In the Absence of Childhood
So, I’m kind of at a loss as to what to write about this particular piece. It hardly seems fair to critique or even analyze the traumatic recollections contained in the diary. As someone who has never experienced that side of a war, or even really had my daily life impacted by one my country started elsewhere, I do not feel qualified to offer anything more than my abject horror about Zlata’s ordeal. I will say that, at the tender age of 11, Zlata already had a greater command of images and symbolism than I could ever hope to possess. Her use of irony in describing the politicians as “kids” was almost humorous. That is, until you remember that their actions are resulting in the slaughter of innocent people. “The ‘kids’ are trying to come to some agreement again. They’re drawing maps, coloring with their crayons, but I think they’re crossing out human beings, childhood and everything that’s nice and normal” (Filipovic 167). Zlata was forced to grow up and abandon childish whimsy as a