My brother Amel bought this for 10 euros. I think it was late 1994. Now it’s so cheap and irrelevant, but during the war, it was a fortune. He bought it from a friend whose father was away. I don’t think he expected his father to return. War kills hope. You prioritize the present. Maybe it did not suit a sixteen-year-old to wear this, but hey, it’s Seiko 5. A classic. Our father had the same and it was cool to copy your dad, your role model. You feel all grown up.
When my brother was killed, 3 May 1995, this watch was the first thing I inherited from him. Forcibly inherited. I don’t know why and when but I took it from him, it was on my wrist before we even reached the hospital. There was this fear that someone will take it away from him, that I will be deprived of it. All stained in blood. His watch, my watch. It was my time to copy my role model and I proudly did. I was twelve and had this big watch on my wrist. The strap was loose but I wore it. I didn’t take it off my wrist for quite some time. Suddenly I was grown up but not because of the watch, it was because a Serbian sniper had killed him in front of me and I no longer had a childhood. I simply didn’t have the luxury to be a child.
Today I wear a different Seiko watch.
That tells of the memories, recollections, trauma and how we want to remember our loved ones.
He is there with me, every pulse, every tick of a second.
As for our watch, nobody is wearing it.
Not anymore.
Now it’s only a souvenir.
A memory.
Hidden.
Timeless.
* this watch is part of the virtual exhibition ‘Remnants of Genocide‘: www.srebrenicaexhibition.com
