Today on the (thankfully not-so-busy; its saturday) bus i spied on people in their cars; a girl plaiting her hair, a couple stroking each other's hands in the back seat, a lone driver smiling absent-mindedly etc. and then i looked around me, at all these exhausted people, snuggled up in huge fur coats and hats, refuging from the cold and the working week. the last time i felt that weariness was on the bus from the airplane to the air port, with these tired russians preparing to re-enter life. I love that about buses, its the same at 5pm on translink to donaghadee. where you literally share a moment of blessed emptiness with all these people, that pass into your life for the briefest most grace filled moment; where you can just sit back together, and watch the world go by. The skies were blue today because the temperature is dropping; it's -11 degrees, and on wednesday i was officially the coldest i have ever been in my life. but saturdays are always so less hurried and vicious, and the snow makes the streets cleaner. I am more optimistic, and in the most pathetic submission to my innate girliness i bought some stuff- just to make me feel better. I got shampoo and conditioner, soap, a hat and ring. I've started to wear more jewellery, but i think thats the 'creativity' coming out in me, that takes care of the frills and details and sparkle, when there is such an absence of colour(or my vanity of course! :P) But expanding your belongings is a nice anchor, especailly because i dont know when i will leave Sveta, and if i cant change the circumstances- my attitude is just going to have to. i have officially claimed this room as my own, and accidentally set fire to Muzik doing it! He jumped up onto the desk and his tail caught onto my scented candle! Luckily I put it out; he hadn't even noticed, and no one else did but gosh -_-
And the oddest thing happened today as i walked down Bolshaya Pokrovskaya, timidly looking into shop windows. i passed a Chinese 'Cafe', and it made me feel so much better. Like if i went to eat in there, i would be home. Its the same as how i would imagine feeling if i saw a British flag, or even a Red Hand of Ulster. I will be the first to admit i am the most unchinese half chinese person ever, but i miss chineseness! i want to hear them nattering in that unceremonious chat, that has such expressive even rude pitch. And today, as i stood waiting for bus 64 (that demon bus that allllways takes aaages) i watched agroup of foreign asian students getting home from the christmas celebration at vineyard.
How heart warming to hear them complain loudly, talk energetically and see them skip around in the cold- as russians stood around completely unmoved- staring at them.
The student Christmas Celebration at Vineyard was a great event, i went with Sara and am so glad we did. We didn't speak to many people, although i finally got to chat with Ian- the Malaysian i have favouritised from afar for weeks, because of his curious appearance and quiet demeanour, and general 'friend appeal' to me lol. There was a service of songs, a video and brief talk,
and then food (never been so delighted to eat noodles from a paperplate Belfast Chinese Christian Church stylie) and then...dancing! And of course, there were two polish nuns- that sang for us.
The atmosphere itself was worth it, i got the bus home buzzing, from just having been in a room full of so many colours, and the closest thing to 'banter' available, and generally people that just wanted to be happy. I also overheard someone talking about me in cantonese. He told his friend to let the 'girls first' in the queue to get our coats, and when i replied thank you and asked him if he was from china or hong kong, i watched the ground open up beneath him. He was malaysian and had said in cantonese he wouldnt speak in malaysian because, misconstruing my nationality and percieving my laughter, he had realised i understood- just the wrong language. He had been saying 'hoe lang', that i was pretty. I dont think ive been told i am beautiful more then any other girl has, or deserves to be, and although i dont believe i am extraordinary looking by any means, i have been complimented more then usual here, and am beginning to wonder how many times someone needs to be told they are beautiful before they start believing it, and stop being so foolishly insecure. But the insecurity is that every worldy 'you're beautiful' is empty and meaningless, even condemning. Its like the cherry on top of your prostitution- or the receit for having sold your worth to an audience. that only when you have paid enough for your clothes, cemented on make-up, tamed your hair, exposed and sweated and starved enough, tweezed and preened and corsetted until you are a puppet, giggled and flirted like an imbecile, can you be beautiful. and even then its only a temporary and vague beauty, because i promise you, that just around the corner is someone more alluring, and enticing, willing to sweat harder and give away more in order to secure that next rung of hotness, or perhaps even worse, just a goddess born to be better. Of course, i have neither the will power nor the will to go to such extremes, but all around me i see it, and honestly am awed by these perfect dolls, so coy in their tight designer clothes and leather boots. But hard as it is to accept for more then an Ugly Betty's consolation, there is only one vindication. there is only one God your soul waits to hear 'you are beautiful' from. Because until you know you were made to be beautiful, how can you believe it? Until the only source of beauty you can esteem, esteems you- how can you esteem yourself? So why should i give away my worth when ultimately i only want one man to gather it into?
But I should be thankful for how i look, not because i think im beautiful, but because my origins are so hard to place. Although i have groaned on and on about how facist russians are, im beginning to realise that the community, although ex-soviet union, is actually quite mixed. there is alot of Tartar blood here, and its the Tartarish men that look at me so hard; i think i am mistaken as one of them. in reality my face is much more broader then Tartarish women; there is my 'strong' chinese jaw-line and cheek bones, but my eyese are round enough and my hair is coarser, and my skin isnt typically chinese. At a passing glance i can be anything you want; i've been called nearly everything, recently even jewish. and will always remember this black guy i spoke to briefly, at a club in Belfast- he asked me where i was from and upon my answer replied; "youre mixed-race? that means black''. At home i know i annoy my friends with the novelty of every new identity, but here its not just cool, or a way to bloat my 'im exotic' ego, its an actual life saver. it means im not paralysed by fear everytime i'm shoved or looked at too long. Two weeks ago one of my german friends told me that if she was me, she would be terrified- but it is seriously the most blessed fateful coincidence that i can look like im from anywhere. I really feel God's assurance in it, andbuzzing with cheer after the Christmas celebration, i noticed that on the door in the hall outside this apartment, which leads to the stair case and lift, there is a cross scratched onto the little patch covering the peep-hole.
Man, God has got my back! And I know that He has chosen me, He has even predestined the way i look. but for too long i've relied on that- like a fish dragged along behind some fishing line. but love is a decision; and maturity is choosing back. I choose to believe i am beautiful because God thinks so, and because He drew me out eons ago. I choose Heaven. And i will also always always always always always x eternity remember the iranian missionary that visited Kings, the small unglorious plus forty year old with a balding head, who i think i overheard talking to himself, but have to confess falling in love with for about a week, when he spoke in a voice shaking from the depth of his passion 'i will take off my shoes and chase God every day of my life'. The beauty i want, is in the perfect act of Christmas; the joy that brings people together in an even unconscious act of worship and rejoicing, in the God who manifested Himself as nothing more thena human being, and not only a human being, but a human being who gave up any right of destiny to become the destiny of this world. I love Christmas more then i can say, more then i knew. There is something so deep in me that wants to rejoice until i dont even understand why i feel this strongly. and pathetically translate as the 'christmas spirit'. Like the ember God planted deep deep inside of me is alight, because it joins with Heaven in celebration. God how can i even comprehend what you have done? how many ideas until i overflow or gagg, or retch with vacant words, that would not so much as catch the meaning of it. That couldnt even whisper or hum the beauty in it. there is no beauty i could produce that isnt only a stale withering pitiable copy, desperate for Heaven. i could try to draw maybe, but it would be crap. i could dance probably, but it would be very unsightly and i would lose my mind. if i sang it would just become a shriek, an unbearable convulsion of my spirit. I have felt like such a blasted stump for so long, like the beauty of it extinguished me, because it is so irreconcilable to life, and ultimately who i am. But man my stump is smoking. If there is no beauty in me, and ihave shut my mouth so that i cannot consume your heart until it beats in my chest, i will respond Lord. I will respond and respond until the beauty is imprinted in me. i will chase You down. I will catch you and then feast, until i am fat and we are one. Please Christ in me! Christmas every day. Mate, seriously, think about it. Beauty. More then beauty. CHRISTMAS.
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