Post by Mirsada Tanović on Jul 25, 2015 15:43:55 GMT
3rd March 1992
Sarajevo, Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina
Sarajevo, Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina
“Today, Papa said, was the start of a new life for all of us. He told me that we were no longer Yugoslavian’s, we could now finally proudly declare ourselves Bosnian’s. He told me that our leaders had declared a new country, they call it Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Papa was very excited, I could see something in his eyes I had never seen before.
It was a mixture of joy, pride and… something else I couldn’t put my finger on. It was very strange, almost like I saw a part of him which he had kept hidden from me.
Mama wasn’t the same.
She was very quiet. As Papa celebrated, she sat in silence, clutching a drink in her hand, frowning a lot. What was wrong with her? Shouldn’t she be happy? Papa said this was our chance to finally make a life for ourselves that we truly deserved, we didn’t have to listen to other people tell us what to do any more.
Mama said that there was always going to be somebody who’d tell us what to do, and now they may don it with the point of a gun.
Papa told her to not be so dramatic… then she didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
Something wasn’t right, my parents were so different. Mama’s beautiful smile had gone, to be replaced by a frown. She looked so sad, she wasn’t even trying to hide it. I could tell she was very worried.
What she said scared me.
Papa, however, was overjoyed. He ran his hand through my hair and messed it up, I yelled at him but he just laughed and smiled. He told me that I should be happy like he was, I told him I was… but I lied. I wasn’t happy.
I was confused.
Why did we need to make a new country? Why would this mean we would be better off?
I wanted to ask Papa, but I didn’t want to spoil his mood. I liked seeing him so happy, even though I didn’t really understand why. I just wish I could make Mama smile again. I missed her smile today, it always made me feel happy.
Guns and flags couldn’t make me smile.
I watched from bedroom window as people celebrated in the streets. I could see Papa with his friends, they were drinking on the street and shouting out loudly. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I could tell by the tone of their yells they were all very happy.
Until the man walked past them.
Suddenly they all stopped shouting and huddled together. He bowed his head and tried to walk past them, but one of Papa’s friends stepped in front of him. When he tried to walk away another blocked his path.
I couldn’t understand why they were doing this. What had he really done?
Then they started yelling, I still struggled to hear but I made out the word “Serb”. Was this man like the angry people at the church? Why did it even matter?
I watched as they began to shout angrily, my heart began to race as the man looked really afraid. I saw Papa stand up and walk over to the group…
Then I saw him hit the man.
My father hit him with a bottle.
I froze. My whole body was in shock, my father told me you should never raise your hand to anybody but he hit the man with a bottle. I could hear him laughing as his friend started to kick the man who fell to the ground.
Their laughter made my shiver.
It was filled with so much… joy.
I watched as they kept kicking him, over and over before I couldn’t watch anymore. Tears ran down my face, I couldn’t hold them in any longer.
Why would they do such a thing? He didn’t even try to hurt them. Why would you hurt somebody who had done nothing to you.
A few hours later I could hear my father come back home. He went to the bathroom and I could hear him wash his hands, the water kept running and running. Then I heard his footsteps, I was scared, I wrapped my blanket around me and turned me back to the door as it creaked open…
He just stood their silently.
I pretended to sleep until he walked away.
I cried myself to sleep. Why did he do it?
Why?”
Is this some kind of sick joke? Seriously?
I have to wrestle Mercedes Vargas, again!? Jesus guys, I know the women’s roster is hardly stacked right now but is this really the best we can do? Does Vargas truly get to live off one big victory weeks ago again to get another opportunity she doesn’t really deserve?
{ Mirsada sighs. }
Well, I mean… I guess I get the distinct honour of sharing the ring with Emma Danielson too.
Oh…
Oh God, I want to cry. I’m literally weeping inside.
Does this company want to actually have some new blood accomplish something or are we going to be constantly subjected to re-runs of NCW circa 2010 and the triad of over-inflated bitches plus their quirky side kick Eternity for… ironically enough, eternity?
Well… at least Eliza qualified, I’m sure she’ll make an impressive pin cushion for the established names as they recapture their “rightful place” at the top of the pyramid to “excite” us with their darling escapades for months again whilst every other Diamond cries a little and dies inside.
Yay for progress I guess?
{ Mirsada groans. }
So, I guess it would be remiss of me to just keep complaining about the state of women’s wrestling 2015 where Ana Jones and Jessica Reed still both manage to main event over the “elite of upcoming talent” and not address my opponents.
Even if having to talk about why Mercedes Vargas is a vacuous entertainment black hole who, like a period, is intent on only ever turning up once a month and causing us to wish we were never born makes my brain literally want to implode on itself.
So…. Hey Mercy. Again. It’s a little of déjà vu huh?
What is there really left to say about you? I mean we both know I don’t respect you, we both know that I’d rather wrestle an angry porcupine than you and we both know that there’s only 25% of a chance you’ll actually bother to even make an effort to treat either of us with any semblance of professional respect.
Honestly, Vargas, it pains me to see somebody with so much talent be so eager to squander it through bone idleness.
See, here’s the difference between me and you, Mercedes. I am here every fucking week busting my ass, win or lose, yet you have the absolute arrogance to only bother showing up when you think it’s worth your time. Week after week you continue to half-ass your way through this competition, rambling along incoherently to some poor interviewer to pretend you care before stinking up the ring with your incompetence.
Where the fuck is your self-respect? Do you actually want to be a pro wrestler or is this all about the celebrity status it afford you?
Frankly the way you behave makes me sick. This business doesn’t need vampires like you suckling on it’s neck whenever you need a ego top up, it needs men and women who want to be here every single week to compete. This is meant to be a competition, not a platform for washed up self-obsessed wannabe chat show hosts to waltz in when there is a mere whiff of some relevancy.
You keep droning on and on about respect, about how you’re so superior to the rest of us so here’s a tip, Mercy, how about you shut the fuck up, strap on your boots and actually prove that you’re worth a damn instead of proclaiming it every week between ad breaks. Nobody cares about air bags like you an Ana who like to tell everyone about how amazing they are, they care about the women who knuckle down and show what they can do in the ring.
In years to come, nobody will remember the time you sat and chewed the fat with some poor media temp, they’ll remember if you came to your sense and began to make your opponents respect you rather than demanded it.
I don’t want Mercedes Vargas the self-absorbed hot air balloon, I want the woman who actually forged this legacy of a great competitor.
If you could muster at least a tenth of the energy to try and be her, that’d be great.
Then, there’s you Emma and before I even begin, I have to give you credit. Unlike Mercedes, you’ve actually been willing to invest some energy into this competition and not live completely on your previous accomplishments. For that, you do deserve some praise, for too long we’ve had to suffer the ignominy of has-beens waltzing in and taking our spots with little to no effort.
It’s comforting to finally see a veteran with some fire in her belly who wants to prove herself instead of living on her past and coasting into title shots.
Hell, it’s pretty damn refreshing.
Finally, somebody else who wants to do their talking in the ring and prove themselves with some good old fashioned physicality. You’re a woman after my own heart. You have to understand Emma, when I was rotting away in developmental all I ever got to watch was entitled little bitches like Ana Jones, Alexis Caffrey and Amber Richards parroting on about deserving this and that and very few of them ever seemed to want to back that up in the ring.
It was like the entitlement that continue to fuel to tiresome career of people like Vargas was becoming infectious.
Then there was you.
You came back and you were brutally honest and open, you spoke from the heart and wore it on your sleeve. You’ve not tried to hide behind pretences or delusions, you’ve just turned up, swung some fists and tried to claw your way back to relevancy and that…
That I admire.
This division needs more women like you and me, women who are determined to prove their worth inside a wrestling ring and not on some red carpet or on a stage with a microphone. Too many of them have gotten comfortable with the cult of celebrity that this business affords women nowadays, too many of them are concerned about their images and forget why they’re truly here.
It’s about time somebody reminded them, but no offence Emma.
I have no intention of allowing that woman to be you.
This… this is my time. This is the time of a new breed of Diamond’s to emerge and represent out gender on the biggest stage in this business. It’s time for the tired old names the step up or bow out, gracefully or painfully if needs be. This division has needed an injection of women who are hell bent on proving themselves and I have every intention of been the figurehead of that generation.
Out with the old entitled generation who want to live on their past.
In with the new blood who are hungry to eclipse their greatest moments.
What this week will boil down to is which one of us wants this more. I have no doubt Mercy thinks she deserve it’s the most and I don’t for one second doubt that you want to redeem yourself Emma, but neither of you can possibly even begin to comprehend how much I want to make that final four.
I have watched women create defining moments in their careers.
Each and every one of them have moments they can look back on and point to as the moment where they finally arrived. Your moments are logged long ago in the history books, mine is still waiting to emerge. This competition has made entire careers and I have every intention of making sure that, win or lose, everybody remembers my performance.
That is fixed firmly in my sights.
I welcome either of you to try and take this from me.
Papa was very excited, I could see something in his eyes I had never seen before.
It was a mixture of joy, pride and… something else I couldn’t put my finger on. It was very strange, almost like I saw a part of him which he had kept hidden from me.
Mama wasn’t the same.
She was very quiet. As Papa celebrated, she sat in silence, clutching a drink in her hand, frowning a lot. What was wrong with her? Shouldn’t she be happy? Papa said this was our chance to finally make a life for ourselves that we truly deserved, we didn’t have to listen to other people tell us what to do any more.
Mama said that there was always going to be somebody who’d tell us what to do, and now they may don it with the point of a gun.
Papa told her to not be so dramatic… then she didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
Something wasn’t right, my parents were so different. Mama’s beautiful smile had gone, to be replaced by a frown. She looked so sad, she wasn’t even trying to hide it. I could tell she was very worried.
What she said scared me.
Papa, however, was overjoyed. He ran his hand through my hair and messed it up, I yelled at him but he just laughed and smiled. He told me that I should be happy like he was, I told him I was… but I lied. I wasn’t happy.
I was confused.
Why did we need to make a new country? Why would this mean we would be better off?
I wanted to ask Papa, but I didn’t want to spoil his mood. I liked seeing him so happy, even though I didn’t really understand why. I just wish I could make Mama smile again. I missed her smile today, it always made me feel happy.
Guns and flags couldn’t make me smile.
I watched from bedroom window as people celebrated in the streets. I could see Papa with his friends, they were drinking on the street and shouting out loudly. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I could tell by the tone of their yells they were all very happy.
Until the man walked past them.
Suddenly they all stopped shouting and huddled together. He bowed his head and tried to walk past them, but one of Papa’s friends stepped in front of him. When he tried to walk away another blocked his path.
I couldn’t understand why they were doing this. What had he really done?
Then they started yelling, I still struggled to hear but I made out the word “Serb”. Was this man like the angry people at the church? Why did it even matter?
I watched as they began to shout angrily, my heart began to race as the man looked really afraid. I saw Papa stand up and walk over to the group…
Then I saw him hit the man.
My father hit him with a bottle.
I froze. My whole body was in shock, my father told me you should never raise your hand to anybody but he hit the man with a bottle. I could hear him laughing as his friend started to kick the man who fell to the ground.
Their laughter made my shiver.
It was filled with so much… joy.
I watched as they kept kicking him, over and over before I couldn’t watch anymore. Tears ran down my face, I couldn’t hold them in any longer.
Why would they do such a thing? He didn’t even try to hurt them. Why would you hurt somebody who had done nothing to you.
A few hours later I could hear my father come back home. He went to the bathroom and I could hear him wash his hands, the water kept running and running. Then I heard his footsteps, I was scared, I wrapped my blanket around me and turned me back to the door as it creaked open…
He just stood their silently.
I pretended to sleep until he walked away.
I cried myself to sleep. Why did he do it?
Why?”
Is this some kind of sick joke? Seriously?
I have to wrestle Mercedes Vargas, again!? Jesus guys, I know the women’s roster is hardly stacked right now but is this really the best we can do? Does Vargas truly get to live off one big victory weeks ago again to get another opportunity she doesn’t really deserve?
{ Mirsada sighs. }
Well, I mean… I guess I get the distinct honour of sharing the ring with Emma Danielson too.
Oh…
Oh God, I want to cry. I’m literally weeping inside.
Does this company want to actually have some new blood accomplish something or are we going to be constantly subjected to re-runs of NCW circa 2010 and the triad of over-inflated bitches plus their quirky side kick Eternity for… ironically enough, eternity?
Well… at least Eliza qualified, I’m sure she’ll make an impressive pin cushion for the established names as they recapture their “rightful place” at the top of the pyramid to “excite” us with their darling escapades for months again whilst every other Diamond cries a little and dies inside.
Yay for progress I guess?
{ Mirsada groans. }
So, I guess it would be remiss of me to just keep complaining about the state of women’s wrestling 2015 where Ana Jones and Jessica Reed still both manage to main event over the “elite of upcoming talent” and not address my opponents.
Even if having to talk about why Mercedes Vargas is a vacuous entertainment black hole who, like a period, is intent on only ever turning up once a month and causing us to wish we were never born makes my brain literally want to implode on itself.
So…. Hey Mercy. Again. It’s a little of déjà vu huh?
What is there really left to say about you? I mean we both know I don’t respect you, we both know that I’d rather wrestle an angry porcupine than you and we both know that there’s only 25% of a chance you’ll actually bother to even make an effort to treat either of us with any semblance of professional respect.
Honestly, Vargas, it pains me to see somebody with so much talent be so eager to squander it through bone idleness.
See, here’s the difference between me and you, Mercedes. I am here every fucking week busting my ass, win or lose, yet you have the absolute arrogance to only bother showing up when you think it’s worth your time. Week after week you continue to half-ass your way through this competition, rambling along incoherently to some poor interviewer to pretend you care before stinking up the ring with your incompetence.
Where the fuck is your self-respect? Do you actually want to be a pro wrestler or is this all about the celebrity status it afford you?
Frankly the way you behave makes me sick. This business doesn’t need vampires like you suckling on it’s neck whenever you need a ego top up, it needs men and women who want to be here every single week to compete. This is meant to be a competition, not a platform for washed up self-obsessed wannabe chat show hosts to waltz in when there is a mere whiff of some relevancy.
You keep droning on and on about respect, about how you’re so superior to the rest of us so here’s a tip, Mercy, how about you shut the fuck up, strap on your boots and actually prove that you’re worth a damn instead of proclaiming it every week between ad breaks. Nobody cares about air bags like you an Ana who like to tell everyone about how amazing they are, they care about the women who knuckle down and show what they can do in the ring.
In years to come, nobody will remember the time you sat and chewed the fat with some poor media temp, they’ll remember if you came to your sense and began to make your opponents respect you rather than demanded it.
I don’t want Mercedes Vargas the self-absorbed hot air balloon, I want the woman who actually forged this legacy of a great competitor.
If you could muster at least a tenth of the energy to try and be her, that’d be great.
Then, there’s you Emma and before I even begin, I have to give you credit. Unlike Mercedes, you’ve actually been willing to invest some energy into this competition and not live completely on your previous accomplishments. For that, you do deserve some praise, for too long we’ve had to suffer the ignominy of has-beens waltzing in and taking our spots with little to no effort.
It’s comforting to finally see a veteran with some fire in her belly who wants to prove herself instead of living on her past and coasting into title shots.
Hell, it’s pretty damn refreshing.
Finally, somebody else who wants to do their talking in the ring and prove themselves with some good old fashioned physicality. You’re a woman after my own heart. You have to understand Emma, when I was rotting away in developmental all I ever got to watch was entitled little bitches like Ana Jones, Alexis Caffrey and Amber Richards parroting on about deserving this and that and very few of them ever seemed to want to back that up in the ring.
It was like the entitlement that continue to fuel to tiresome career of people like Vargas was becoming infectious.
Then there was you.
You came back and you were brutally honest and open, you spoke from the heart and wore it on your sleeve. You’ve not tried to hide behind pretences or delusions, you’ve just turned up, swung some fists and tried to claw your way back to relevancy and that…
That I admire.
This division needs more women like you and me, women who are determined to prove their worth inside a wrestling ring and not on some red carpet or on a stage with a microphone. Too many of them have gotten comfortable with the cult of celebrity that this business affords women nowadays, too many of them are concerned about their images and forget why they’re truly here.
It’s about time somebody reminded them, but no offence Emma.
I have no intention of allowing that woman to be you.
This… this is my time. This is the time of a new breed of Diamond’s to emerge and represent out gender on the biggest stage in this business. It’s time for the tired old names the step up or bow out, gracefully or painfully if needs be. This division has needed an injection of women who are hell bent on proving themselves and I have every intention of been the figurehead of that generation.
Out with the old entitled generation who want to live on their past.
In with the new blood who are hungry to eclipse their greatest moments.
What this week will boil down to is which one of us wants this more. I have no doubt Mercy thinks she deserve it’s the most and I don’t for one second doubt that you want to redeem yourself Emma, but neither of you can possibly even begin to comprehend how much I want to make that final four.
I have watched women create defining moments in their careers.
Each and every one of them have moments they can look back on and point to as the moment where they finally arrived. Your moments are logged long ago in the history books, mine is still waiting to emerge. This competition has made entire careers and I have every intention of making sure that, win or lose, everybody remembers my performance.
That is fixed firmly in my sights.
I welcome either of you to try and take this from me.
Well howdy there pardner.