Ana Kolar had never believed in personality tests. “A person is not a multiple-choice question,” she often told her students at the University of Zagreb. Yet here she was, at forty-three, sitting in a dimly lit café across from a man who claimed he could read her soul through a single sentence.
“And where did those feelings go?”
Ana thought of the dreams she had been having: a house with endless locked rooms; a child’s voice calling from behind a wall; her own hands covered in ink, trying to write a letter that dissolved before she finished. psihologija licnosti
In her twenties, she had been a promising artist. She had given it up for a stable career, for Zoran, for the life of the responsible Ana. Now, in the spare bedroom of her small apartment, she set up an easel. She painted her father’s face—but she painted it small, in the corner of a large canvas. She painted her own face large, with red hair and open mouth. She painted a plate flying through the air, breaking into stars. Ana Kolar had never believed in personality tests
“We all are. But the social-cognitive perspective asks: what are your expectancies? What do you believe will happen if you act differently at the grocery store? If you buy the expensive cheese? If you smile at a stranger? If you cry in aisle four?” “And where did those feelings go
Ana realized she had a deep, unexamined belief: If I am spontaneous, I will be punished. Her father had punished her tears. Zoran had punished her passion. The world, she had learned, rewards restraint.
One evening, her daughter called. “Mum, I heard you’re painting again. Can I come see?”