Storytelling for Social Justice,

Dialogue and Inclusion

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 01

INTRODUCTION
"Storytelling for Social Justice, Dialogue and Inclusion" is an Erasmus+ youth exchange
project which took place in the village of Drugan, Radomir municipality, Bulgaria
between 5-14.08.2021. It included 22 participants (16-30 years old) residing in Bulgaria,
Serbia, Hungary and Italy among whom were natives from Pakistan, India, the
Philippines, Mongolia, USA and Tunisia.

Every project brings together a unique group of individuals with different lived
experiences and insights which provide opportunities and challenges to discuss and
address different social issues that impact a wide range of people. The range of
personal perspectives we had in the group enriched our ability to address important
social issues such as race, class, gender, ethnicity, economic status, ability and
disability. Through these conversations participants were able to reflect on how their
individual positionality might be affected by their perspectives and how through
engaging with others they could transform their worldview.

Our project aimed to raise awareness about the importance of storytelling, as well as
to develop the skills of young people to critically analyze stories and utilize
storytelling for social transformation. Every day participants engaged in discussions
and interactive activities to explore various approaches to social justice and dialogue,
as well as deepen their understanding how pursue social change through storytelling.
They created poems and writing pieces daily to enhance their skills, and gain
experience with different approaches to storytelling.

In this digital book you can read selected works developed during the youth exchange.
We hope that by doing so you will be inspired to reflect on your own stories, and
consider how you can use your voice - or your pen! - to be part of the change you
want to see in the world.

The project was organized by:

Foundation "SolidarityWorks", village of Drugan, Bulgaria
www.solidarityworks.eu | hello@solidarityworks.eu | Facebook page | Instagram

International partners:
Colony of Creators, Portugal
Alternativni centar za devojke, Serbia
Youth in One Association, Hungary

Youth Exchange photos | Video

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 02

CONTENTS
PART I: STORIES OF SELF
OVERWEIGHT, IVAN GEORGIEV PAGE 05
LIFE AS A CLOUD, IVANA POJARSKA PAGE 06
PANIC ATTACK, SELIN ALI PAGE 07
GUILT, TAMARA PAVLOVIČ PAGE 08
FEAR, ZAIN ZAMIR PAGE 09
ROOTS OF TRAUMA, MILICA LAZAREVIČ PAGE 10
ALIVE OR ASLEEP?, FRANCISCO SILVA PAGE 11
QARANTINE, NIKOLA KUSHEV PAGE 12
DYSLEXIA, RUTURAJ PATEL PAGE 13
HIDDEN ACCIDENT, ALYSSA MISOLAS PAGE 14 - 15
MY UNCLE, NIKOLA KUSHEV PAGE 16
MOM, AMINAA LKHAGVASUREN PAGE 17
OTHERS, CARLA TEIXEIRA PAGE 18
US, MILICA STOJKOVIC PAGE 19
CHILLI PEPPER, ALI SHAIR PAGE 20
BUTTERFLY, MILICA LAZAREVIČ PAGE 21
TWO TAKA, SHUKOOR PAGE 22
CLIMBING THE SUCCESS LADDER, ZAIN ZAMIR PAGE 23
A BELIEF, SHUKOOR PAGE 24
THINGS CAN GET BETTER, IVAN GEORGIEV PAGE 25
LIFE IS PRECIOUS, ALI SHAIR PAGE 26
HUMAN CONNECTION, CARLA TEIXEIRA PAGE 27
DRUGAN CAMPFIRE, SHUKOOR PAGE 28
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 03

CONTENTS
PART II: STORIES FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE

WARRIOR DARLING, SELIN ALI & MILENA LOPIČIĆ PAGE 30

NAAM SHABANA, ZAIN ZAMIR PAGE 31

PITCHING SEXISM, MAGGIE NAZER PAGE 32 - 33

AM I BEAUTIFUL? (IN BULGARIAN), SELIN ALI PAGE 34

TELL ME WHAT TO DO, EMILY PAGE 35

A DRESS I'LL NEVER WEAR, MILICA STOJKOVIC PAGE 36

RAPE, RUTURAJ PATEL PAGE 37

AFTER THE STORM, ISMÉNIA PINTO PAGE 38 - 39

CULT OF SEPARATION, DAVID MATA PAGE 40

ISLAMOPHOBIA, ALI SHAIR PAGE 41

HISTORY CLASS, NIKOLA KUSHEV PAGE 42

WHEN SCIENCE SUCKED, MILENA LOPIČIĆ PAGE 43

UNLEARNING RACISM, IVAN GEORGIEV PAGE 44

HOMELESS, ISMÉNIA PINTO PAGE 45

FAST TOYS, EMILY PAGE 46

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES, CARLA TEIXEIRA PAGE 47

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, TAMARA PAVLOVIČ PAGE 48

WHAT REMAINS?, EMILY PAGE 49

"HOW ABOUT YOU, MARS?", IVANA POJARSKA PAGE 50

TEST OF TIME, DAVID MATA PAGE 51 - 52

MANIFESTO FOR SELF-CARE, TAMARA PAVLOVIČ PAGE 53 - 54

LOVE, AURORA PAGE 55

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 04

Part I

STORIES OF
THE SELF
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 05

IVAN GEORGIEV, BULGARIA

OVERWEIGHT
Gr o wi n g up, I di d n o t h av e a perf e ct ch i l d h o o d , to s ay t h e l e as t . Ho we v e r, I h ad o n e th i n g
wh i ch al way s br o ugh t me a s e n s e o f re l ie f an d magical l y mad e al l o f my pro blems v an i sh j u st
f o r a s pl i t mo me n t – f o o d . I at e wh e n I was bo re d , wh e n I was f e e l i n g d o w n i n th e du mp s,
wh e n I was h appy an d t h at , uns ur pr i si n gl y , re s u l t e d i n me gai n i n g a t o n o f w ei gh t. B y th e
t i me I was 1 2 y e ar s o l d , I was al re ad y t we n ty -f iv e k i l o grams o v e r th e av e rage w ei gh t fo r my
h e i gh t an d age . Nat ur al l y , t h anks t o my app e aran c e , as we l l as th e man y o t h er p rob lems th at
we r e pr e s e n t dur i n g my ch i l d h o o d , I gre w up t o be a s h y k i d , wi th bare l y any co n fi den ce. T o
s ay t h at I h at e d my s e l f wo ul d be an und e rs t at e me n t.

An av e r age day f o r 1 2- y e ar-o l d me equ al e d to s p e n d i n g u p to t we l v e h o urs play i n g comp u ter

game s , s h ut i n s i de my ro o m, e at i n g an un h e al t h y amo u n t o f ch o c o l at e ev ery day a n d
dr i n ki n g abo ut 6 ca n s o f Co ca- Co l a. I av o id e d h u man i n te racti o n j us t be c ause I w a s ash a med
o f my s e l f . I e n j o y ed be i ng i n my ro o m, tal ki n g with my o n l i n e bu d d i e s wh o, u n li ke me, at
l e as t h ad s o me s oci al s ki l l s . Ho we v e r, I paid t h at n o atte n t i o n . A l l I wish ed for w a s to
co n t i n ue t h at l i f e s t y l e wi t h n o d i st urban c e .

I v i v i dl y r e me mbe r o n e s peci al d ay . I t was 2 4 t h o f M arc h , 2 0 1 9. I was , un s urp ri si n gly , si tti n g

i n f r o n t o f my co mput er pl ay i ng an e xtre me l y p o pu l ar v id e o game , c alled “ W orld of
War cr af t ” , o f t e n t a ki n g a s i p f ro m my s e v e n th can o f Co c a-Co l a f o r t h e d ay w h i le mu n ch i n g
o n my pr e ci o us ch oco l at e waf f l e . F o r s o me re as o n , I d e c i d e d t o s tan d u p a n d w a lk ov er to
my s cal e an d go t h r o ugh my fo ur t h we i gh -i n f o r th e d ay , a pro c e s s wh ich I often u sed to
r e mi n d my s e l f t h at I was a l o s e r. As I l o o k e d d o wn , I was s ud d e n l y tak e n by su rp ri se. I h ad
pas s e d t h e e i gh t y - ki l o gram mark. I s at d o wn . I wo n d e re d : “ I f I ke e p go in g li ke th i s, I w i ll
s o o n e r o r l at e r e n d up wi t h an i ncurabl e d i s e as e l ike d iabe t e s , an d ru i n m y li fe. I n eed to
make a ch an ge , bef o re i t i s t o o l at e. ” I t was t h e n I e mbark e d o n my we igh t lo ss j ou rn ey .
Al t h o ugh , I h ad made man y po o r at te mpts at we i gh t l o s s i n th e pas t, th i s ti me i t w a s
co mpl e t e l y di f f e r e n t . I was mo t i v at ed , I was d e d icat e d .

Sl o wl y but s ur e l y , I b ui l t up a n e w l i f e s t y l e f ro m s c rat ch . I s t o pp e d d rin ki n g carb o n ated

dr i n ks an d r e pl ace d t h em wi t h wat er. I s t e ad il y re d uce d my s ugar in tak e un ti l I w as a b le to
cut i t o f f co mpl e t e l y . I re pl aced car bo h y d rate s with p ro t e in . I s t e pp e d ou t of my room
wi t h o ut i t be i n g n e ces s ary f o r t h e f i r s t ti me e v e r. I acti v e l y e xe rci s e d . I was determi n ed an d
i t pai d o f f . I s mash e d my go al o f re ach i n g a n o rmal we igh t. I gain e d co n fi den ce an d
s udde n l y , I s aw l i f e i n a co mpl e t el y d i f f e re n t l i gh t. I t was d e f i n i te l y a c h a n ge I w elcomed
wi t h o pe n ar ms .

To day , I co n t i n ue en j o y i ng t h e n e w l i fe I acqu i re d . A l t h o ugh I s ti l l h av e many mo re th i n gs to

wo r k o n , s uch as my co nf i de n ce, I h av e l e arn e d an imp o rt an t l if e l e s s o n – a sma ll deci si o n
can e as i l y s way t h e d i r e ct i o n o f y o ur l i f e . A n d I am d e f i n i te l y grat e f u l f o r t h at.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 06

IVANA POJARSKA, BULGARIA

LIFE AS A CLOUD
Equality is neat. It has alluring perfections that make me want to believe in its divine
nature. The bravery of writing these sentences has to do with the slight hint of having to
refute them. It's not that I do not believe equality is somewhat consummate. It's just that
imperfections stand out a lot more. They create the impression of a repulsive corn stock
bundle at the center of a sunflower field when its really the sunflower among the dull and
dry cornfield.

So I was having a walk among nothing, literally, there were just the rocks to mitigate the
sense of an absolutely inane scenery. In my hands I was holding a copy of "Brave New
World" by Huxley and in fact reading it. I suppose I was in desperate need of isolation due
to my oldest brother's latest arrival who challenged my comfort zone by introducing me to
his wife. The icing of the cake, which I didn't necessarily feel at that exact moment, was
the torment caused by the sun, which again was only considered as suffering after
conscious realization of its existence.

But back to the story. Do you remember Linda? Linda the savage, the ugly and disgusting
creature who became the mother of a child in this brave new world. Being a mother is
unethical, being fat and ugly - unseen, being sick - completely unacceptable. So this
unique woman, who denied her uniqueness and preferred death over it, disrupted the
equilibrium which made her a target for all equals. "Too much equality is the reason for
inequality. It makes flaws stand out too much", I thought to myself and continued reading,
but my mind was already searching for new pathways. My thoughts were bouncing to and
from the book, I couldn't concentrate and I finally came to the conclusion that it's better
to walk without reading for a moment.

A beautiful human being was levitating in the air. Its hair was long and curly, its eyes
shining, its skin flawless. At once the individual hairs on its head started falling down, one
by one, like golden strings ripped from a violin. It became bold and then its eyes fell out as
well. Its skin was then peeled by a magic force, just like a banana peel. With nothing to
keep hold of it, the blood was lifted and separated in tiny drops in the air which
disappeared immediately after. The bones fell apart and suddenly there was nothing but a
cloud perceived by the Pure Reason.

This cloud of vapor, its purpose as if to disprove the mercilessness of the drought, started
flying in many directions, emitting light in a specific frequency. The number of vapor
clouds began increasing until there was no blank space to be seen. Millions of them were
moving chaotically, bouncing off one another and giving off different spectrums of light.
Some of them would unite after these unintentional crashes, and would then develop into
beautiful and voluminous clouds that were brighter and more perfect than the previous
ones. They grew larger and prettier until one could not differentiate between the separate
clouds. Their union emitted immaculacy.

I found myself laying on the ground contemplating the restrictions caused by human
nature. I wished I was a cloud with no limits.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 07

SELIN ALI, BULGARIA

PANIC ATTACK

Walls, why are you coming closer?

Making me feel bigger and bigger,
Like a giant, like a monster,
But a different one, full of fear

Tell me, room, why are you getting

smaller?
Am I the only one who sees it?
Am I the reason for this horror?
I wish I could just leave it!

I cannot, I cannot escape

I know I’m stuck to this chair
I’m waiting for the exhale
Why is this room with no air

I cannot, I cannot breathe anymore

Thoughts start slowing down
"Can someone, please, open the door?,"
I think, but I can’t say it out loud

What is happening, I can’t tell

My feet start shaking
The only thing I can feel or smell
Is how bad I’m panicking

I’m a lost afraid giant that everybody

sees,
Smaller than I have ever been
Now I wish I was a bee
And could feel free to rest by a tree
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 08

TAMARA PAVLOVIČ, SERBIA

GUILT

I am guilty
It hurts my heart

I am guilty
I told a lie

I am guilty
I hurt someone

I am guilty
I opened my heart

Guilt inside me
Starts to spread
There is just fear
Of making another mistake

I am guilty
For feeling alive

I am guilty
For saying this out loud
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 09

MUHAMMAD ZAIN ZAMIR, PAKISTAN

FEAR

Alone in the woods, with darkness around;

With anxiety going round and round;
With a might the thunder storms;
The clouds crash with lights and sounds;
With the sound of running hounds;
Due to the fear , my heart pounds.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 10

MILICA LAZAREVIČ, SERBIA

ROOTS OF TRAUMA
I’ll start with a personal story. I don't really remember much of my childhood
due to my daily efforts to escape the unhealthy environment. There is a
particularly traumatic scene of domestic violence I was present to when I was
6 years old.

I was sitting under the table looking at my father physically abusing my

mother. It was night time, my brother was in our room, sleeping. Being there
alone as my mothers only supporter, I smiled at her.

But you see that smile was not an expression of my genuine feelings. That
child was alone facing fear, confusion, sadness and a person that child was
attached to, dependent on, her primary caretaker was consumed with the
very same emotions and was not present for attachment.

Attachment in those early years for a child is almost equal to physical

survival in the most severe cases, and is crucial for survival of connection to
and expression of the Authentic self. When faced with a choice between
Attachment and Authenticity, a child will choose to suppress her feelings in
order to stay attached.

I smiled at my mom, but my real feelings were fear, confusion and sadness.
I didn’t want to add more stress to my caretaker, so I tried to make her feel
better so she could be present for attachment.

As I was left alone, in search for connection I abandoned myself.

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 11

FRANCISCO SILVA, PORTUGAL

ALIVE OR ASLEEP?

Am I alive or just asleep?

Sometimes I feel that I am not living, even tho I feel emotions
So I get confused,
am I alive or just asleep?

The emotion I feel is pain,

got to be real
It’s so painful that sometimes I feel like dreaming
it doesn’t even feel real

“Go to therapy”, I would say

Actually I went, did it go well?
Yes - they gave me happy pills
Did it work?
No - a year passed.

I am confused with my life,

I am confused by my emotions,
I am confused about everything you could imagine

I feel like a pirate, trying to discover the gold, as I call

happiness
But I never find it
I try to find a purpose in life and feel empty again.
What’s wrong with me?
Do I do everything wrong?
Am I a really good person?

I start doubting even the things I think.

If I am living, then I want to be asleep.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 12

NIKOLA KUSHEV, BULGARIA

QUARANTINE

Quarantine was honestly quite a weird time. You can't really go through it without
being fundamentally changed, for better or worse. Well for me it was a mix of the
two, although to be frank the negatives definitely outweigh the positives, by a long
shot.

At the start of March schools were closed because of the ongoing flu epidemic - for
me it was basically a holiday. Then when the day schools were supposed to open
came closer I got that really awful feeling. Not exactly anxiety, but the thought of
going to school after spending the past two weeks sleeping and playing video
games was dreadful.

Well I was quite fortunate. We never went to school again that year. We moved to
online classes for the remaining months. And so the cycle of playing video games
and sleeping continued mostly undisturbed. I managed to ignore most of the
classes with the aim of doing something more entertaining. I didn't skip all of them
but I only focused on the ones I considered important - English, math and
chemistry.

I can't say that anything good has come after that. It can be clearly seen from the
condition my room is constantly in. I became incredibly disorganized and I am still
struggling to overcome that.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 13

RUTURAJ SAWANT PATEL, INDIA

DYSLEXIA
An eight year-old boy is suffering from dyslexia, a neurological disorder. He is having
trouble recognizing letters, can hardly read and write. Letters and numbers are written
invert style and words are commonly misspelled.

He can not follow multiple instructions and has poor motor skills. Being different from
other normally growing children, he is always thought to be dumb and lazy. His teachers,
classmates, neighbors and even his own family do not realize what he is going through.

In the boarding school where he is sent to be disciplined, his self-confidence is shattered.

He suffers trauma due to separation from his family. His passion for drawing and painting is
totally gone. He becomes so cold and indifferent to his classmates. This shows that the
concept of “trust“ during his developmental years is not properly attained and established
because of the rejection of people around him.

Until Ram Shankar Nikumbh, a substitute art teacher comes to school and is able to
recognize his special needs. other teachers think that he has to be dealt in special
education program, not to be placed in the mainstream. But, Ram insists that even a special
child has the right to formal and quality education. Ram believes that every child has his
own capabilities, desires and pace of learning.

Ram helps him to learn to manage the deficiencies brought about by being dyslexic. He
unveils the potential of the boy by employing educational psychology. Appropriate measures
like constant practice, drills and problem solving are given to him.

A person can be trained by presenting rewards or punishments as a consequence of his

actions. The little boy becomes stimulated and conditioned to learn because of the
immaterial reward of being accepted, cared, valued and loved by his teacher, Ram. The
teacher understands the boy's behavior because he has gone through the same experience
and has struggled with dyslexia during his childhood days. Yet, the child's parents, teachers
and community were not aware of this particular kind of disorder.

There should be social consciousness on individual differences. Society plays a vital role in
a child’s development. Thus, it has to be sensitive and responsive especially for those who
have special needs. Criticisms should be discouraged for the child to overcome his
difficulties.

This child, now grown up, is standing in front of you. Psychological knowledge is an
indispensable tool in teaching. Every learner has its own pace of learning with different
weaknesses. So, the teacher has to be creative in employing different teaching strategies to
be able to cater to the needs of every learner.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 14

ALYSSA MISOLAS, PHILLIPINES

HIDDEN ACCIDENT
Mid-noon, waves crashing against the port, I felt confident, I felt safe. I climb
aboard the boat as the captain told me to do so with an endearing smile.
Everything is ready. This is new; they usually let me set up my own scuba
diving equipment myself yet the captain assured me it was fine. My air tank is
hooked to my jacket with the regulators attached. My weight belt is ready for
me on the floor.

We get to the dive spot 60 miles from the coast and the captain gives me the
thumbs up that I’m ready to descend. I put my weight belt on then my jacket
(buoyancy compensator) with the air-tank attached on; tightening each strap
to ensure it’s streamlined against my body. I then walk to the side of the
boat, put my mask on my head and carefully put each fin onto each foot.

Alright, I’m ready.

Deep exhale. You’re fine. You’ve done this multiple times before. You can do
this by yourself. You earned that certificate to dive alone. You’re fine.

With the regulator in my mouth and my hand on my weight belt, I roll back
into the water. With full confidence, I descend down. Down. Deeper into the
water. I look onto my wrist computer it says I'm down 5 meters.
8 meters.
10 meters.
15 meters deep.
Hold on. Why can’t I breathe?

I look at the pressure gauge of my tank and the needle is fluctuating. Okay,
you’re fine. You just need to turn the valve to the air tank so you can breathe. I
raise my arm and reach for the tank valve. Where is it? I can't reach it. It’s
placed too low. With my chest tightening, eyes going blurry, I felt like I was
about to faint.

The easiest option was to ascend back up the ocean surface to breathe then
turn the valve. But what is that noise? I look up and see other boats and jet-
skis operating at fast speeds. Alright. You can’t go up, you’ll get beheaded. No
choice. Remove your jacket and turn that valve.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 15

ALYSSA MISOLAS, PHILLIPINES

HIDDEN ACCIDENT (2/2)
As I try to hastily loosen the straps and release the clasps on my jacket. I
knock my mask off of my head. Great! Not only are you breathless but now
you’re almost blind. With open eyes, I felt the sting of the ocean water. I
struggle to take my equipment off as the pressure of the water is forcing me
up. You let go of this jacket and it’s game over.

Finally, after this struggle, my equipment is off and held within my hands. It’s
the only thing anchoring me down. You don’t have much time left. You’re
starting to lose consciousness. Your muscles are feeling weaker and you’ve
already swallowed some water while fighting with your own equipment. Hurry
up. With my legs floating up in the air, I blindly feel around for the valve
holding it tight then I feel around for the hose of my regulator and place it in
my mouth. I slowly turn the valve on while pressing the button of the
regulator. You can’t have your tank crack underwater. Slowly releasing the
valve, I inhale the sweetest air I’ve ever tasted. Few breaths in, my panic
subsides. I then put my jacket back on with just the familiarity of the feel of
my equipment. Finally, It's on me. You’re not dead. You’re fine.

Combing through the ocean floor after a few minutes I find my mask and put
it on and release the water in it with my breath as I was trained. You’re fine.
Just check your equipment before diving in and never go diving alone again.

No matter how dire and helpless you are in a situation, being calm will keep
your head steady and decisive enough to help you go through it.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 16

NIKOLA KUSHEV, BULGARIA

MY UNCLE

My uncle had always been a positive influence in my life. From a child, seeing him
and hearing his jokes always put a smile on my face. He was caring and responsible.
Two qualities in which I still strive to reach his level.

But he was not without his problems. It was common knowledge that he was
addicted to alcohol. That isn't to say he was a bad person. I can't force myself to
imagine him doing anything whatsoever to hurt me or anybody else, whether
verbally or physically.

He would get drunk every single night. The local hospital was where he spent a lot
of his time. He would spend one or two weeks there, without drinking. He seemed
so happy and energetic every time he did that. It gave me hope that one day he
would get over his addiction.

That day never came. It happened slowly. His condition worsened over time, to the
point where he had to constantly consume painkillers. Even then his pains were
unimaginable.

He passed away on the 9th of September 2019. I was shocked to say the least. When
I was told the news I couldn't even cry. I stared at the wall for hours, thinking
about doing things I don't want to talk about. I knew for a long time he was going
to die but it was still shocking. Nothing can prepare you for this, no matter how
much in advance you know about it.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 17

AMINAA LKHAGVASUREN, MONGOLIA

MOM

MOM!
I am sorry
I am sorry that I can’t do anything
except sorry
Even though I was never asked to
be born in this place
I am immensely grateful that you
are my mother
Mother!
What a blessing to have a person to
call a Mother!
Mother!
I miss you
My every piece is missing you
My heart is aching
I am sorry
I am sorry that I have never been
there when you are tired, broken,
hurt and crying
But you are
I am sorry mom
My heart belongs to you

Your daughter,

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 18

CARLA TEIXEIRA, PORTUGAL

OTHERS

I have always been told what I could or couldn't do. Be a good girl. Do not piss off
others. I need others to love me. So, I shouldn't argue, raise my voice against them. I
need to be a pretty girl. Do what they tell me. Don't doubt it. Others know best. And so
I trusted them, I became what they wanted me to be.

No matter how uncomfortable I feel, I keep silent. Don't bother them. Even if you see
something that shouldn't happen. My opinion, my feelings don't matter. Better hurt
myself than break their pride.

All I need is to look pretty, perfect. Smile. Can't cry in public. Crying people are
annoying. Smile, no matter how you feel. You have to smile.

If they need something from you, say yes. If they disrespect you, don't tell them. Keep
It to yourself. They'll probably make fun of you. They won't like you. But I don't like
them. I don't like their attitudes. Why do I need to please them? Cause they're the cool
kids? It's good for my image if I just, please them.

So, others. Others, others and others, always others.

What about me? I respect others, but why should I not respect myself just to not
bother others. Why do I have to sacrifice myself? Why is my appearance so important
to the others? I'm a free soul, I don't want to imprison myself due to the others. I want
others to know who I am, not by who they wanted me to be. I want to say what I feel.

Love me or hate me. I am going to be me. I choose me. I won't hurt you, but you have
to let me be me. Let me be free.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 19

MILICA STOJKOVIC, SERBIA

US

I'm not going to leave this spot

I don't mind
Sharing the space
With people who I like

Portuguese is hard
Obrigada's fine
I want you to teach me
But stay in the line

Because there are some locals

Who I understand
Lacking many words
Still find them in the end

Population's quite low

Two per kilometer square
Let me move with you
There's some space to share

In Pakistan and India

It's getting freaking hot
Pretty much the same as here
We're all in the same boat

Maybe you would like

To be an engineer
Feel free to do the job you like
You can pioneer

Invent a new field

Serbian girls are here
We will be your allies
Start crossing the red lights

Breaking all the rules

Yet falling apart
There must be something inside of you
I know that you're smart
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 20

ALI SHAIR, PAKISTAN

CHILLI PEPPER

I am in the mud of the jungle and

We are not ready to mingle
We are sitting besides a green pine
exchanging some love with some
wine.

I ate a chili pepper

On a lunch time dare;
Zain said I’d burn my mouth,
but I didn’t care.

I ate the chili pepper,

left not a seed to waste
And won the truly silly bet,
But lost my sense of taste.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 21

MILICA LAZAREVIČ, SERBIA

BUTTERFLY

I feel so inspired
But in a real need of a quiet
Time and space
My soul asks for an embrace
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 22

SHUKOOR, PAKISTAN
TWO TAKA

Minted in the year 1972 to date, the two-taka coin of Bangladesh sends out a
very simple but a powerful message. That a country cannot prosper unless the
girls and the boys are educated hand-in-hand. This subtle strategy was
boosted and used to promote co-education. Now Bangladesh boasts an
incredible figure of national growth.

There is a stock story in South India that boys should be engineers and girls
should be doctors. The career of a kid is predetermined upon birth depending
on its the gender. Same was the case with Zara who was waiting for the result
of her senior high school grades. As anticipated, she got a perfect score in
mathematics. Her happiness was soon followed by fear; fear of confronting
her parents. How on earth would she convince them to let her pursue
engineering? Who would take care of her younger siblings if she went to live
in another town? What would the neighbors and relatives say?

Zara succumbed to these questions and went with medicine anyways. She is a
doctor now and an independent woman. Is she happy though? She has
appeased her parents and taken care of their insecurities but at what cost?
When she saw similar behavior of her parents towards her younger sister
Asma, it enraged her. Would Zara let her sister Asma go through the same
pain she went through? Would she let her sister kill a part of herself to keep
up the social norms just the way she had? It was time for Zara to guard her
sister’s interest; to talk sense into her parents that the interest of their
daughter stands above all social norms; to break the status quo of the society.
And so she did.

Sometimes it’s hard to make a change when you feel powerless. Sometimes it’s
important to make sacrifices. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. Zara
compromised her career because she had to; she was powerless. But climbing
the success ladder, she was able to change the fate of her siblings. Siblings
who will now become what they want to become. Because this is how they will
put the best of themselves to work. Because this is how nations are made.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 40

MUHAMMAD ZAIN ZAMIR, PAKISTAN

CLIMBING THE SUCCESS LADDER

I, Muhammad Zain Zamir, was born on 14th of December 1998 in Islamabad, Pakistan as
a mute child. I wasn't able to speak a word for 5 years. I used the expression of hands
to deliver messages to my family. My family talked to me in my native language
(punjabi).

I started going to speech therapist at the age of 2. After consecutive sessions of 3

years, I finally started speaking fluently in Punjabi. Until the age of 11, I had 5 deaths in
my family in less than a month which made me afraid and lost. I started to stammer.

I got admission in a public school at age 5 but without any knowledge of a language.
English was the medium of conversation in my school but I was unaware of even a
single word. So, I just tried to stay alone, away from people as I couldn't communicate
with any of them. For the same reason I was very bad in academics as well.

One day, my teacher was handing back some tests. She called me on the stage and
slapped me in front of the whole class because I had left the test blank. In that moment
I felt embarrassed, I felt hopeless but I realized I had to regain my self respect. I had
to focus on my education. I had to decide on a career.

My family helped me a lot and I tried to learn as much and as quickly as I can. So, I
succeeded and by the final term I was at the top of my class. Now, whenever I think of
that incident, I only have respect for my teacher as that one slap changed my whole
life.

After high school I got a scholarship in Hungary and this was my first foreign
experience. I met new people there from different countries, with different cultures
and they broadened my mind, my thoughts. Living alone in a foreign country made me
patient and independent.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 24

SHUKOOR, PAKISTAN
A BELIEF

I always wanted to study abroad. I took a gap year

just to research and prepare for the entry tests of the
universities abroad. But I kept failing and with that, I
kept losing the confidence of my parents. I remember
my father told me to get myself enrolled in a local
university on the off chance that I don’t get into any
overseas university. Son, I don’t want you to waste
anymore of your time, he would say.

But deep down I knew that he had given up on me. To

appease my father’s insecurities, I got into one of the
local universities but I wasn’t happy there; it was
never my plan. I started applying to overseas
universities yet again and this time, I was confident
that I would get in. How do I tell my father to get me
out of this place? It was not even about the off-
chance, merely being there meant that I had given up
on my belief.

I have a mentor who my father respects and who has

been a guiding figure in my academic endeavours. I
confided in him how I felt and he convinced my
father to believe in me and bring me back home so I
could pour all of my time into making this dream a
reality. And eventually, when I got into a Hungarian
university with a full scholarship, my mentor could
not be happier. And so was my father.

I learned that even in the face of your most difficult

times, there are people who will listen to you and
stand up for you; who will protect your interest and
lay the pathway for you. All it takes is reaching out to
the right people. There always are, we just have to
keep looking.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 25

IVAN GEORGIEV, BULGARIA

THINGS CAN GET BETTER

Up until the age of 7 I had a hard time in life, to say the least. I won’t
go into many details, but for me those times were hellish. My parents
were constantly arguing for many reasons, the most important one
being my father’s alcohol abuse.

He used to get drunk every single night, which would often result in
a loud argument during which a lot of hurtful stuff would be said.
Little me could barely take this. I would cry into my pillow every
night, wondering why my parents were having yet another quarrel.
On rare occasions, it would get physical. Later, it also turned out
that my father had been cheating on my mother, but that didn’t
bother me as much.

When I was seven years old things took a turn for the better. My
parents divorced. At that time, I thought this was the worst that
could happen as my entire life had just undergone a major change.
However, now that I look back on it, that was definitely the correct
decision. My father, having realized his past mistakes, decided to
stop drinking alcohol. Today, both of my parents are joyfully living
their own lives, unlike before. I prefer my family the way it is now to
my family during my childhood. I love seeing my parents happy.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 26

ALI SHAIR, PAKISTAN

LIFE IS PRECIOUS

Five years ago I was in high school. My school was 2 km away from my house. There
was a stream of canal which I had to cross every day to go to school.

Once I was going back home after finishing my school lessons. I was super tired. I was
walking beside the canal memorizing some lessons which I had to deliver in the next
day's class. I was in my school uniform with shoes and a heavy bag on my back.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of children at the bank of the canal laughing at a 5-years
old girl who was drowning in the water. After watching all this, earth came out of my
feet and instead of losing my consciousness something pushed me into the canal and I
got this girl out and gave her first Aid.

I could not believe that I saved her life. I was very happy and tears of happiness were
in my eyes. Her parents were very thankful to me. After 3 years when I went from
Hungary to Pakistan her parents came to my home with some flowers full of affection
and love.

Life is Precious. Life is beautiful.

I will quote a verse from the Holy Quran: “Speak kindly to mankind “ and
“Life is a divine bestowal on humanity that should be secured and defended by all
means" (Islamic bioethics).
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 27

CARLA TEIXEIRA, PORTUGAL

HUMAN CONNECTION
You know that incredible feeling when you meet someone and instantly connect?

I had a lot of such connections, but never like the one I had with Grace. Grace is a 20-
years old girl with an enormously kind heart although some people in her path had
mistreated her so badly that she feared for her life. She believes in the best in people.
She holds on to her life, fights to take back all that was taken from her. Bruised, not
beaten.

Grace wants to make an impact in the world. She has a lot to say. Hearing her talking is
incredible. She easily empathizes and does not judge at all. I was the most honest
version of myself with her. That's the best I could ask for! She is someone I have been
looking for in a while and who unexpectedly bumped into me!

I met plenty of people like her - people who light the room as soon as they get in. I
recall all of them, but she's the one that went straight to my heart. No matter how busy
I was, I would always be glad to go for a coffee. We would talk and that would make my
day. I would miss track of time with her. Three hours in her company felt like 10
minutes. I didn't want to go home.

I care so much for her, I would do anything to not let anyone harm her again. But I'm
powerless. There are boundaries I can not cross, things I can not do.

I do see many people waiting for a hero to rescue them. But the ultimate hero is always
inside. At the end of the day, we are alone dealing with our demons. It's an inner
struggle no one can entirely solve for us. All we can do for each other is to show
compassion and empowerment. Give a hand.

I wish it wasn't like this. I wish I could go in and just take everything hurting her out.
But I can't. I did all I could or at least all I could think of. Now I'm just hoping for her
to find her way out. Distantly supporting her. Waiting for her to come back. Looking
forward to our next coffee, our next comforting hug.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 28

SHUKOOR, PAKISTAN
DRUGAN CAMPFIRE

There is something about the atmosphere the campfire creates around us. It’s
the reddish haze of the fire in the dark that attracts and compels people to
gather. It’s the distinct crackle of the burning wood that intrigues people. It’s
the brilliant radiance of the amber that gravitates people. It’s the comforting
warmth of the fire against the chilling night that makes people want to get
closer.

Seeing people gather around the campfire and open up is a fascinating

experience. You get a sneak peak into their past and their thought process.
You witness their stories with all the vulnerability in its nakedness. You listen
to them talk their minds with such passion and love. In the past week, I was
fortunate enough to see my fellow participants make use of the power of
storytelling. I have learned how, with a combination of subtle storytelling
skills, you can convey your message with a stronger assertion and how you
can make your story heard in the most charismatic way.

This is a story that gives birth to other incredible stories. And this is a story I
will always cherish and remember.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 29

Part II

STORIES FOR
SOCIAL
JUSTICE
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 30

SELIN ALI & MILENA LOPIČIĆ

WARRIOR DARLING

darling,
my sweet girl
you are as intelligent
as a woman can get
you know I support you
but you can't go against
the laws of nature
women are love
women are care
women are emotion
men - discipline
men - security
men - reason

warrior,
my clever girl
fuck the stock stories
fuck the laws of nature
make new laws
like Curie won
the Nobel prize
twice
you won't get lost
use GPS, bluetooth and Wifi
and say thank you to
Hedy Lamar

breaking news
the second woman to win two
nobel prizes in history

her name is
you
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 31

MUHAMMAD ZAIN ZAMIR, PAKISTAN

NAAM SHABANA

It is a hot day in a village of Punjab, Pakistan. Lush

green village has unpaved roads and the houses look
old. There is a girl, light brown skin, 18, sweating off
the heat, ripped clothes, working in a field. Her name
is Shabana.

Shabana belongs to a poor family of farmers. She

didn't get the chance to get education as her family
cannot support financially. She helps her family in
agriculture. Her father is an illiterate man who used
to beat Shabana for her small mistakes. She was living
in fear, unaware of her basic human rights.

One day she was working in a farm when she met

some women from the city that came to her village to
raise awareness among the women of underdeveloped
villages. They met Shabana and listened to her story
and their eyes started flooding with tears. They
enrolled her into one of their women empowerment
programs, where girls like Shabana get their
education and NGOs teach them to be independent.

At the end they helped Shabana to start her own

business in a city. She worked really hard for years
and now she is a successful businesswoman.

An educated woman raises an educated nation.

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION"
MAGGIE NAZER, BULGARIA
PITCHING SEXISM
Fear shall not block your trail.
You know your shit, girl.
Just summon the confidence of an
average male.
It's a room full of a hundred men
and 4 more women, true,
but c'mon, don't screw this too.
Forget your self-created cage.
Drop the critical lens.
Pitch your start up.
Yalla, step on the stage.
Carve your space.
Gender inequality nowadays is
prolific only in past tense.
Top business experts should
surely see beyond the clouds of
mysogyny.
To pitch your ideas is a learning
process, not the work of a
prodigy.
Make them forget their yawns.
Perform. Convince.
The equality show needs its
courageous pawns.
Time's up.
The elevator's doors have shut.
PAGE 32
Great job but not quite.
You'd think as a woman you'd be
used to package yourself better
into a cocktail bite.
Yet practice makes perfect.
Right?
Four nice guys in rich suits
predict the faith of your social
enterprise.
Don't forget to thank them,
Can't risk to hand a bitter
surprise.
Step off stage, head held high.
A room full of a hundred men and
4 other women saw you try.
You feel proud, more or less.
Why not? Let's call it success.
The MC man claims back his
stage.
Wait. What?
Did he really just say that you've
done quite well for someone in
high heels and a short dress?
When did we time-travel back to
the Victorian age?
Breathe to stop the blood from
reaching your cheeks.
To feel ashamed is easy, but why?
Call him out on his words when he
passes by.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 33

MAGGIE NAZER, BULGARIA

PITCHING SEXISM
(CONTINUED)

Calmly invite him to reassess

that performance is work in progress
and has nothing to do with a dress.
Seriously -WTF, man?!

Be nice.
An insult often is how a man
compliments.
Surprise?

Accept his half-apology with grace.

Forget about who others may think
should save face.
Don't be too demanding.
No one likes the feminist ranting.

And when he goes back on stage

don't let yourself be filled with rage
as he pretends to make an apology,
but casually drops another hallmark of
the sexist mythology
suggesting you are "oversensitive".

Take it as a win.
The equality charade has been
revealed from within.

"LOVE IS KIND" ART BOOK PAGE 34

SELIN ALI, BULGARIA

КРАСИВА ЛИ СЪМ?
Красива ли съм
Когато ме погледнеш с пусната
коса,
Рошава, несресана,
Когато правя грозни физиономии,
Защото съм разстроена, потресена
Сложи си малко грим,
Червилце, спирала,
Намацай се като мим
Без значение дали си заслужава
Защото си момиче

Красива ли съм Давай смело, заличи се,

Когато съм със стари дрехи и без
грим,
Защото съм сама,
Когато не се глася
И разчитам на естествената
красота
Не, не си, моето момиче!
Коя си ти, има ли значение
Сложи си токчета, преоблечи се,
Направи страхотно впечатление!
Трябва да си красива
Обуздай я тази грива, сплети се
“Красотата” - единствената ти
сила
Кажи ми…
Красива ли съм,
Когато плача, защото не се
вписвам
И болката си в думи описвам…

Трябва да си мила и сдържана

Та, нали си момиче!
Спретната, чиста и винаги
поддържана
Хайде, преоблечи се!

Защото си момиче
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 35

EMILY, PORTUGAL
TELL ME WHAT TO DO

Playing in the little house was one of the most desired activities, back in the
kindergarten. While the garden was an immense imaginary space, where all could
join, the house itself had a physical dimension which limits were not expandable,
and as so, no more than four kids could fit in.

Inside the house, we were never friends – we were family. There was always the
mother. Sometimes, but not always, the father, and then they had their own kids,
which consequently were brother or sister to each other. While the father, when
present, was the person in charge, the mother would take care of the house and
tell her kids in which tasks they were supposed to help.

One day, four of us were playing – 3 girls and one boy. Sara was the mother, and
me, Marta and Ricky were her offspring. A cake was on the make, I had a knife in
my hand, and was cutting the most delicious chocolate I could imagine. Marta was
mixing the flour and the sugar, so fast that we could almost see small white
particles coming from the bowl. Mom was spreading butter throughout the cakepan
and since it would be a two-layer cake, Ricky was beating egg whites to connect
the two of them.

The oven’ s temperature was rising, as was the sound of someone’ s footsteps. Joana
arrived – she came late that day, and now wanted to be part of the family. We
started a healthy discussion about who should be in the house, and who should
leave. The heat escalated, but not because of the oven. There was no physical
violence, but the discussion was getting pretty serious and the teacher felt she
needed to intervene.

Looking back, I wish she hadn’ t.

I remember what she said, word by word – “there's no place for discussion, Joana
also has the right to play in the house. And well, OBVIOUSLY Ricardo is the one
who’ s leaving, since cooking is a task for girls. Just go play football with the other
boys”. It was better to have learnt that democracy doesn’ t always work than being
taught, from such an early age, that we live in a society where your gender defines
what you can, and can’ t do.
"LOVE IS KIND" ART BOOK PAGE 36

MILICA STOJKOVIC, SERBIA

A DRESS I'LL NEVER WEAR
November 17th, 2012:

Dear mom,

Thank you for taking me to a shopping mall to buy a dress for grown ups for the first
time. I know that I'm only 14 but I really want to go to the club with my friends. You
know them all. I'm so excited about the upcoming event. Thank you for letting me go
out.

It's 2012 and you know that sleeveless knee-length dresses combined with extremely
high heels are a thing now? I'm in a dressing room, trying to fit in a quite stretchy
dress. I'm struggling a bit since I'm not used to this kind of clothes. Wow, looking at
myself in the mirror in this emerald green dress is so empowering. I'm so elated! You
must see me! I'll come to you in a minute.

Mom, I knew that you were gonna like the dress. Hah, yes, it definitely matches my
eyes, thank you. I'm gonna be the queen of the dance floor. Can't wait to go out!

Time is flying, wow, it's Saturday already. I'm in front of the mirror again, dressed up
perfectly for the occasion. My mind is wandering. Am I going to meet the love of my
life in the club? Am I gonna grab someone's attention? Do I look underdressed? Maybe
I can add some earrings as well that match with the whole outfit. Yeah, that's what I'm
gonna do.

Mom, I'm leaving, bye! Oh, wait, why do you look so disturbed? Sorry but did you just
say that I look like a slut?! Why are you trying to talk me out of going to the club?
Didn't you just love the dress when I put it on in the store? Can we talk about what
you just said? I don't understand why you keep saying these horrendous words to me.
Alright, I'm not going out, just let me lock myself in my room.

August 13th, 2021:

Dear mom,

It's 2021 and I'm not angry with you anymore. Now I'm able to grasp your standpoint.
The dress from the dressing room wasn't gonna be the same dress outside our house
that you viewed as a safe place. You had no other means of communicating with me but
to say the words that I'll never forget. I forgave you pretty recently, actually. Now I
know that your soul was screaming: 'I'm worried about you. I don't want you to leave.
Can you please stay with us for just one or two more years? I've been mulling over the
decision I made previously and figured out that I'm not mentally prepared to let you go
yet, honey. But I still love you, no matter what.'

Love you too, mom.

"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 37

RUTURAJ SAWANT PATEL, INDIA

RAPE
Location- Delhi, India.
Time - 1 AM
I was heading home after a party. Walking on the street of Chandani chowk. There was a
group of people who were drinking on the street. They were looking at me, staring at me,
making comments about me, laughing at me. I felt very scared at that moment. I didn’t know
what I should do. I kept moving but they started following me.

I thought this was going to be the last day of my life. I took a turn at the next street to
avoid them but they didn’t stopped. I was feeling helpless because at that time there was no
one on the road. I stopped. All the boys gathered around me. Someone held my hand. I
pushed him. He started shouting at me. I was begging them to leave me. They touched every
part of my body. I was begging, crying but nothing happened. They took my clothes off. My
body stayed in the factory where they brought me for two days before the police found it.

The media, social media shared my story for a month to try to get me justice . There were
candle marches in every state for me. But did I get justice? People kept saying that girls
shouldn’t wear small clothes to provoke boys and that girls shouldn’t go outside at night.
This gave me a reason to stay alive.

I started my own organization, an emergency help centre for girls. Every year there are
thousands of rape cases happening in India. There are thousands of cases of acid attacks on
women. And still people think that’s women are the ones who have to change. I will get
justice when there will be no cases of rape. When girls and women can live freely in this
country.

Yours, Shabana.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 38

ISMÉNIA PINTO, PORTUGAL

AFTER THE STORM

"Why are you crying?"

"Why are you so sensitive?"
"You take everything too personal."
"That's nothing, just nervousness. I'm sure there's a way you can just
deal with it!"

I'm Aurora and these are some sentences I have heard all my life. I have
felt invalidated, embarrassed, powerless. Powerlessness has been a
feeling that has always surrounded my life. For all the times I could not
feel I owned my emotions, my existence, my own form of just being.
What it's in the mind?
Why does it have to be this hard?
Why do I have no space for mistakes? Why do I feel in danger?
I get it, what I'm writing it's probably confusing until now. But that's,
that's how anxiety works. Confusing, messy, overwhelming, intense,
exhausting...
And I come to talk about this struggle, this journey.

university classroom 2A,1998

I'm in my class and my arm is exploding of tension. My stomach is
aching, my heart is tightening. I just ask why. The last weeks I had this
feeling almost daily. The last couple of months I felt like I couldn't
rest.
I have often felt this when I couldn't satisfy a friend, or a family member,
or even a stranger, on the most minimal thing, that they even may not
remember. I felt it when I wanted to participate, to share a opinion, and
couldn't stop shaking. I felt it when I felt lonely. I felt it when they hurt
me with words, with threats that couldn't be erased. I felt it when I
couldn't find home. I felt it when I believed I was not enough, that I
couldn't do it. Fear. Fear. Fear.
I wanted to do something about it. That lead me to feeling a big urge to
escape. I asked myself what attaches me here, to this specific place in
which anxiety is pushing me through a wall, fabricating insecurities,
this fear of living. And I thought. I want to run, escape, go. Not from
myself. But for myself.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 39

ISMÉNIA PINTO, PORTUGAL

AFTER THE STORM
(CONTINUED)

And I did. I didn't tell anybody, and I left. I just wanted to go. "Pack a
toothbrush teeth , pack your favorite blouse" like Lumineers say, and I
went "Into the wild" like Mcandless desired.

Ireland, 1998.
Can you recognize the feeling of when you look at a certain landscape,
person, connection, kindness gesture and you get emotional for the
beauty of it.
It is the 5th day of the journey. I just walked alone 20 miles today on a
beautiful mother nature construction and I'm amazed. I look to the left
and there's sea. I look to the right and there's mountains. The path is
simple sand.
I'm here, I'm present, I'm me. That feels like finding the truth. I never
needed to be rescued, I never needed to look anywhere. The peace is
here. The peace is within. The peace will always be within.
For every time you stood up even though you were shaking. For every
time you went forward your limits even your mind was screaming you
can't do this. For every time you felt something too deeply and couldn't
put it in words. For every time you countered your negative patterns,
rooted in traumatic experiences. For every time you got up even
though you were scared and exhausted. That will never be weakness,
that's bravery.
And I'm learning about it.
Well,
What if everything you wanted to be is yourself?

Written in Howth,
Aurora
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 40

DAVID MATA, PORTUGAL

CULT OF SEPARATION

They Elaborate Rule number 3

They congregate in order to
Separate
Categorize, Isolate and then
Evaluate
Listen carefully and seriously
Take out this order together yet
individually
So here's your mission
Let's end all this confusion and
division
Allow me to give you the tools
But first the rules
Rule number 1
Is to have fun
Is all about me
You are you and I am me
Allow everyone to be who they
want to be
All that matters is our humanity
The biggest ever community
No need to be part of a special
group
I'll have pizza and you may
prefer soup
Follow these rules everyday
And no matter what they say
Know that you can follow your
own way

No fighting, no war
Enough of keeping the score
Of who has less or who has more

Rule number 2
Is all about you

You have your own identity

It might be in plain sight yet no
one can see
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 41

ALI SHAIR, PAKISTAN

ISLAMOPHOBIA

This guy is working in a restaurant in Hungary as an assistant chief. He does his best to
serve the guests and uses his full energy to prevent any complaint. There are rules at the
restaurant but they don't apply to everyone. The guy is always punished but the Hungarian
employees - never.

Why does it happen to him only? Why do people ask him about the bag on his back
wondering if there is a bomb inside or not? Why do people ask weird questions like "do you
know how to make a bomb"? He is a 22-year old boy from Pakistan who is Brown and he
faces injustice daily as an Asian Muslim guy in Hungary. His response is always that he loves
humanity, that a true Muslim will not hurt anybody, and that he was not involved in 9/11.
Religion has nothing to do with terrorism. But no one understands. Yeah It's a big tragedy.

The solution to Islamophobia could be starting a movement. If you'd like you can also help
by:

1. Building relationship with your local Muslim community

2. Standing in solidarity with the Muslim community
3. Advocating against Anti-Islamic and xenophobic state and federal policies.

This is not only Ali’s story, this is the story of all Muslims and all human beings suffering
from injustice.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 42

NIKOLA KUSHEV, BULGARIA

HISTORY CLASS

It was a common occurrence in history class. My teacher's racist beliefs were

always evident. She would never offer any help or pay any attention whatsoever to
the Roma kids, even though they made up half of the class.

On one instance, when she was returning our tests, she was visibly unhappy with
the class' performance. Her way of expressing this frustration was to unload her
anger on the Roma kids. She called one girl, Marinella, a monkey. A boy named
Plamen, she called a failure of a human being because he was a gypsy. They stared
silently at her and seemed shocked. For this, she never apologized. In fact, she
never acknowledged that it happened and to this day her behavior goes
unpunished.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 43

MILENA LOPIČIĆ
WHEN SCIENCE SUCKED
Fifth grade, geography class, eleven year old me carefully writes down the
teacher's words. Topic: demographics. Finally - I thought to myself, we are
talking about people.
There are four main races - white, black, yellow and red - the teacher
dictated.
Europe, Africa, Asia and South America, respectively.
T h e r e a r e a l s o m i x e d r a c e s - s h e c o n t i nu e d - b l a c k a n d w h i t e i s c a l l e d
"melez", and black and yellow is "mulat".
I felt my stomach turn. I couldn't write it down. I looked up at my classmates
in confusion, but everyone's heads were buried in their big, hardcover
notebooks with squares. It's fine - I thought- maybe they don't know what a
"mule" is. An animal bred from a donkey and a horse. My stomach turned
again.
I hesitantly wrote down the teacher's words.

***
c o l l e g e , s ub j e c t : c u l t u r a l a n a l y s i s , 2 2 - y e a r o l d o v e r c a f f e i n a t e d m e , 3 . 1 0 a m ,
reading an essay, rushing to finish my paper and there it was. Scientific
research doesn't fall from the skies. People are the ones who conduct it.
People have unconscious biases. Racism and sexism are embedded in science.
Those opinions are often unquestioned and referred to as the "laws of
nature" or even "common sense".

Early humanity science was extremely racist - and those ideas trickled down
from Academia to the common people - it was systemic. Another stock story
- I think to myself at this very moment - the so called "conservative
opinions" didn't originate from the uneducated, but from the elite itself. My
geography teacher was still teaching us early anthropology, which was
scrapped after world war II. Its "findings" and many other "scientific ones",
fueled and, provided "proof" for the ideology behind Nazi Germany and their
cooperators.

***
Every human being is important and has equal rights. If a scientific paper
says otherwise, it's not science. It's a crime.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 44

IVAN GEORGIEV, BULGARIA

UNLEARNING RACISM

Racism was always present during my childhood. I grew up in a small town

where the Roma people are considered less and as I was growing up, I
never saw a problem with that. I thought that this was just the way things
are everywhere. However, one unexpected experience drastically changed
my view on this issue.

I vividly remember an occasion when my friends and I were standing

outside of our classroom, talking and having fun while waiting for our
teacher to turn up. I can’t quite recall why, but one of my friends called
the other a gypsy – a word which is often used as an insult in my small
town. Of course, everyone laughed.

At the same moment my teacher was approaching and she caught what my
friend had said. She gave him a death glare and ordered us to go inside the
classroom immediately. Then, instead of teaching us English, she spent
her entire lesson talking about racism, trying to instill into our heads that
everyone is equal.

I still remember her exact question: “Gypsies are just a group of people,
why do you guys use that word as an insult when it means nothing but a
group of people?” At that moment a switch flipped in my head. I really
couldn’t think of a single answer to that question.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 45

ISMÉNIA PINTO, PORTUGAL

HOMELESS

It's 6 AM His legs are too tired

The sun is rising
He awakes
Some days rain ain't stepping back
and he wakes up wet
The background sounds are busy
cars and noisy traffic
But that became normal many years
ago
He crawls slowly, slowly
Movements that reflect his last
meal, one dry bread
But he goes
Goes trying to get up
And he does
Eventually
He knows that he can't be here for
long, soon authorities will "advise"
him to leave
A mandatory advise
But where to leave to?
This question appears everyday, on
an endless spiral
But he still leaves
He leaves and he finds barriers,
spikes that cover empty city spots
But that still doesn't manage to
cover stony hearts
He breaks
Sat on a walkway, he looks up
People are passing
wrapped up in their busy lives,
with no time to listen to stories
like his,
with no time to even look
The words are in his mouth,
trying to escape, trying to exist,
Trying to be
But his voice cracks
Cracks with the powerlessness,
shame, pain, heartbreak
He's there...
But he's not there
He's invisible
He's invisible and that is
considered acceptable
How did we come to the point
where this is acceptable?
That people without a home can
coexist
with so many empty houses
with so many free land
with so many bricks to build
walls
with so much glass to make
windows
More than unacceptable
It's heartbreaking
It's inhumane
For the profit of whom,
For what?
and at what cost?
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 46

EMILY, PORTUGAL
FAST TOYS
I want to tell you about Piggy. Piggy is a 10 cm pink stuffed pig which I have used
in my badminton bag for 7 years now. Does it mean something to me? Not really – I
don’ t particularly like pigs, nor the pink color, and it was not a gift from anyone
special. I found it among my childhood stuff, with a label with that characteristic
letter that you immediately recognize belongs to MacDonald’ s. It was one among
many other fast toys that I got in happy meals or as a souvenir. I have no childhood
memories with Piggy, nor with any of those toys. When I found them, and realized
how meaningless they were to me, I gave away most of them, but some found
eternal hell in the trash. As for Piggy, he probably had the best fate – as he had
been in many competitions and many different countries.

Unfortunately, this is the only part of Piggy’ s life that I know. He was probably
made in another continent, where the labor force is cheaper. Some chemicals were
used to give him color. Hundreds, maybe thousands of litters of water were used to
give him life. And the question I ask you is – for what? So that I, as a kid, had 30
minutes of fun?

I ask you, how many of these toys, that you played with once, do you keep in your
place?
Why do we need so many things?
Why do we like free things so much?

They might seem free, but the price we as a society and the environment pay are
too high, and most of the time unconsidered. Most of these toys are not recyclable,
people will not be interested in having them second hand and they just give you a
few minutes of enjoyment. Is it worth it? Isn’ t it time for us to do things
differently?

Reducing consumption is a must. But also, choosing right is a skill that we should
work on. Demand from corporations. They have the tools to change, but we, as
consumers, need to press them into doing it.

I don’ t want anyone to have a colorless life, without things that give them
enjoyment. But what are these things? 30 minutes of fun with some plastic toy that
will never be picked up again? Our grandchildren should also have the right to have
fun, and I believe it is our duty to make sure they have the means to. What do you
believe in?
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 47

CARLA TEIXEIRA, PORTUGAL

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
Every kid has some funny expression they used to say all the time when they just started
to speak. For me, it was "fona abora". Bad Portuguese spelling to say "call the way home".
The first time I said it was during a holiday in the South of Portugal. I wanted to go
home and when I told my parents, they said we couldn't because we didn't have a car. I
knew there was a car at my home, so the problem was solved, they could call home, the
car would come. Since then I have always told them to call home when I wanted to go
home. They never understood my child's logic.
As a child I couldn't express my needs… with my parents, at kindergarten, I would go
mute. I would lose my voice, I couldn't speak. I couldn't say I needed the bathroom. I
needed to wait for other kids to say so, and join them.
I believe I struggled with a social anxiety disorder called selective mutism. In certain
environments I would go mute. I wanted to talk all the time, but it was stronger than me
not to. I couldn't find my voice! So, I always saw myself as a weird kid with a double life.
I never met myself another way, I believe it was really who I am, never realized I had a
problem. I needed help.
I was very lucky, my help came. My first friend. She was just a kid, a 3-year-old one. I
used to escape to the book section. I did that often because there were no kids nearby
the books. A perfect place for me! But, every time I would do that she would come to me.
I remember one time, I was with a book in my hands and she came. "Carla, do you know
how to read?" She asked. I wanted to answer, tell her, no. But I didn't answer, I had no
voice to do so. So she just went on: "oh, you don't know how to read, come play with
me!". She always treated me like any other kid. Like we were having a normal
conversation. I was weird to everyone else and even to myself, but I would feel normal
with her. She showed me love when I believed everyone didn't like me. I kept silent
cause if I talked, they would wish I didn't. These ideas were planted in my head. I didn't
know how to act in life. I thought people would never love me, but she did.
These were simple gestures she kept doing that had a high impact on me. She made me
feel okay. She motivated me to talk and I pushed myself into it. Without noticing, one
day, finally I started speaking with anyone. I expressed myself. Asked for what I need. I
understood the importance of communication. And the merit for that I give to her, a 3-
year old kid filled with empathy. A kind kid with no bad intentions.
"LOVE IS KIND" ART BOOK PAGE 48

TAMARA PAVLOVIC, SERBIA

Is this story really mine?

I don't know
I am just an AI.

I see this world burning down

People tell me, it's fine
My program doesn't understand
There are people suffering everywhere

Poinson in the water

Water in a bottle
Bottle in a ocean

AI doesn't understand
They say it's okay
They say just don't care

Hungry people everywhere

Wasting food everyday
People fighting climate change
But politicians don't care

Humanity is so confusing
I don't think this is fine
But what do I know
I am just an AI.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 49

EMILY, PORTUGAL
WHAT REMAINS?

We have phones
We have laptops
We have bluetooth,
and wifi, and 5G
Lost connection.

We build factories,
We build walls
We build prisons
and re-educate and brainwash.
Broken bridge.

We arrest
We punish
We envy
And hate, and demonize.
Log out.

We shoot guns,
We rape,
We electrocute.
We shoot cannons,
And rifles and pistols.
Shut down.

What if our purpose would is not to

remain alive, but to remain human?
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 50

IVANA POJARSKA, BULGARIA

"HOW ABOUT YOU, MARS?"

"Look at me.
Look at my worn out shabby clothes crying for change.
Look at my hair falling down, full of dandruff, full of lice, needing care and
not receiving it.
Look at my face. Look at the swollen eyes, missing cheeks, chapped lips,
wrinkled forehead. Look at my runny nose. Take a look at my snot. It's black.
It's toxic. It's contagious.
Do you see my skin? It's peeling, it's scaling, and underneath there is metal
and virus. There are fluids and gases and poison and plastic and death. Lots
of death. I am death. Though death doesn't die. Death suffers. By sheltering
former life.
Now look at my hands. Look at my feet. Look at me. Look at me. See me as a
whole. I am demoralizing, diffracting, decaying.

Now take a look at my heart. It's beating lively and vividly. It knows me and
my strength and never gives up. It's strong and mighty and human and
passionate, knowing, understanding, wanting. Wanting to live. To live a life
full of hope and adventure and purpose. Life. I am life. And life never dies. It
fights. It fights for existence, survives and endures and survives. Always
survives. Life. I am life. And life never dies.
And how about you, Mars? How are you feeling?", Earth asked.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION"
DAVID MATA, PORTUGAL
TEST OF TIME - CHAPTER 1
Azis? What is this?
I am a lyricist but I'm getting
pretty pissed.
What do you think I can do in 4
minutes?
Oh wait I can hear some crickets
Crickets also want to be heard
Along with the singing notes of
every single bird
What do you expect other than
blank thoughts
A blank page with no words
followed by 3 dots
I'm sorry for me this is not gonna
work out
If I try harder I might pass out
You give me 30 minutes to walk
this long way
But you only give me 4 minutes
for what I have to say?
PAGE 51
It takes time to compress and
process
Sometimes we need time if we
want Progress
But I guess I wasn't time blessed
Now all I hear is the sound of
stress
The clock is ticking
And I am thinking
Do I even have time to finish
this…
Please give us more time, Azis.
*** This humorous piece was
dedicated to the project
facilitator Dr. Aziz Fatnassi.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 52

DAVID MATA, PORTUGAL

TEST OF TIME - CHAPTER 2

What if you could hold infinity in

a moment
And expand an instant
throughout infinity

Now I have more time

To think about time itself

Unlike money, time is not

something you can stack
And once it's gone you will never
get it back
If you want money, I will write
you a check
But with time I'm not sure I can
help you with that

So Live for the moment

And don't expect a
reimbursement
On the time you've spent

Keep track of your time because

it will be ripped away from you
without your consent
 "LOVE IS KIND" ART BOOK PAGE 53

TAMARA PAVLOVIC, SERBIA

MANIFESTO FOR RADICALIZING
SELF-CARE

I have some simple rules to help us survive: Let the future be the future.
One, it is okay to cry. Focus on now.
Two, take care of your body and mind. Small steps then we will run.
Three, allow yourself to do nothing. Fuck productivity.
Four, free yourself from the old white guy. Be human, have fun.
Five, people helping you is good, and you
should help, too. Free yourself from the world made by old
Six, there is no socialism without white guys.
socializing. People always tell you:
Seven, the last one, embrace chaos so we Do this, Don't do that.
can survive. Its normal, society does that.
But don't listen to some old white guys.
You ask me: "Why should you cry?"
I will tell you They want to keep us apart.
It will release stress We need to make space for us.
And free your mind. Start small.
Two people working together -
Crying is normal response Its better that one.
To all the chaos that surrounds us.
Embrace crying. We can build new bridges
No fighting emotions. And try to keep us
Safe and sound.
And our bodies
They say stay healthy People helping you is a good thing And you
They say eat that should help, too.
Be fit, not fat. This is sometimes the hardest part.
Ask for help, accept help.
But no more shaming. I understand, easier said than done.
No more discriminating.
Our bodies keep us alive. Survival of the fittest
Size and color doesn't define us. Doesn't suit us right.
Stay healthy for us, So reach out
Not for those motherfucks. And be there to help us survive.

Allow yourself to do nothing. There is no socialism without socializing.

Look at the wall, It's time to think what socializing means to
Breathe, draw, sing, laugh us.
Isn't good just to be alive? Socializing for solidarity that's what we
need.
"LOVE IS KIND" ART BOOK PAGE 54

TAMARA PAVLOVIC, SERBIA

MANIFESTO FOR RADICALIZING
SELF-CARE

Sharing food and drinks

Dancing and enjoying our lives
Singing, every minute
Proving to them we will survive.

Reading together,
Working together,
Protesting together,
Buildings things together.
Not for me,
Not for you,
Not for them
But for us.

In the end
Embrace the chaos
Imperfections are gonna follow us around,
This is going to be a long ride,
Its gonna be messy sometimes,
But we will help each other survive.

You may think nobody understands!

But we are here
Waiting to connect.

Embrace that things will not be perfect.

Perfection is illusion that keeps us apart.
We will never be the same.
But only together we will survive.
"STORYTELLING FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE, DIALOGUE & INCLUSION" PAGE 55

ISMÉNIA PINTO, PORTUGAL

LOVE

Here I am flying Their eyes are shining

Flying through the clouds Their soul is too luminous to be
Helped by the wind unnoticeable
I just saw a bird My heart gets warm
He greeted me Knowing their existence
I answered back Feels like
Since when is it this good to be A hug
alive? A close, genuine, loving hug
My body is light Yes, love.
My heart is full
My mind expanded into Love is the word.
unaccountables dimensions And Love in every piece.
here I am... Floating Love in you, in me, in us.
Was all this inside me? Love comforts our pain.
I'm grounded in my own senses Love is our driving force.
Suddenly I look down Love is the purpose.
It's not only green, it's not only
blue This is the life I want to live by.
Shades of colors I couldn't even I wake up
describe My body is light
The deep, the inspiring, the My heart is full
calming, the stormy, the beautiful My soul is happy.
ocean
Serenity absorbs me
And then,
Then, a strong white light
appears in front of me I see him,
her, them, us
 PAGE 45

THANK YOU!
"Storytelling for Social Justice, Dialogue and Inclusion" is an Erasmus+ youth
exchange project which took place in the village of Drugan, Radomir municipality,
Bulgaria between 5-14.08.2021. It included 22 participants (16-30 years old) residing in
Bulgaria, Serbia, Hungary and Italy among whom were natives from Pakistan, India,
the Philippines, Mongolia, USA and Tunisia.

Every project brings together a unique group of individuals with different lived
experiences and insights which provide opportunities and challenges to discuss and
address different social issues that impact a wide range of people. The range of
personal perspectives we had in the group enriched our ability to address important
social issues such as race, class, gender, ethnicity, economic status, ability and
disability. Through these conversations participants were able to reflect on how their
individual positionality might be affected by their perspectives and how through
engaging with others they could transform their worldview.

Our project aimed to raise awareness about the importance of storytelling, as well as
to develop the skills of young people to critically analyze stories and utilize
storytelling for social transformation. Every day participants engaged in discussions
and interactive activities to explore various approaches to social justice and dialogue,
as well as deepen their understanding how pursue social change through storytelling.
They created poems and writing pieces daily to enhance their skills, and gain
experience with different approaches to storytelling.

In this digital book you can read selected works developed during the youth
exchange. We hope that by doing so you will be inspired to reflect on your own
stories, and consider how you can use your voice - or your pen! - to be part of the
change you want to see in the world.

The project was organized by:

Foundation "SolidarityWorks", village of Drugan, Bulgaria
www.solidarityworks.eu | hello@solidarityworks.eu | Facebook page | Instagram

International partners:
Colony of Creators, Portugal
Alternativni centar za devojke, Serbia
Youth in One Association, Hungary

Youth Exchange photos | Video