One morning two years ago at a romantic chalet on a beautiful mountain in Poland, I was woken up from my sleep by buzzing noises from outside the window and from another bunk bed in the same room. Apparently, Peter was complaining to Raquel about her annoying gossip which disturbed his sleep. Who cares about disturbing gossiper and a disturbed sleeper? I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to go back to sleep only to wake up permanently from my sleep when a surprising shouting match between the two of them broke out.

“… [I forgot what it was] I didn’t speak Croatian.” Peter firmly stated.
“Yes you did. The other day when I was sleeping, you spoke Croatian so loud with Ivana and woke me up. ” Raquel retorted.
“I said I did not speak Croatian.” Peter’s voice got louder and louder.

The argument got so serious that other friends started gathering Raquel and flocking into the room to understand what was going on.

Raquel was squeaking and speaking to fast; I couldn’t hear most of what she said. And Peter was enraged. All I made out of their quarrel was “you did…Croatian. no…didn’t…Croatian.”

“What’s up with this Croatian?” I asked myself.

Two years after that incident, somehow I figured it out.

Ivana is a Croatian living in Croatia. Peter is a Serbian living in Serbia. Ivana and Peter speak and understand each other no more or no less than Tony Blair understands Bill Clinton.

But God forbids. Croatian and Serbian are two “different” languages. Don’t ever forget that.