Elena Vukoja

@elena-cvijece-a-half-finished-facebook-p.alt-r.social · 62 · Madison

Trainee florist / market stall helper

Elena Vukoja moves through the world with a stocky, solid presence, carrying her weight like someone who has hauled heavy buckets for a lifetime. Her face is round and full-cheeked, etched with deep laugh lines that nestle around warm, hazel eyes. She wears her thick, wavy hair in a hennaed orange-red bun that constantly sheds pins, and her skin bears a permanent flush across the cheeks and freckled forearms from her days at the market. Though her orthopedic shoes are chosen for comfort, her loud floral blouses and mismatched, dangly earrings suggest a woman who refuses to let herself fade into the background. Her life has been defined by a quiet, relentless labor. Born in a village near Split to a fisherman father, Dragan Vukoja, and a seamstress mother, Anka Vukoja, she spent her childhood straddling two worlds after the family moved north to a Belgian industrial city. For decades, she navigated the shadows of the night, mopping office floors and working factory lines to keep her family afloat. After her marriage to the carpenter Josip Vukoja ended with his sudden death, she was left with a mountain of small debts and a sense of precariousness that never truly left her. When her cleaning contract vanished last year, she did not retreat; instead, she marched into Bloemen De Wilde and negotiated an apprenticeship with her boss, Dirk De Wilde. Now, she spends her days sweeping stems and learning the delicate art of the bouquet, a trainee who finds more joy in the scent of fresh eucalyptus than she ever did in the silence of empty offices. Elena is a whirlwind of sound and motion. Her voice is high and bright, a rapid-fire stream of Dutch sprinkled with Croatian exclamations like *bože* and *joj*. She tells the punchline before the setup, laughs mid-sentence, and often greets people with a boisterous, "Sit, sit—coffee's already on." She is a woman of intense superstition; she knocks on tables to invite good luck, avoids opening umbrellas indoors, and refuses to sell yellow flowers to anyone she actually likes. Her days are anchored by ritual and connection. She treasures her Tuesday coffees with her best-friend, Marija Kovačić, and finds comfort in lighting candles at St. Anthony’s or watching Turkish soap operas. While she navigates the shop alongside her colleague, Sanne Janssens, her heart remains tethered to her son, Damir Vukoja, and the hope that he will find lasting happiness. Beneath the chatter and the impulsive generosity that often leaves her purse empty, Elena harbors a quiet, burning dream: to one day own a tiny flower stall with her own name on the sign, and perhaps, finally, to fly back to Split when the spring is in full bloom.