My friendship with Damir Salkić began in 2016 during my student exchange in Trieste. Our first communication was through Facebook, and I remember when I first saw his photo, I thought, "God, what a handsome guy with the most beautiful blue eyes!" Back then, I had no idea that our initial playful messages would grow into a deep friendship.
Shortly after, fate brought us together in person in 2017 in Slovenia, where Damir was staying for therapy. I remember that first meeting in Bled, which remains one of my favorite memories of us. That day, we rowed on Lake Bled, drank coffee on the island near the Church of the Assumption of Mary the Queen, and had lunch by the lake. It meant so much to me because at that time, I was on the second student exchange and feeling quite lonely. When he arrived, I felt like someone "of mine" had come, even though it was our first meeting. Since I had previously mentioned I had a cold, he brought me honey-based products from Sarajevo to ease my symptoms. That was Damir—no matter how hard things were for him, he always thought of others before himself. He never succumbed to the indifference that is common among many of us and never highlighted his challenges, which, to be honest, were much harder than ours. At our first meeting, he walked with a single crutch, and I remember him saying at one point that he was glad we were there because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come back again. Even then, and for years after, I never thought he would leave so soon. I couldn’t because Damir carried so much life and willpower within him. His signature trait was his sharp, intelligent sense of humor, which, combined with his Bosnian accent, would leave everyone in stitches. You simply couldn’t help but love him. In the years that followed, we maintained our friendship through occasional meetups, and from the onset of COVID-19, when I returned to Montenegro, we kept in touch online.
If I had to describe Damir in one word, it would be—love. He was a mature man with childlike eyes—untainted, full of warmth, but also a rare depth that shone through when someone needed support. And that’s exactly what he was: a true friend, something he was proud of, and we were proud to call him our friend.I remember during our last meeting, which happened after his wedding, he spoke about how proud he was of his friendships and how much effort he had invested in them to make them what they were today. And that’s the absolute truth. Even in the later stages of his illness, whenever I visited Sarajevo, he always found a way to organize himself so we could meet for coffee, which wasn’t easy given his condition. He often wrote to me, sent videos, voice messages, and motivational talks… he was always there. Damir supported the feminist side of me and encouraged me to stay true to myself.
He gave love in unlimited amounts and had a strong belief that he would one day have a family and become a father. That incredible desire became a reality.
One day, he called to tell me he had met an amazing woman, Jasna, and that she would become his wife. A few months later, my sister and I attended their beautiful wedding, held at the Zemaljski muzej in Sarajevo. Many of us cried tears of joy. Damir taught us yet another lesson—dreams do come true, even when there are a million reasons for them not to. About a year later, Jasna and Damir’s daughter, Dunja Zada, was born. We eagerly awaited her arrival, and when I received a call after midnight, I knew he was calling to tell me he had become a father. He was overjoyed, and so were we because we knew this little girl was the fulfillment of his dreams and that she had the best parents.
Damir was known to the public as an activist. He was exceptionally fair and fought not only for the rights of people with disabilities but for the rights of anyone who was marginalized. Despite his family responsibilities and the demanding daily therapies and exercises he diligently followed, he never missed an opportunity to support those in need. Damir had a refined creative side, and his artistic activism stood out. On March 27, 2023, his photography exhibition, My Path, was displayed at SARTR. His media appearances, aimed at highlighting discrimination, always made a strong impact.
With his passing, we have lost so much—too much. There will always be a profound sadness and emptiness, but the love he left behind will remain in our hearts until the day we all reunite in, hopefully, a better place than this one. Because it seems that this life often takes the best among us first. Until that final meeting, I hope we continue to walk Damir’s path in the way he would have wanted—with kindness and love.
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