Natečaj ustvarjalna FT - nagrajenci

Skupaj obeležujemo kulturo, literaturo in ustvarjalnost! 

Ustvarjalnost igra ključno vlogo pri študiju, še posebej na področju turizma, kjer inovativne ideje in izvirni pristopi oblikujejo edinstvena doživetja za obiskovalce. Turizem ni le ponujanje storitev, temveč pripovedovanje zgodb, oblikovanje nepozabnih izkušenj in iskanje novih načinov za povezovanje ljudi s kraji in kulturami. 

Ob 8. februarju, slovenskem kulturnem prazniku in 21. marcem, svetovnem dnevu poezije smo zato na Fakulteti za turizem želeli poudariti prav pomen ustvarjalnosti, saj je ta temelj vsake uspešne kariere – tudi v turizmu. Sposobnost ustvarjalnega razmišljanja omogoča študentom, da razvijajo inovativne turistične produkte, izvirne marketinške pristope in edinstvene gostinske in druge storitve. Spodbujanje ustvarjalnosti med študijem tako ni le umetniški izziv, temveč ključ do uspeha v konkurenčnem turističnem sektorju. 

Na natečaju Fakultete za turizem UM so sodelovali: 

• Ana Marija Papaz, 2. letnik VS z avtorskim esejem Yaksha’s memories, 
• Petra Jonuz, 1. letnik VS z avtorsko pesmijo Promena,  
• Nidal Alispahić, 1. letnik UN z avtorsko pesmijo Away from home but „home“ is away from me, 

z izborom različnih literarnih del pa Nađa Đokić, Anastasija Jovanovska, Elisaveta Ocedova, Vesna Lončina, Andrea Kursulić, Ajla Tursum, Lejla Sinanagić, Anja Petauer, Karolina Ana Plemeniti, Amadeja Janžek, Jerca Mohorič, Rinesa Kurtaj, Rebeka Podgoršek, Adrian Delic, Emana Habibija, vsi 1. letnik VS. 

Študenti so presenetili z raznolikim izborom književnih del, ki vabijo k razmišljanju, so ogledalo družbe ali preprosto navdih. 

Vsem udeležencem natečaja se iskreno zahvaljujemo za sodelovanje, vse prispevke, razmisleke, ustvarjalnost, izvirnost in pogum – z beležko za nove zamisli, ideje, zapiske … Čestitke vsem in HVALA. Prosimo, da se za prevzem skromne pozornosti oglasite v kabinetu dr. Jasne Potočnik Topler v ponedeljek ali torek zjutraj med 8:00 in 8:30. 

dr. Jasna Potočnik Topler 

YAKSHA'S MEMORIES

The sun had finally appeared. Everyone was happy, at least it seemed. Smiling faces everywhere, the grass smelled like a rabbit’s perfume. Yaksha was sitting on the bench that faced the sea. She was seeing such a beautiful landscape, that everyone would be astonished to see, but she didn’t care a bit about that. She didn’t care about anyone. Her thoughts were focused on the things that she couldn’t control. Her hands trembled at the thought of losing all she had. Her hands formed fists, seemingly trying to protect her fragile soul. Which it was. 

Yaksha had the personality of a little puppy. She was always thoughtful about everyone around her—friends, family, acquaintances, you name it. She always had good intentions with people, she wanted to try her best. She loved animals, as expected. The animals she liked the most were dachshund puppies; she adored them. She always found warmth in animals' presence because their souls were as pure as a white angel. She had one puppy, but it tragically passed away. She always thought about her dog, and she had a keychain resembling it attached to her university bag. It reminded her of love, endless love. She also liked listening to music and dancing. It brought her joy. Basically, she was just like any girl in her 20s. But ever since, she felt lost in memories. She was suffering from feelings of nostalgia. Those nostalgic feelings were always deep, just like they never left her. Yaksha would walk through a neighborhood in another town, and it reminded her of her early teenage years, when she was free. When she had real friends, real friendships, just when the times were really good. It was strange because the sun was shining just as it was in 2017. The colors, kids playing football and scoring a goal, a loud laugh. A droplet of a tear appeared out of nowhere. She was startled. Really? Now? Why not when I am alone in my room, against four walls? She didn’t get an answer to her question. And with that, she realized that everything had changed. The times were completely different, as if she were a time traveler. Tears started pouring like heavy rain in summertime. She was reminded of the cruel reality of time. She was not a teenager anymore; she was not free. Yaksha was a prisoner of her nostalgia and time. A prisoner of her 14-year-old self, who was dead. Her present self wanted to escape her past persona, but it was almost impossible. Because something always reminded her of the life she had before. Of the golden years of childhood, when she desperately wanted the years of adulthood. If she knew how unfiltered the present was, would she continue living? She would definitely choose to stay frozen in time. Like an ice rock in Iceland, for example. 

While crying, she found a flower on the road. It was a dandelion. She was reminded of the time when her childhood self made a dandelion crown with her grandmother at her weekend house in the mountains. The grass then was greener, the sun was like golden silk, and the meadow, the air, smelled of fresh rainwater. Animals were everywhere, and they were one with nature. And then, and then, and then… Her thoughts disabled her from thinking straight. All she wanted was to go back into the past, where her true self would be there, waiting for her with arms open to hug her. A warm hug, welcoming her home. 

Yaksha started to see a vision of her younger self standing in front of her. The young girl was smiling at Yaksha. Then, she asked her: ‘’Hey, aren’t you happy? You longed so hard for this!’’ Yaksha just smiled, her eyes dazzling like crystals, tears again streaming down. She just mumbled quietly: ‘’Be carefree, be happy.’’ 

Yaksha came to her senses, came back to reality. Looking around, she saw a coffee place and started walking to her destination. The dandelion was still in her left hand, holding it firmly. She put on her glasses and stared at the sun, soaking in the vitamin C. Her thoughts drifted to her responsibilities, her present. She started feeling grateful—for the sun, water, her friends, family, the dandelion. 

Memories make us proud, but they also tear us apart. We become their prisoners, living our lives as if we are eagerly waiting for better times. But aren’t the better times now? Alive and breathing, sunbathing, eating fresh produce, drinking the finest coffee, and writing poetry? What’s a blessing? The memories or now? Gratefulness. Appreciation. Yaksha’s memories were nothing but a nice reminder of something, and a belief that today is nothing.  

Yesterday was history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. 

Ana Marija Papaz, VS - 2 

PROMENA 

Na plocicama crvenog  grada zapisujemo nase ime,  
Koje ce nas podsecati na mesto gde je sve pocelo.  
Ne pojavljujemo se unutar knjiga,  
Vec se spominjemo u nobelovim nagradama,  
Jednostavno smo mladi,bez glasa,  
A ipak nosimo u srcima plamene.  
ucili su nas da skola donosi put slobode,  
a sada ona ne znaci nista,  
jenostavno zelimo biti priznati.  

Svaki korak na asfaltu odzvanja,  
a zatim dok govorimo,  
svaki glas prelazi granice glasnoce.  
Necemo stati, icicemo dalje  
Dok oni pokusavaju da nas gaze i da nam skidaju medalje.  
Nismo senke i nismo broj,  
mi smo ulicni heroji.  
Dok pred nama grade iluziju zivota.  
A mi znamo to je jos jedan lazan svet,  
Mi stojimo ispod njega,  
Pod krovovima koji pucaju.  
Zajedno stojimo, neslomljenji,  
Nasa snaga i hrabrost,  
Bez straha i bez obzira na prepreke,  
Za buducnost koja nas ne zanemaruje.  

Svetlost u nasim ocima je neprekidna,  
A ruke nam upiru u istom pravcu,  
Jer znamo da je promena potrebna,  
I ne sedimo vise u strahu.  
Kao i svi nasi protesti,  
Bice zabelezeni kao novcic u nasoj proslosti.  
I kroz zimu,i kroz kisu,i kroz proteste,  
Necemo pasti, jer ne padaju oni koji imaju razlog.  
Idemo za istinom i onim sto nam pripada,  
Ne cekamo spas vec se mi za njega borimo,  
Borimo se ono sto je silom uzeto.  
Jedina stvar koja je ujedinila hiljade i hiljade ljudi,  
Stvar koja u nama se budi,  
Stvar zbog koje zive i umiru ljudi  
Stvar za koju se bore ljudi.  
Lako je naredjivati i vladati onima koji cute,  
Koji su nauceni da  trpe,  
Ali dok nas glas postaje vika,  
Dok je svaka ulica preplavljena grradjanima,  
A svaki korak postaje blizi pobedi.  
Kada padnu zidovi lazni,  
Pravda ce da nastavi da gradi,  
Jer ona nije ta koja ce da nestane   
Vec koja ce da opstane.  

PETRA JONUZ, 1 VS 

Away from home but „home“ is away from me 

I believed everything I knew was true, 
yet now I'm so lost at twenty two. 

Many times I have changed my direction, 
getting older and getting less affection. 

So many new people and so much change, 
I am losing myself and it feels very strange. 
What once was will never be again sadly, 
I want something that feels like home so badly. 

Away from those that once knew me, 
had to leave, please don't sue me. 
How those at home feel, it pains me to know, 
lost so much, but what you have is what you can throw. 

A cut straight through the heart, 
no one's right, and no one's smart. 
Learned so many lessons that no one should ever learn, 
but still to be at home is what I yearn. 

But understand that home is a feeling rather than a place, 
and it's so painful always wearing a mask on my face. 
And believe me I would trade it all away, 
just to have a place where I can stay. 

Grabbing a rose can leave thorns on your hand, 
and as each day passes, I feel like I'm in sinking sand. 
Oh, to find home and peace before it's too late, 
but until that day comes, I'll wait and wait. 

NIDAL ALISPAHIĆ, 1 UN