football coaches.

My development path hasn’t been flawless; I’ve made mistakes at almost every step. When applying to Cambridge, in conversations with senior colleagues from MGS who’d successfully passed this stage, I learned firsthand how to make a strong application without repeating their mistakes. This inspired me to help new generations improve and to pass on my experiences whenever possible. My first step towards this goal was organising the Week of Informatics at MGS, an initiative through which MGS alumni share their experiences and knowledge of computer science with current pupils. I later became an Affiliated Lecturer at Cambridge University, where every year I convey the wonders of geometric deep learning to Master’s students.

If you recall how I began this text, geometry never came easily to me. I only developed an intuition for this field when I put myself in the position to have to teach it to students. Teaching is a simple way to gain superpowers: explaining complex topics to others is the best way to explain them to yourself. Perhaps that’s why I insisted so much on bringing this year’s prestigious Eastern European Machine Learning Summer School (EEML) to Serbia, where, over the course of week, we did our best to present the latest AI trends to the local academic community in Serbia and give them the “wind in their sails” to realise that working at such a level isn’t beyond them!

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I was immersed in the enchanting world of the theatre from a tender age. The magic of my father’s performances, vibrant legends on stage, and the soaring voices of opera singers were the routine of my childhood. I began playing the piano as soon as my fingers could reach the keys, finding solace in music during the tumultuous years of my country’s violent dissolution. Music became my sanctuary, where I delved into long hours of piano, music theory and opera singing, each discipline a refuge, but still immersed in the security, support and love by my family. Many things looked pointless during those year, but somehow, everything was an inspiration to endure.

It was while I was still in high school that my path took an unexpected yet understandable turn. I began working at Madlenianum Opera in Belgrade as an assistant director, where I took on many roles from both sides over the next 15 years. This experience provided a window to the world that I became an integral part of and a launchpad for entering the professional world.

“How fast do I need to run to start flying?” wrote another author. To achieve more, to stop waiting, I gathered a group of talented young artists and founded Cultural Element (Kulturni element), an organisation dedicated to promoting culture through innovative means. Together, we are among the most prominent artistic groups and have brought to life more than a hundred theatrical, operatic, artistic, charitable and dance projects.

I am reminded that our creations are our legacies, a symphony of passion and perseverance, the perpetual quest for purpose

“Please Sir, I want some more,” wrote Dickens in Oliver Twist. My academic journey is concluding in the final stage of my Ph.D. in theatre direction, focusing on the profound connection between musical and spoken theatre. As a respected member of Mensa, I served on the presidency and have been editor-in-chief of Mensa’s “MozaIQ” magazine for eight years. Apart from these activities, I also became director of the international opera competition “Lazar Jovanović”, representing the region’s most prestigious opera competition.

I recently advanced to the position of Associate Professor at the Faculty of Contemporary Arts and also teach at the Belgrade Dance Institute. This dual role allows me to nurture the next generation of artists, learning from them in the same way I learnt from my own professors. One of my most cherished roles is that of motivational speaker. Touring Serbia nationwide, I have held numerous lectures, sharing my passion and inspiring others.

Opportunities soon led me beyond the borders of my homeland, to places like Monte Carlo and Nagoya, where I directed and collaborated on international projects. I have so far directed, assisted, or written for more than 35 operas and plays. I recently directed Madame Butterfly at the National Theatre in Sarajevo, and with Cultural Element, travelled from Beijing just a few months ago, where my play was presented to a Chinese audience.

“I must know that life will not pass by me,” admitted a dear friend of mine. The pursuit of artistic excellence is a relentless yet beautiful journey, a dance between dream and reality. With each note, each word and each performance, I am reminded that our creations are our legacies, a symphony of passion and perseverance, the perpetual quest for purpose. Let’s compose the future, but let’s do so as a melody of hope and inspiration, forever resonating in the hearts of those who listen.

Photo: Belkisa Beka Abdulović

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As someone who deals with the relationship between language and culture over time, I was drawn in particular to the phraseology of the Serbian language, which enables the reconstruction of the traditional folk view of the world, and at the same time the naïve, mythical image of the world around us. In this reconstruction, the language reveals the rages that haunt us, the kind of god we swear by, what we’ve inherited from our ancestors and what comprises the ethno-national specifics of our community. We discover the former morphological form of the language, how it used to sound, how we constructed sentences to convey our thoughts, which complex grammatical and semantic laws had ruled it back then and speak now through language. I earned my doctorate on that archaeological plain of language, fascinated by everything that’s waiting to be interpreted in language.

The lecture halls of the Faculty of Philology are places where I encounter inquisitive young people. However, I’d be lying if I said that I don’t experience every such encounter as a challenge. In this challenge, all the complexity of linguistic depths should be associated with the general Zeitgeist, which defines everything that isn’t direct as being anachronistic. Perhaps more importantly, I see the true value of my job in constant questioning – of both myself and the existing paradigms of reality. What I’m gradually coming to realise is that the most important thing with young people is to cultivate a critical detachment from everything presented to us in the intellectual and public media space.

It seems to me that I’m striving, again and again, to present one important truth to my students. Disagreement shouldn’t make us feel threatened – in the civilised world, it is a call to dialogue that can teach us a lot

Between research and the classroom, a person needs to find their intimate life. I feel fulfilled by the people who surround me, by occasionally fleeing the crowds of Belgrade, which I love so much, and, finally, by sport. The lake, river, sea, mountain and forest, tent and clear sky – those are places where I find peace. I enjoy swimming, sailing, running, skiing and lifting weights. Every activity helps me to distance myself from the unrelenting pressure of daily life, as I try to remain in harmonious balance with myself and the world around me.

I believe it is the responsibility of us academics to talk about important social issues, because we thus contribute to shaping the culture and consciousness of our community. It seems to me that I’m striving, again and again, to present one important truth to my students. Disagreement shouldn’t make us feel threatened – in the civilised world, it is a call to dialogue that can teach us a lot. In a world filled with communicative babble, being capable of holding a real conversation is the most important thing. I try to use my activism, which is based on an attempt to shed light on socially important topics from the perspective of linguistics, to contribute to the community in Serbia. I am ready to listen, learn and attempt to help those who are on a journey to knowledge. That’s my way of giving back a part of what Belgrade gave me: this rich language with the culture that it reflects, and the people I’ve encountered in my life.

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When I was just three, I wanted to become an actor. My passion was to be on stage or in front of a camera. Then, at the age of five, I started taking piano lessons. I composed my first piece for piano when I was eight. My teacher was surprised and said: “it’s impossible to compose like that without having studied harmony and counterpoint”, then he told me I’d become a famous composer. His words boosted my motivation and composition became my passion from that day. I wrote for piano, for voice and for orchestra. Meanwhile, between the ages of nine and 12, I acted in TV series, advertisements and theatre plays, as well as singing. I began attending two universities from the age of 18, taking a double major in musicology/ composition/piano and acting.

Three years later, I headed to Paris for my higher piano and composition studies. It was then that I decided to establish an arts school in Lebanon, to provide an opportunity for the new generations to get the best quality education without needing to leave the country. In time, I opened seven schools in different cities and signed affiliation agreements with conservatories in Paris, Lyon and Boulogne-Billancourt, and then with the Royal Birmingham University, as well as establishing a partnership with New York’s Carnegie Hall. At the same time, Ecole des Arts Ghassan Yammine became the first non-European member of the AEC (Association Européenne des Conservatoires Supérieurs) and the first non-French member of the FFEA (Fédération Française des Institutions Artistiques). While I was giving concerts and lectures in Europe, I received a proposal from MTV to produce and present a weekly musical show. That’s how I came to create the educational/entertainment format with live performances that I still present every Sunday since 2012!

Every concert is a privilege that life gives me to build memories with people from different cultures and ethnicities all over the world

Between 2014 and 2018, I was awarded with the National Order of Cedar and the Medal of the Presidency in Lebanon, as well as the Gold Medal of Honour of the French Academy of the Arts, Sciences and Literature.

I presented a special Mother’s Day episode in March 2018 and decided to sing a special song for the first time, which I dedicated to three of my friends who’d lost their mothers during that year. The video of my performance went viral a few hours after the TV show aired and I received many calls and messages from around the world. Among those people was one of the most famous vocal coaches, Arax Chekidjian, who encouraged me to launch a singing career because (as she said) I have unique colour in my voice. She called me persistently for six months, insisting that I start vocal sessions. I started taking intensive lessons. A few weeks later, she discovered the similarity between the colour of my voice and that of Charles Aznavour, so she advised me to launch my career with his songs. Remarkably, Aznavour died three days later! I decided to present a special tribute to him on MTV. This specific day represented a turning point in my life, because the videos were viewed millions of times on all social media, and I started receiving proposals from prestigious concert venues around the world. It was then that I started releasing my own songs (my lyrics and my music) and including them in all of my concert programmes.

The main secret of my continuous success is my assiduous nature, my penchant for hard work coupled with my passion to convey positivity and love, but also life’s bright and dark sides, through my voice, my songs and my performances..

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In the late 1990s, I encountered Nico in a chat room— at a time when “age/sex/location” was the standard icebreaker. As we shared our locations, a surprise awaited. “I didn’t expect that,” remarked Nico from Croatia upon learning that I was from Serbia. We switched from English to “our language” and an online romance began. With it, my professional path of digital anthropology also began.

Falling in love online before the release of the movie “You’ve Got Mail” in 1998 was so unconventional that I needed to understand what was happening. I thus embarked on studying social relations online and soon authored what is considered one of — if not the very first — academic articles published in Serbia on the sociocultural aspects of digital technologies (Sociologija, 41/2, pp. 187– 200, 1999).

The internet has since served as a distinct mirror through which I reflect, observe and anthropologically analyse the reality around me. My exploration of the co-construction of technology and culture led me to research and teach in the U.S. and Europe, delving into topics such as internet use during wartime (University of Belgrade), digital research tools (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences), digital humanities (University of Oxford; University of Amsterdam), digital scholarly workflows (Pennsylvania State University), virtual embodiment in the metaverse (University of Minnesota), digital research methods (Illinois Institute of Technology), and the sociocultural aspects of artificial intelligence in applied research (Silicon Valley).

Viewing modern AI research through an anthropological lens is crucial, as AI research often oversimplifies human behaviour into rudimentary models, overlooking its true complexity

I’ve often been asked why an anthropologist studies digital technology. It is perhaps easier to answer that question today, when AI endeavours to teach, assist, entertain, drive and even heal us—essentially, to be like us. In order for AI to achieve these goals, it must learn who we, as humans, are—our actions, preferences, needs, thoughts, knowledge and values. The current development of AI is thus like a gigantic ethnographic project aimed at learning as much as possible about humanity.

This global AI ethnographer isn’t an anthropologist and often isn’t even human, but it bears similarities with anthropology in its early days. Just like AI-focused computer science today, anthropology was once arrogant in assuming that it could fully capture human worlds and worldviews, objectively understand and interpret them, and guide the “less-advanced” along the presumed, unquestioned evolutionary line of progress.

AI-focused computer science thus still needs to learn what anthropology learned a while ago—that such a mission is not only impossible, but unethical and detrimental. It took decades for anthropology to evolve its current principles, such as reflexivity, community-based participatory research and cultural relativism.

Viewing modern AI research through an anthropological lens is therefore crucial, as AI research often oversimplifies human behaviour into rudimentary models, overlooking its true complexity. This oversimplification leads to extreme visions of a utopian or dystopian future, under the mistaken belief that these outcomes are inevitable. Ultimately, it is us humans who must actively shape our future, including the technological aspect, rather than passively accepting it as predetermined. Let us thus approach our co-construction with digital technologies, including AI, with the mindset of anthropologists—or as online lovers—embracing the possibility of surprise and acknowledging that everything could always be different.

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I took my first steps in ballet in Novi Sad, later continuing my education and training in the classes of top ballet artists Zoja Begoli, Milica Bijelić and Ivanka Lukateli. As a student of the Lujo Davičo Secondary Ballet School (1997), I recieved an opportunity to join the ensemble of the National Theatre in Belgrade, becoming a permanent member in the following season. In parallel with my dance career, I started dealing with choreography. From Viva la vida! on the Great Stage of the National Theatre (2009) until today, I have done choreography work for almost every theatre company in the region: Opera & Theatre Madlenianum, the Serbian National Theatre in Novi Sad, the Sarajevo National Theatre, the national opera & ballet companies of Skopje, Zagreb, Velenje and Celje, the Montenegrin Music Centre in Podgorica. My work as a choreographer has taken me everywhere from Basel to Boston (2019), to New York, where I received a United Nations award and the status of a Music Ambassador, then to Shanghai, Beijing, Daqing and Ürümqi.

The greatest turning point in my professional activity came with the invitation of professor Vladimir Tomašević and the establishment of the Belgrade Dance Institute (2014), the setting up of the first and only accredited study programmes dealing with the education of students in the fields of classical ballet pedagogy, contemporary dance and contemporary dance pedagogy, choreography and folk dance in Serbia. A total of 113 guest professors have passed through the Institute, which this year marks the tenth anniversary of its establishment with more than 120 significant projects having been implemented.

For me, dance is the sincerest form of human communication that isn’t subject to language barriers, and tutoring work is the most responsible way of relaying the secrets, crafts and academic breadth

Since 2009, my involvement with the Association of Professional Ballet Dancers, Choreographers and Ballet Padagogues of Serbia has been directed towards the struggle to improve the position of ballet artists in Serbia and the establishing of the Terpsichore Award, which – with the support of the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Serbia – has been awarded to ballet and dance artists for the past 13 years. The Terpsichore Award has to date been received by our country’s most renowned artists.

My professional engagements and interests used to partly extend beyond the boundaries of my profession. By performing the duties of Artistic Director of BELEF (2017–2020) and Director of the Cultural Centre of Belgrade (2019–2023), I introduced contemporary dance to some new forms and systems.

Despite my professional dance career having come to an end, my engagment at the National Theatre takes on new meaning as of this season, in my role as a tutor working with young dancers. Through my involvement in the ballet Who’s Singin’ Over There, I train colleagues with whom I previously shared the stage and give new direction to youngsters who are taking their first steps on stage. My professional journey has become a golden circle – from a dancer to someone who educates dancers. The only thing I believe in is education, because alongside talent, dedication, serious work and discipline, it is the only imperative of a successful artist.

For me, dance is the sincerest form of human communication that isn’t subject to language barriers, and tutoring work is the most responsible way of relaying the secrets, crafts, academic breadth and depth and tools of our profession: the art of dance, regardless of its field.

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More than a decade has passed since the first time I entered the building of the Economic Chamber of North Macedonia – and I initially wasn’t even there to handle some of the core issues a business organisation usually deals with. I had just enrolled in my Ph.D. studies and received an offer of a part-time engagement in the Arbitration court attached to the Chamber, so I said ‘why not?’ I never planned to remain there for the long run. I was engaged as a teaching associate at the Faculty of Law at the time, dealing primarily with civil procedural law, and, as such, the business environment wasn’t really on my mind – actually, business law and corporations were among the least interesting topics during my studies. And if somebody had told me back then that I would be gladly delving into regional economic cooperation issues every day, I’d probably laugh.

So, what changed? My evolution from a law student to a regional cooperation frontrunner is inextricably linked to that building of the Chamber, right in Skopje city centre. The years spent there, and the experiences I had the opportunity to garner from the leading people in the Chamber, opened me up to new horizons, extending far beyond the lecture halls where I used to teach. I’ve come to realise that the legal principles I studied aren’t only connected to the preparing of statements of claim, judgements, appeals and enforcement proceedings – actually, the rationale behind a good law lies in the ideas it is trying to enforce, and you can take those ideas with you in any area you work.

The legal principles that I studied aren’t only connected to preparing statements of claim, judgements, appeals and enforcement proceedings – actually, the rationale behind a good law lies in the ideas it is trying to enforce, and you can take those ideas with you in any area you work

And those ideas are now my daily companions at the Chamber Investment Forum – an association that emerged out of the idea of six Chamber presidents that they can achieve much more for their national economies by joining forces and working together than any of them would have been able to achieve on their own. And that is an ideal that we at the CIF Secretariat are working hard to reaffirm every single day: that the true powers of regional cooperation lie in shared ideas and visions, and in making the most of the joint journey of the six national economies to the EU Single market.

“One region – One economy” isn’t just an empty phrase, rather it is backed by a lot of dedication to interlinking the businesses of the region, but also to representing them, loudly and clearly, in the regional economic agenda. The acknowledgement of our efforts that came with last year’s Brussels Declaration is a clear indicator that we are on the right track in supporting our businesses on the road to the free movement of goods, services, people and capital. Being recognised as one of the integral stakeholders in the regional processes, but also hearing positive feedback from companies to which we have provided tailored support, gives me the will and motivation to keep pushing forwards, until our economies are all part of the Single market, and I truly hope that day isn’t that far away.

Nowadays, I very rarely get to deal on a daily basis with the kinds of legal issues that were in my focus throughout my education (and, to be completely honest, maybe I miss that from time to time), but the satisfaction brought in my daily work on regional cooperation compensates for that.

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I fell in love with television when I was a little girl. It offered content back in the ‘80s, when I was growing up. I remember my happiness when I saw the words ‘mali program’ [little programme] appear on the screen. That was the sign that the minutes reserved for us children were about to start. Diving into that new world was the start of my fascination with the “magic box” that allowed me to see beyond the confines of my childhood. My games soon began imitating television shows, while my teen years also brought the revelation that this was the profession I wished to pursue.

Next came studying television production, then also journalism, and then also came a series of opportunities to experience television as a producer and as a journalist. Journalism proved victorious and I’ve been working in it for almost two decades to date. Those 20 years have flown by, while it seems that the feeling has remained the same as it was for that little Nevena.

I experience each new show, interview or report as a new thrill, but also as a new lesson. This is also perhaps the greatest privilege that we receive from journalism – the opportunity to continuously learn and meet new people.

The team of the “Probudi se” [Wake up] morning programme shows Serbia as it really is, with all its beauty and problems. That’s the only way we will make it a better place

Journalism also provides you with the opportunity to bear witness to history and be part of it. I had just one such precious experience in 2018, when the centenary of the signing of the armistice that ended World War I was being commemorated in France. All the world’s great statesmen were in Paris on that 11th November, and I was also there. I reported on their meetings and current relations around the world, but I also created a feature on the story of the Serbian schoolchildren who’d received scholarships from the French Government during the Great War to attend the University of Poitiers. I discussed that period and Franco-Serbian relations, both then and now, with an academic and writer who was living in that city. Milovan Danojlić enabled us to better understand the current moment in which we find ourselves by considering history. And that is also our mission: not to merely report on what is happening, but also to explain why it is happening. Placing events in an historical context provides our viewers with the ability to understand and see the bigger picture.

We also provide viewers of TV Nova S with that bigger picture every morning from 6am to 9am. The team of the “Probudi se” [Wake up] morning programme shows Serbia as it really is, with all its beauty and problems. That’s the only way we will make it a better place.

Returning to the start of the story, perhaps the answer to the question of why I’m not tired of television can also be found in the fact that I experience journalism and television as a profession that provides me with opportunities, and not (as it is seen by many outsiders) as a profession that’s demanding.

And maybe that has something to do with my nature – because my glass is always half full!.

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In my youthful desires, group work took precedence over individual work, and back then I had no clue that I would choose conducting. Music is like art, closest to all others. That wonderful, universal language arouses emotions, wins over the soul and in the moment diverts our attention away from time, objectivity and the world outside. As a conductor, I always find my guest performances abroad particularly interesting, standing in front of an ensemble that’s completely unknown to me, raising my hands, and starting to create together in a language that we’re all very well acquainted with – the language of music. We’re meeting for the first time, yet we get to know the essence of one another so quickly, thanks to music. I accept to do those works that I feel and know as being intimate to my soul, to my artistic being. I do everything I do with enthusiasm and love for the music and my colleagues. That’s because a conductor doesn’t exist without an ensemble.

Every segment of work on a show is important: studying the scores, collaborating with the director and choreographer, accompanists at solo rehearsals, work with the orchestra, choir and, finally, merging all the ensembles on stage. One of the first stages in the work is on the lyrical cover version, i.e., on translation from the original language into Serbian and its adaptation to the existing music. This vital work implies reaching full agreement and respecting all the rules of the musical and spoken text. The conductor’s task is to participate in the work on the cover version, with the aim being for the listener to follow the logic of the recited words easily and without exertion.

My greatest role models are my father and professor Darinka Matić Marović. I clearly recall the moment I first heard at a rehearsal “Maestro, may I ask you…” I thought…this had to be earned

Every performance brings new challenges, and the conductor must quickly solve problems that arise imperceptibly, with a “cool head” and, above all, with good conducting technique. The audience doesn’t even feel those kinds of details. The ensemble must trust the conductor completely (because you are only followed by someone who trusts you), and the conductor must be familiar with every instant of the show, both collective and individual, leading the whole ensemble at every junc- I n my youthful desires, group work took precedence over individual work, and back then I had no clue that I would choose conducting. Music is like art, closest to all others. That wonderful, universal language arouses emotions, wins The Conductor Doesn’t Exist Without an Ensemble I’d always known that music would be my professional life’s journey. I built my own world and musical path surrounded by the roaring, warming jazz harmonies emanating from the room where my father, the composer Mirko Šouc, created, while I gazed into the sounds of his piano, which stirred my imagination through the colours of classical music. ture, but must also be ready to react quickly if unforeseen situations occur. Of course, good health, excellent physical form (shows or concerts last around two hours, not counting the preparation time prior to the start), maximum concentration and the ability to swiftly react are all a given.

As a full professor at the Faculty of Music in Belgrade, I’m in a position to educate young people, but also to give them direction in their careers and help them advance. Helping a young artist is true happiness.

Emotions are transferred without fail to the ensemble, to the soloists, and then also to the audience. My experience tells me that you can never trick the audience. Our audience is brilliant. We witness theatre auditoriums and concert halls that are full.

To be successful doesn’t mean having a few good concerts or a successful season, but rather years of continuous progress, being courageous, and sometimes taking risks. But when you love your job, you really don’t find anything difficult. One thing is clear, at least to us artists: everything that we do well is rewarded with applause…the only thing is that the road to such a beautiful reward is long and thorny.

However, real happiness only comes when a balance is struck between private and professional life. The greatest joy in my life is my daughter Katarina.

Photo: Fotostudio Nikolašević

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Reading was my first passion. The first book I read by myself, at the age of six, was Noddy Goes to School. Noddy believed that he knew everything, then he went to school and made a fool of himself. I recognised in him my young conceited self and loved seeing myself reflected in a book as in a mirror.

My mother was delighted when I told her, at age 10, that I wanted to become a writer. She worked as a judge and was also very pragmatic. Being a writer was great, but did it earn a living? She said that I should first become a professor.

By the age of 23, I had all the academic degrees that you could dream of, but my dream would have been to write a novel. After spending six years studying continuously and learning Greek and Latin dictionaries by heart, I had no imagination left.

I was 24 when I met an American in the States and fell madly in love. Our affair was passionate and tumultuous, and it led to a break up that tore my heart apart. I returned to Paris crying my eyes out. This is when I started writing my first novel.

Writing was a relief from pain, but it was above all a joy. The joy of giving form to something formless, of giving words to my confused feelings, of taking control again through work. Writing was about trying to make sense and being as true as possible. Writing was the only real, deep connection I had to myself. Writing was a way to feel alive even when I was broken. (And, by the way, it allowed me to marry the American.)

True writing forges a bond between the writer and the reader, as if the writer – whether dead or not – were right next to us, as if we shared something intimate

My first novel, published when I was 27, proved to be a total failure, but I had discovered a pleasure that was like a drug and I could no longer go back. I became a university professor, but my only desire was to write.

My first commercial success came nine years later. It was then that I earned real money and was able to quit my job at Yale to devote myself to writing.

Although earning money is important, writing is not about that for me. It’s about being as true as possible. I wrote a novel about my mother (whom I love) called Family Hatred, in which I describe all the ambivalence of the mother-daughter relationship. I wrote a book about my relationship to money that I called Confessions of a Cheapskate, and everyone who reads it laughs, though I didn’t try to be funny – only honest at my own expense. I wrote a book about desire in which I described one-night stands and masturbation. I wrote a book about my mother-in-law, called A Brilliant Future, and writing this book allowed me to understand why she had tried to prevent me from marrying her son and, three years later, tried to get him to divorce me.

I realised that her crazy behaviour was the result of her history, of her growing up in Romania and emigrating twice in a row, to Israel and subsequently to America, of her sacrificing everything for her son’s future. I wrote a book about a friend of mine who loved and devoured life and who committed suicide at the age of 39: how could you love life and not be able to live? Writing that book allowed me to develop an understanding of mental illness. I don’t believe in feel-good literature, but rather in truth (which can be unpleasant and uncomfortable). Only the will of the writer to be truthful makes literature interesting and not clichéd. True writing forges a bond between the writer and the reader, as if the writer – whether dead or not – were right next to us, as if we shared something intimate. We may be alone, but we are connected to another human being’s thought, and this is the opposite of loneliness. True writing is my project in life. It creates empathy in both the writer and the reader.

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My story begins way back in the 1990s, during my studies. Given that I also hail from a dysfunctional family and that I grew up under conditions that were more than modest, as a student doing a work experience placement at a school, I began to notice that there were children who had so much potential, but who lacked the support of their family and surroundings, and were therefore condemned to never develop that potential; to endure a dissatisfied life, unhappy, unaware of everything they could achieve and become. And then begins my personal struggle, firstly to try to help those I knew from my own neighbourhood, and then also further afield.

Around 15 years later, that desire of mine to primarily help children and young people who lacked family support intensified. Encouraged by a friend, I founded the association Centre Star (in accordance with the story of the starfish), and friends helped us create a logo, website and flyers. And that’s how it started, somehow by itself, guided by some higher force, by coincidences that certainly weren’t coincidental.

We launched the programme of the House of Opportunities in Belgrade in the autumn of 2015, as a pilot programme that was the first of its kind in Serbia. This is housing with support for young people who usually leave children’s care homes or foster families after turning 18.

Around a hundred youngsters without parental care have been accepted and supported until they became independent. The House of Opportunities has opened its doors in Belgrade, Niš and Kragujevac

It was difficult to rent a property for that purpose and to find people who are willing to work – often completely voluntarily, to convince expert workers that we are worthy of trust; to convince organisations and institutions of our serious intentions to persevere and develop. It required that I quit my job and devote myself to engaging in an uncertain and short-term project; that I forget about fixed working hours, weekends, and days off, and that my life, as well as my family and friends, take on a completely different dimension and role – serving those in need.

Today, 10 years after that fateful decision, with all the ups and downs, I consider that to have been one of those turning points in life that change you forever. The Centre Star Association is a second home to me and my family. Despite still being insufficiently known, this small, local organisation has changed the lives of many for the better. Around a hundred youngsters without parental care have been accepted and supported until they became independent. The House of Opportunities has opened its doors in Belgrade, Niš and Kragujevac. Securing funding has been complicated, so five years ago we began making decorative candles, wooden decorations and other items, in order to ensure our self-sustainability, and work therapy and a work ethic for youngsters. We sell them to companies as corporate gifts, at trade fairs and markets, and from the profits we cover our costs of property rental, food, education for young people, medical treatment, therapy and the like.

I now have a family of another hundred children and believe there are more to come. They have taught and shaped me more than any university. I have met wonderful people and colleagues, and am living my purpose. I understand that every day is an opportunity to do something good, new and different. I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve had to date and believe that even greater miracles lie ahead. And I’m able to constantly make my dreams come true, and the dreams of dozens of those who aren’t able to do it by themselves. And that is a priceless experience..

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My thoughts take me back to August 1988, when I first began working at the Embassy; back to that somewhat frightened 23-year-old who had no idea what was implied in the professional life of a local employee at a Swedish embassy in Southeast Europe, in a country that would soon disintegrate into a new war in the middle of Europe.

Slobodan Milošević had just come to power. My summaries of the local media scene suddenly became crucial to the Embassy’s analysis and reporting on the country. As events unfolded, so did the political realities and language. Designations such as “brotherhood and unity” and “executive board of the Yugoslav Communist Central Committee” began to be replaced by political pluralism, freedom of expression and the suspension of verbal delicts.

That development was unfortunately interrupted dramatically, with words like extremism, separatism and nationalism dominating daily life. As the ‘90s entered their third and fourth years, we all began to speak a different language shaped by words like battle, war and suffering, and later shootings, mass graves, snipers, military movements here and there, sieges, paramilitary units and tanks etc.

There were situations in which a poor, young, local employee’s attempts to interpret military concepts correctly provoked great amusement, such as when I translated ‘tampon zona’ to ‘tampon zone’ instead of ‘buffer zone’. It became very clear that something was wrong when the ambassador almost choked on his coffee.

Being in a position to learn all these new words, concepts and their meanings has given me a richness that transcends the boundaries of semantics

When the wars ended, attention again shifted to the struggle to strengthen democracy. Our daily vocabulary again changed, this time to include words like demonstrations, counter- demonstrations, electoral fraud, regime, tyranny, secret police, student resistance, riot police, blockades of the capital, information blockade, murdered journalists etc.

In the late ‘90s, when the NATO bombing became a reality and Milošević lost power, our vocabulary shifted again, this time to include concepts such as projectiles, cluster munitions, downed bridges, depleted uranium, tomahawks, bomb shelters, bombs and collateral damage.

When the Milošević era finally came to an end, it was a delight to witness ordinary people’s hopes for the future. We all started using new EU expressions, such as visa liberalisation, stabilisation and association process, anti-corruption, reforms etc.

Just when daily life was on the verge of achieving normality, something terrible happened again. It was spring 2003, during the visit to Serbia of then Swedish Foreign Minister Anna Lindh, that we heard the news of Prime Minister Đinđić’s assassination at the hands of a sniper. Lindh was herself also murdered just six months later, prompting questions about the ever-present violence in society.

However, despite all the events of subsequent years, the language has remained the same: the EU acquis, the opening and closing of 35 accession chapters, the struggle against corruption, promotion of the rule of law, freedom of expression, democracy, gender equality and free media have remained part of the Embassy’s everyday vocabulary for many years. Let’s hope that the language and vocabulary will expand further when Serbia joins the Union.

How do I detail all this when I have to introduce myself to a newly arrived Swedish diplomat, who asks us all how long we’ve been working at the embassy? I know that my answer will prompt raised eyebrows and unspoken questions. All I can do is smile and welcome them most warmly to Belgrade.

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An ever-increasing number of intellectual jobs can today beautomated and entrusted to machines. This phenomenon has far-reaching ramifications thar still ultimately unclear. Will human labour be completely replaced by the work of machines in 50 years; will we all live on a universal basic income secured by robots, or does the future contain at least a little humanity?

I’m endeavouring to find answers in real time to these questions, and similar ones that arise from them, in my academic work and business practices. The broad education that I’ve received – encompassing two basic educational profiles, two master’s dissertations defended, a multidisciplinary doctoral thesis, as well as a large number of completed online education courses, amongst which I always proudly highlight the education I was extremely grateful to receive from Professor Donald Kagan of Yale University – enables me in my business practices to constantly point out that the contemporary world isn’t divided by the border between the digital and the traditional, but rather by an approach to the problems of phenomena that change that world completely.

I’m determined to persevere on this path, despite the easily promised speed that most of us accept almost as easily – here I’m alluding to the title of a thirty-five-year-old book, because not giving up despite everything is perhaps the quality that makes us human most of all

After having spent 18 years at the University Library in Belgrade, mostly working on innovative, new jobs that have resulted, among other things, in more than ten projects of national importance in the field of digitising cultural heritage, in March 2021 I transferred most of my working time to the Serbian post office, Post of Serbia, where I began managing the section responsible for philately. Postage stamps, as a medium of national remembrance and a tool for diplomatic activities – to mention just two of their many roles – provide an important perspective, primarily for youngsters, to familiarise themselves with the world of patience and thoroughness, where observing a small square of paper potentially brings a much greater sense of excitement and usefulness than the quick solutions and ostensible sense of power that digital technologies offer us, often unintentionally, but very effectively and efficiently.

In this sense, postage stamps bear an incredible resemblance to the printed book, but also many other expressions of human creativity that require time and provide enduring benefits to those who have sufficient will, patience and knowledge to enjoy them. In the hope that I will succeed in finding even more allies who will help me – at least to some extent and for some time – to direct the inexorable and for now predominantly impulsive march of digital transformation and convince as many people as possible to study not only the characteristics of new digital technologies, but rather also the value of traditional media for conveying knowledge and artistic expression, in order for us to be able to collectively, as a society, utilise the advantages of both worlds and avoid their dark sides to the greatest possible extent. I’m determined to persevere on this path, despite the easily promised speed that most of us accept almost as easily – here I’m alluding to the title of a thirty-five-year-old book, because not giving up despite everything is perhaps the quality that makes us human most of all.

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When I completed my pharmacy studies at the Faculty of Medicine and began my doctoral studies at the Faculty of Technology, where I was also employed in the Department of Pharmaceutical Engineering, I very often received comments that, as a pharmacist, I didn’t belong in engineering. That certainly didn’t feel nice, but it very quickly became a huge advantage and the wind in my sails. I first learned to overcome such situations and utilise them for my personal development, while that also turned out to be a professional advantage. Specifically, entering a new field meant that I very quickly had to learn and master new things, which helped me view all scientific problems from at least two different perspectives. I also rapidly overcame my fear of the unknown and developed the courage to go further in a new area.

I can say that my international experience and connections with transnational teams, which have differing approaches and expertise, helped me the most on my scientific journey. Closing ourselves off in a secure environment and only working with what we know certainly won’t lead to innovation, but that is unfortunately very prevalent in academic circles, in my opinion. Stepping into the unknown can be scary, because the lack of knowledge makes you feel insecure. However, after a certain period, when you feel like you’ve actually expanded your skills, research area etc., you are greatly encouraged and desire to continue that personal and professional development.

Another thing I consider as being crucial to my development is the team. Namely, after defending my doctoral thesis, my colleague and I formed a team with operating principles that differed from those of traditional teams. This approach that guides me implies giving young people in science space for creativity, freedom and new ideas. This is what I needed, and it very quickly resulted in me becoming independent in my research.

I’m proud of our work in the field of microalgae, where we succeeded in marrying scientific expertise from the fields of pharmaceuticals and green technologies, microalgal biotechnology, engineering in wastewater treatment and organic chemistry

When I began working with scientists from Portugal with expertise in the microalgae field, I knew very little about microalgae. They similarly lacked any knowledge of my field of green solvents and extractions. Despite huge difference in terms of years of experience between us, we simply sat together and all presented our ideas equally. Saying “I don’t know a lot about this, but I want to learn” is halfway to success in scientific projects and ideas. Openness to new ideas and completely different approaches, abandoning safe and familiar frameworks, is that which brings innovation in science. And that’s why I’m proud of our work in the field of microalgae, where we succeeded in marrying scientific expertise from the fields of pharmaceuticals and green technologies microalgal biotechnology, engineering in wastewater treatment, and organic chemistry. That motivated and encouraged me greatly, such that I now enter new projects with ease and huge enthusiasm.

I also believe that joint approaches and activities are key to responding to the global challenges we currently face. Scientists truly have a great responsibility to offer solutions. However, scientific reactions alone aren’t enough. It is necessary to broaden participation, promote endeavour, and harmonize activities of all groups, governments, policymakers, and the general population. Mutual understanding and respect among all participants, and the opportunity for everyone’s voice to be heard, is key to success, and I hope that, as a society, we will improve this.

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