27.12.2008

I just had the best, and then the worst party ever. and as i'm sitting in an empty flat, surrounded by mess- i dont know wheter to be satisfied, or repulsed. Gwen, Isrken and Martina have all left Russia to renew their visas; after being prompted by a few volunteers, as well as encouraged by Gwen, i threw a 'birthday party' in their empty flat. it was only really 'realised' the night before, at 11pm as i texted a few people that would be hard to get hold of, and then everyone else in the morning. After Piano Theatre, i went with Andrea to SFERA- pounced on the next available computer, sent a few messages- hoked around facebook, and then caught the bus with Sara to hers-where we ate pasta, i straightened my hair and attempted to communicate to Valentina via mobile that i didn't have enough time to go to her student party. Of course, being on the bus she couldnt hear me- which meant i ended up drinking tea with her three shy adolsecent students- questioning them glibly about their favourite sports, animals, subjects, colours and refusing cake. By the time i made it back to moskowski woksal, with barely a moment tocatch my breath- it was 6.45pm. Intentionally appearing preoccupied, and trying to look like i knew what i was doing, i wheeled a trolley through the Republicka supermarket aisles wondering not only what, but how much food peoplewould eat. Got some bread, nuts, dried fruits, biscuits, crisps, two bottles of juice and ham. Met up with Sara (who had the apartment keys), but almost instantaneously recieved calls from Olga, David and then Cexeh- who had arrived at the designated meeting point. Sara who had a cake baking in the oven gave me directions, i whizzed back through the tunnel, met them, got into the flat eventually, cut and buttered bread hysterically, put out bowls of snacks- did my make up in the toilet, put music on, and then stood waiting with the three of them. Olga presented me with an english version of 'Crime and Punishment' (actually a very thoughtful and welcome gift, especailly as i have run out of anything to read-although it will once and for all eliminate precious moments of fiddling with language notes. how unfortunate...) David eventually left to meet Ian; who together, had bought and wrapped up perfume in the most adorable gesture of boyish thoughtfullness ever. Its Jean Reno 'Loves You'. Awwwwwwwwwww. and then I ran to get Vlad and Kiril from the english language company. In short, the party seemed to materialise out of nothing. in the beginning, as more and more people arrived- Luba and Anton, Campilla and his friends,the other volunteers, I was beginning to get anxious about stale group dynamics. David, Ian and Olga had to leave early- they had hostel curfews. Anton, who had arrived in a delicate black feathery jacket, wearing his silk white tie,black shirt and tight jeans- with whom Kasia seemed to be developing an aggravated affection for- dicovered that the problem was a lack of glasses. Sipping martini from a tea cup, he loudly suggested that i tell someone to go get some.And when Sara returned with plastic cups, i had a little martini to toast to my own, and Campilla's health, while everyone else got very enthusiastic about the vodka and bottles of beer that had been brought along. By the end, people really came together. Vlad, a russian boy/man who i now sincerely respect, sat on the window sill with TK from Malowi- developing what looked like a proper brotherhood. the africans, who have expressed an understandable dislike of russians really 'felt' the natives i had invited. Adrian told me at the sink, that he couldn't believe that they are from this country. I think that's the thing with alot of russian people, until you sit down and get to know one another, they can seem so hostile, but in reality- arent. There were a few magnificently surreal moments. Beginning firstly, with how well Vlad got on with TK and (i hate to keep grouping them) the africans in general. How much i liked Mo the morrocon dj with the most adorably squeeky voice. And, i will remember this for the rest of my life, Vlad- who had already b-boxed inthe kitchen, got out his guitar- started strumming, as Campilla 'spat' a Happy Birthday rap in his smooth smoooooth voice, and TK popped his joints like he was liquid. We gathered in the back room to warble along to 'no woman no cry', Vlad sang the verses in russian as we joined the chorus, and then gave us an example of 'live russian rapping'. I mean, to see music bring people together like that- its properly amazing. Before i came, i read and copied something downabout the suffering in africa and russia which had produced an innate affinity for music within the peoples, and i mean, it was like i was watching that manifest.

The African people have an almost instinctive flair for music. this faculty was born in sorrow. i think that slavery, its anguish and seperation- and all the longings it brought- gave it birth. the nearest to be fouind is Russia, and you knowabout their serf sorrows. The Russian has the same rhythmic quality... it is an emotional product, developed, i think, through suffering

Vlad has the sweetest touch on the guitar- as we all started to zone out, waiting for earliest buses that would start going at 5.30am, he got his guitar out again- and seriously 'sweet' is the only way to describe it. he can properly play. And i had my first dedication, he had practised an 'english' song that he thoughtwas really 'my song' and played Patrice, "You Only You" to me, despite being very hestitant because of the few words he couldnt remember. Vlad is the type of guy that gives you hope for russian men. As he noticed my sadness forour visitor (who i will explain about later) he told me that people make they're own decisions, so it is up to us who we become. he plans to travel to the US in the summer, and despite admitting that he loves himself and thinks he is confident, he is not arrogant or annoying- just trying to be the best he can; he isnt stubborn or unflexible or cowardly. I can only say good things about this boy, i respect him so much, especially for how easy it was for him to integrate into the really quite random situation, and for how much he seems to believe in me- and not in a sexualised, i think you are pretty kind of way (although Vlad is quickly moving into my 'top people' list- it is completely unromantic. firstly my heart is set elsewhere, and secondly he has a girlfriend), although he did once blush trying to tell me i was pretty- he is intelligent enough to esteem more. He told me that i was amazing because i have a 'strong character', and coming from someone you can respect- that is a compliment you can respect. Vlad is an example, of the 'russian soul' in all its glory. And I am really growing to like Campilla, he is like a brother; as 'truth or dare' spun out of control into 'spin the bottle', he retired with me into the kitchen; because the game 'has no essence'. They invited me to the hostel for dinner in the future, and Campilla is going to email me the music he has produced, and some vocal tracks. Earlier on in the evening i had also accompanied Carlos and Adrian to Moskowski Woksal to pick up a few other friends, it was late- i cant remember the time, butthe underground tunnel was clearing except for a few dandering roamers, and as we sped through, it occured to me that my presence was the chaperoning 'force'. obviously with skin heads it is as more of anignorant gang mentality then any ideological crusade- and therefore, though a few very intimidating looking men eyeballed us as we marched, i am reasonably sure that they would not attack a girl. in fact last week, Sara, unsuspectingly opened the door to a drunkard who demanded to see 'Anna', and forced his way into the apartment. He searched around, as Sara stood in her pyjama shorts and Geraldine slept, and then sat in the kitchen demanding coffee. Obviously he could have had his way, being a middle aged man, in a flat with two vulnerable young women, but eventually just left. of course that isnt to say drunk men or men in general around here, are safe- but generally i dont think the ideal of the 'gentlemen' is completely buried yet.

As for the 'visitor'... -_- at about 1am or something someone started banging on the door- it was a neighbour complaining about the noise. In the end she just wanted us to move the music into another room, as directly above her son was asleep. Im not sure if she arrived intoxicated, but it became very clear that it was her intention. Perhaps because in my fit of 'goodwill to mankind' i greeted her with one of the very few russian phrases i know, 'nice to meet you', or because i started dancing- she began following me around, and not just following- pulling, hugging, squeezing and generally being very forcefully affectionate. She kept calling for me, wanted to speak with me (even as i continually explained that i couldnt understand), and dragged me back to the dancefloor anytime i departed into the kitchen. im not sure if she 'wanted' me from the beginning, but our friendship quickly spiralled into a pursuit; and of course finding it very funny Nikola encouraged her in russian. At some time in the morning, three russian men were pounding against the door- in her element, Kasia flung her body against it- preventing anyone from leaving; convinced it wasan angry husband coming to fetch his vegabound wife. There was a whole uproar, Carlos wrapped his chain around his fist, determined for a fight (which i severely objected to), eventually Vlad went out to speak with them and discovered that really it was just a few middle aged men who had been drinking outside, and wanted to join the party, and offered him vodka. Masha, however- who had previouslytold Magda that she didnt want to go home because her boyfriend beat her, was hiding behind the bed. My heart had already melted of course, from all the stories ive heard of abused wives, and despite everyone elses demands that we just boot her out to 'deal with her own problems' i had concluded that a night free from violence isnt too much to ask. realising that i was maybe the only person who could wring any meagre form of cooperation from her, i attempted to put her to sleep. I dragged her into bed, and sat on the floor with my head rested against my arm besides her, repeating 'sleep' and 'goodnight' in russian, and shooshing her constant chatter. At some point i comprehended that she wanted a kiss, so i gave her a goodnight peck on the cheek, but when it only seemed to inflame her, I, realising what she had really meant, immediately declared 'nyet. ya lublu muchena'; 'no. i love men', which she then also repeated. I tried again to pretend to sleep- but she started whispering fiercely, and began to lick my hands and face! And she bit my arm! At that I let her be of course, and left. But she did fall asleep, and maybe an hour later- got up in a drunken daze, attempting to gather her stuff together. Watching her dazedly lace up her boots and look for her bag made me really sad. That a grown woman of 28, with a child, could be so drunk and impose herself in a flat full of people she can barely communicate with, is just sad. What must her life be like? Vlad only shoke his head and assured me that she is not an example of russian women, but also that it was his shame and 'the biggest problem with our country'. Maybe forty minutes later she stumbled back, and passed out on a bed. Eventually, at 5am in the morning, when she woke and vlad finally forced her to leave, having sobered up, she was a different person. with make up smudged all down her face of stone, sitting in the kitchen demanding a cigarette, totally changed from the carefree oblivious drunkard of the night before. I had pried her fingers from glasses of wine, but hadnt overly objected- or hadnt objected enough. i thought we were giving her a break, but as it suddenly occured to me that upstairs there was a child that would have to deal with this grim, hung over woman, i was just like, man. previously as i protested against just sending her out to the men, TK had said that if we kept her, she would just be beaten tomorrow. of course i had known that, but hadnt truely forseen it. i hadnt looked at her thinking of tomorrow, and if i had, maybe i would have comprehended not only that she would still suffer, but other people might as well. the party wasnt any type of respite for her, it was just oblivion.

as the night and eventually the morning progressed, i became more tired obviously, i was having fun definately, but everywhere i went people seemed to be asking if i was ok, and why i looked so sad. Campilla had told me earlier that i need to learn to change my facial expression whenever someone asks me how i am, because i look bored or sad. Adrian thought i was gone, or distant. he asked me what i was looking for, and i could only reply "God", because man i just want more. how on earth did people ever come to think joy could be poured out of a bottle? i always feel so empty at these things. maybe dancing and mingling can delay it in the beginning, but eventually, as you sit down with these people you have connected with, and are connecting with, there is just something that isnt there. because even when we do really know each other, i feel like there is still such a limitless intimacy waiting beyond, but we always just end up butting our heads against a wall- despite everyones mutual desire to relate on an even deeper level, articulated in the feeblest reflections on the 'meaning of life'. and that spiritual desire for fellowship always just becomes so deformed. why does everything spiral into emptiness? why do we keep degrading the most simple purest instincts for happiness, into something so unsimple, and unpure. and even not as obvious, but therefore more terrible. my friend has had a particularly crap month; his best friend finished his studies and returned to austria, he broke up with his girlfriend and on christmas day- his friend, a small chinese boy was attacked on the bus, as russians sat around and did nothing. i was very conscious of why he came to the party, for closeness. and there is nothing wrong with that, when you are in a place where you are so lonely and frightened, and isolated. but that desire for strength through community, is always so misrepresented as a romantic need. its like with Masha, the russian woman. i want to love you, but not like that. and if i let you get drunk and pass out from some translucent kindness, only so that in the morning you will go home hungover, and ashamed to your family, really i am just deceiving you. that isnt kindness. that is just aiding you in self destruction, it is only leading you up a glass stair case or handing you the gun to end your misery. it is just deceit, for all of us.

im sitting in the kitchen now, have had about three hours sleep. finally in an emply flat big enough to be alone; surrounded by rubbish and cigarette stubs and empty vodka bottles. although i dont want to condemn it because i dont want to condemn anyone, and besides i made new friends, i didnt sin, noone was hurt, noone had sex, noone worshipped the devil; at least consciously, i cant help but to feel like, is the summit of friendship- the epiphany of what we can have together, is this it? does togetherness begin with intoxication and end in mess? and as people began to enjoy themselves more and more, just because of the totally random assortion of it; people who wouldnt usually associate singing and laughing together; Anton in his neat outfit dancing with blunt Kashia; KT singing with Vlad, the toasts became more impassioned, people wanted more photos with me. Campilla congratuled me for what i 'had done,bringing all these people together'. Magda as she danced beside me declared 'i like rachel very much'. I am being such a boast, but it was a pretty awesome party. yet despite the people and telephone numbers and merriment of it all, i am always haunted by this gradual sinking awareness that it isnt what i want. And even when Vlad and i began to talk politics at 4am, i just tasted such a futility in it. Even if he chases knowledge, self respect and perhaps even beauty, there is such a fundamental difference in how we understand, most obvious in what Masha implies; perhaps she could be some fool who has ruined her own life, who isn't 'strong' as he concluded, who hasnt made the right decisions and should deal with her own problems. or, she could be just the same as me. if i am 'strong', my strength comes from your prayars and the only thing i can conclude about life; we are all the same. people dont want to hate or be unhappy, they just dont know what else to do. The only thing that sets me apart from her is luck, and i do mean luck because it is not that i am more blessed, i am just lucky because in the eyes of the world i am comfortable and can be proud. that doesnt strip away responsibility obviously, its just the only way to understand the unfairness, and the ugliness. and if i am so lucky, and she is not; it is not because i am better, she just needs some help. and even if i get a university degree, a prestigious job, and own a shiny car one day, or walk down the less obvious but equally-as-esteemable-in-different-ways walk- if i become a writer, and say wise things, and paint some pictures and live some noble enlightened existence... so what? am i better then her?

o kak. someone keeps ringing the doorbell, and when i put my ear against the door- i hear a group of them; speaking in russian...