Marko, Croatia.

Last weekend, my beloved neighbour passed away. She was the social cornerstone of our apartment complex; after her arrival to the building, neighbours started to meet each other at barbecues, New Year’s celebrations, and Easter gatherings. She made sure that plants and flowers brightened up the shared spaces, advocated for painting the exterior walls in traditional Zaans green, and it was always time for tea.

I could never have guessed that she was struggling with her health; always talkative, cheerful, with that sparkling twinkle in her crystal-blue eyes, at any time of day.

Yesterday, I found her husband outside on the gallery, at the little camping table among her hydrangeas, where they normally enjoyed the newspaper together in the morning sun. When he saw me, his fingers stopped rolling his cigarette. He looked up at me slightly, an attempt to suppress the grief and pretend that everything was okay. Shortly after, he bowed his head and never looked up again, mumbling after my condolences:

“Nothing to be done, we must carry on.”

How do you respond properly to someone in mourning? Is there even a right way? Stay strong, take it easy, let the grief be there? Nothing seems enough. Are you managing with the children? Please ring the doorbell if you need anything? Attempts to offer help that at the same time cut like sharp reminders of the fact that the other is no longer here.

The starch in his jacket seemed to want to push away my warmth when I briefly placed my hand on his shoulder.

I struggle with today’s message that you must “take your time” to grieve. That you may hide yourself under a blanket, curtains drawn, holding the photo of your loved one to your chest, breathing in their scent from the sheets you no longer wish to wash. I’m not saying it is pointless. But I do believe the past has shown us that after the tears, the choice to pick yourself up and move forward, to seek human contact, and the shared willingness to keep each other focused on what still lies ahead—those are the true keys to healing, as an individual, as a circle of loved ones, and as a society.

Independent Croatia

How do we rebuild as a nation after a war? When we look back at history, big lessons on this topic can be learned from the Eastern-European countries who ones formed the Yugoslavian Republic. The Yugoslav civil war started in 1991, but unofficially began a year earlier, on the football field of the Maksimir Stadium in Zagreb, between Croatian Dinamo and Serbian Red Star Belgrade. It was just a week after the first free elections, in which the champion of Croatian independence, Tudjman, had been elected. Strong tensions between the two teams’ supporters were felt, eventually erupting into massive riots on the field.

This event went down in history as the spark that, after years of war, would eventually burn out in an autonomous region divided into the six independent states we know today. All of them deserve a place at the table, sharing their stories of experiences and outcomes, but today we’ll focus on one of them – Croatia.

Nation Building

Football still plays a vital role in the pride of the Croatian people. Every match, especially at the European or world level, is an opportunity to showcase the strength of the nation. Since the very first games under their own flag, there has been an immense drive among the players and their Vatreni (“the Fiery Ones”) to prove their place in the competition. Just as the Croatian people were focused on restoring both material and immaterial heritage together within their borders, in Croatian football, forward ball control and synergistic group dynamics outweigh individual ego as the key strategy to succeed.

Football as a Language

Football is just as important for Marko. It’s more than a passion, more than an outlet. It’s his language. Shortly after the outbreak of the war, he moved with his parents to Germany, where they raised him speaking only German. When peace was declared and the family returned, Marko found himself back in a rebuilding country, where unity and modesty were highly valued. Standing out was not encouraged; differences stood out. “My nickname was ‘the German,’ even though I was just as ethnically Croatian as my classmates.”

Marko was forced to interrupt his schooling until he mastered the language, but in the meantime, he needed another tool to become part of his new environment. With the ball, he conveyed his message: I belong here. His classmates and neighbourhood peers noticed his talent, and soon he was among the first to be picked in street matches. Scouts kept an eye on him, and few were surprised when he received an invitation to play at the national level, while representing the city of Zadar in the highest league.

The little boy Marko is still visible in the sparkle of pride in the eyes of the Marko sitting across from me on this Saturday morning: “It was my dream to play abroad and represent my country.”

International Experiences

An injury sabotaged the years of investment that followed — three training sessions a day and strict schedules to balance sport and school.

But just as the Croatian team protects their ball dominance, it isn’t in Marko’s nature to surrender control over life. There’s a pragmatic calm in him, with a mindset focused on what can still be created rather than giving in to the downward spiral setbacks can cause. For him, there’s always a possibility to discover new opportunities, new reasons to move forward. He concluded that an international career is not reserved only for top athletes. A few years later, he found himself at a university in Portugal, and after graduation and some work experience, he embraced a new adventure in Amsterdam. By signing a contract at Nike’s headquarters, he proved that a career in sport can just as well be built off the field.

Landing in Amsterdam

Amsterdam was a calculated choice, its alignment with his vision of life the deciding factor. “I always admired the Dutch. You have a big history of innovation. You had the VOC and were the ones who laid the foundation for New York. And more recently you became the first country outside of USA's Florida to fully adopt the E-bike.” He smiles: “And my family always spoke very highly of Ajax. Of course, I wanted to see the city with my own eyes and learn from you.”

He made that step six years ago. Almost daily, he is impressed by the Dutch way of life: “You are so fit.” He points to the cyclists and runners passing us along the Sloterkade. “Everywhere I go, I see you in motion. People here really care about their health.”

He especially enjoys life outside the city centre, which for him paints a better picture of the “real” Amsterdam. Though nothing can ever be perfect, Marko rarely finds much to complain about. “The good, the bad — it all makes the whole unique in the end. And that’s what life here is for me: a unique experience.”

Cultural Differences

Marko particularly notices the differences between Northern and Southern European countries. “In Croatia, and in places like Portugal and Italy, we live more in the moment. If we want to meet, we just do it, without having to check our calendars side by side.” 

But he doesn’t complain. “I admire you for how you can plan and organize your lives. It helps you prepare for the future, maybe even keep some control over it.” He also refers to politics: “You open the conversation about the future, about what is needed to realize the dream image. That prevents meaningless policies and wasted money. Many governments could learn from this.”

His time in The Netherlands has enriched his life. “My family has an olive grove. I help them by thinking about what’s needed to make it future-proof, like investing in renewable energy systems.”

Beyond protecting the stability of the family business, his main concern is for the people behind it. “I want my family to be able to retire. To be comfortable.” It’s a new kind of difference that Marko notes — not between countries, but between regions. “Family is important to us. Here in the North, I see individuals putting themselves first more often.”

Community Building

Life is not so different from a football match. Maybe that’s why so many people celebrate the game. Each of us wants to belong somewhere and contribute with the talents we have. No matter how hard we try to banish discrimination and segregation from the world, it’s worth acknowledging that group formation is natural human behaviour. We like to recognize ourselves in our group, value our rituals, and as long as we are individuals seeking connection and belonging, we will always judge others, decide how far to trust them, and determine how close to let them in.

In football, it is ultimately the whole — the defence, the attack, and the leadership — that makes the team; the synergy between them determines success. For Dutch society, I must conclude that individualism has tipped too far into a way of living where social gestures seem allowed only to serve ourselves. What we need is to reframe social contexts as our team — with different players in each situation, but with who we must organize things together in that moment. Who do we want to be together, what is our definition of success, and how do we use each other’s potential in that?

If we all truly want to be as happy as we claim, we must take responsibility for building a community that today’s Dutch and Croatian youth only know from their grandparents’ stories: a time when front doors stood open, everyone walked into each other’s homes, and supplies and meals were shared. A time when cooperation was more than just a word, when it was felt in rough hands of two people embracing, shaking hands, or giving each other a pat on the shoulder.

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