You Scratch My Back – On Healthy Egoism

I’m sitting in a tastefully furnished office, surrounded by a grey color scheme that I find strangely soothing. Grey isn’t a color I usually wear—it washes me out and hides my glow—but in this space, it works. It’s a color that suits the person sitting opposite me. This isn’t the drab grey of someone who hasn’t dared to live; it’s the grey of someone who’s seen everything and found their own middle ground.

“Have you been to see the mayor? You know that for him, morals only exist on paper, right?” he asks, a hint of irony in his eyes. The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow on our conversation. “Sometimes it’s wiser to say nothing than to reply,” I think to myself, choosing silence over words. A smile can mean a thousand things, and sometimes silence protects you more than a thousand words could. Slovenia’s first president understood this well—he often chose not to respond to the media’s brutal attacks, and it served him.

As I sip my coffee, I steer the conversation in a different direction. There are plenty of topics we both find interesting. Just like with my grandfather, there are certain people with whom I never run out of things to talk about. My grandfather often says I’m the only person he can discuss everything with, including topics he wouldn’t dare to broach with others.

I remember one afternoon in his study, filled with blue-upholstered dark mahogany furniture, imported from East Germany in a bygone era. He played with my long hair—chestnut back then, now red, thanks to regular treatments with henna and Davines hair care products. “In politics, it’s always a matter of you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. It’s a treacherously slippery dance floor, my dear. If that’s the floor you want to dance on, you’ll need to be careful,” he warned.

“What makes you think I want to venture onto that particular floor?” I asked, taking a cautious sip of cognac, my grandfather’s favorite drink.

“No reason,” he replied with a fond smile. “But I am proud that you are my granddaughter. I tell everyone that. And I believe that you will do well in life.”

“Why?” I asked, curious.

“Because you and I, Minka, we love ourselves. One must love other people, but one must also love oneself,” he said, and we both burst out laughing. Our laughter filled the room, contained by the brick walls of my grandfather’s socialist-era terraced house in one of Maribor’s quieter neighborhoods. Who knows? Perhaps even silent walls have ears or stories that only they have heard. Maybe that’s why I love ruined castles—because of all the stories they whisper to me.

Now, the waves of the turquoise Montenegrin sea caress my body. I’m lying on sand imported from Dubai, a distant Arabian paradise. Being abroad allows you to be incognito, to feel safe in the knowledge that no one knows you. There is a blessed freedom in that anonymity. The tall palms rustle in the breeze, the bathroom in my suite is larger than my entire apartment, filled with oriental divans and crystal chandeliers. Dinners are enjoyed in gardens or on the beach; nights are spent on boat trips with the land sinking into a sea of twinkling lights. Wellness treatments and the feeling that the gods are smiling on you in this place make me feel as if my old life is forgotten, washed away. Here, a new woman is being born, someone I don’t yet know.

For me, summer is when the sea washes away the old and makes room for the new. It’s a time to be reborn in the sun, salt, and waves. A time to start over, to shine with new radiance, to become a new person. The sea cares nothing for our sins, our past, or our future. It simply offers us the chance of a new beginning, a new brilliance, a new dawn. It embraces us all in its waves, in its foam, and breathes new energy into us for the year ahead.

In Montenegro, I feel at home. Sometimes, my projects and visions feel too bold for Slovenia, too daring. I worry about the impact they might have on me or my future career. But in Montenegro, I find the peace and tranquillity I seek. In this land of mafias, luxury resorts, and unspoiled nature, it feels as though no one cares where you come from, what you do, or who you are. The country accepts you, hides you, and offers you refuge from the world—a much-needed break from the dramas of everyday existence.

In Montenegro, I forget who I am, where I’ve come from, and where I’m going. And in this quiet paradise of turquoise sea, Arabian palms, imported sand, and spacious marble lobbies with leather sofas and displays of riding equipment, I find my peace, my oblivion, my resurrection.

This article takes your readers on a journey from introspection to transformation, using vivid imagery and personal anecdotes to explore the theme of healthy egoism. The narrative’s flow, from a reflective conversation to the peaceful solitude of Montenegro, serves as a metaphor for personal growth and the pursuit of inner peace.