11.01.09

after maybe three days of discouragement, right now, i'm feeling so much better. Mostly because of last night. It was Magda and Andrea's birthday; they threw a party, and along came- among a bunch of people- kampilla, taikwondva, vlad, and mo- the guys who just for no reason whatsoever seem to give me a reason to smile. Obviously lonelieness is one of the biggest challenges here, says miss hermit 3000, but its almost more then lonelieness because its more bearable but therefore more numbing. Its just not having someone to love. i have friends, i'm usually around people- but precious few seem to speak my language spiritually. none of these guys are christian, few of my favourite people in the worldare; but there is some always some sort of soulful distinction, some 'connection'. at church (which was held on Saturday as Sunday was a 'working day'; the official end to New Year holidays) we celebrated/mourned/prayed about the departure of Jehnya, a south korean who has been studying here for ten months, and will leave on friday. He was the guy i met at the first volunteer party i ever attended, who offered to bring me to Vineyard, as well as the CF at the Medical Hostel. We've shared problems and spiritual qualms/struggles over hot chocolate and as we traipse through snow he will accomodate my passionate rants and self deprication, we've offered one another encouragement and advice. In fact, in the brief time we have spent together (as he spent two weeks in Germany over Christmas; staying with Deborah and her family) he has probably been the closest thing to a real confidante i have had. There's Almira of course, but really how honest can you be with someone so much older and holier then yourself? I will be really sad when he leaves, we've shared the closest thing to fellowship ive had here- that doesnt involve someone acting as the responsible 'mentor', social status or confused hormones, but plain and pure trust in a time of need. in fact i dont want him to go away, and when he does im afraid it will be the removal of another hook onto reality. but thats the nature of the beast i guess. anyway, at church as his close friends got up to surround him, and as i stood in that ring of christian people i wondered who will pray for me when i leave. what type of people will encircle me with blessings and encouragement? i imagined my motley group of friends, in their uncollected cool and general untogetherness- so contrary to the sharp christian missionaries and students, who pray with strained voices and the right words- and honesty? i wasnt dismayed. because i think weve also shared something real; encouragement and acceptance in a dark place. a kind of brotherhood. and im glad to have had the oppurtunity to know them; they bless me too. Taikwondva phones to check up, Mo laughs at hard at me as i laugh at him, Vlad assures me there is something 'special' about me, Kampilla was born on the same day...

The party of course, lasted all night. From 7.30pm when- refuging from the freeeezing cold outside, as i stood in the lobby of Aurora desperately rubbing life back into my blue hands, I ran into Magda. She was on her way to buy a few snacks and drinks. We prepared and fetched people, danced and mingled until 7 am this morning, when, having not slept a wink, i left; alongside the rest of 'Africa'. I got a bus home, looked over my notes, nearly fell asleep, went to the city and conducted a private lesson at 10 am. honestly it is a bit wreckless and very ungracious of me, arriving to teach, having literally not slept for 24 hours- but luckily my student was hung over. Saturday was the last day of the New Year holidays and therefore the cause of widespread celebration.

a few new faces at the party included four members of the Mediskinia Hostel, who Ian invited along; they arrived at about 3am with a speaker system- in order to 'save' the party. two were malaysian, one from the mauritus and then the only 'genuine' indian of mediskinkia- in that he is the only indian who actually resides in India. And my how he capitalised this, advertising 'indian messages' and 'reading' your face and hands- in private of course, as it shouldnt be done publicly. He manipulated technical medical terms in the most obviously oppurtunistic manner; at one point preaching that the 'real' defination of a message meant that someone should take off their top! he had even brought message lotion! really he was quite harmless though; winding and flaunting himself on the dancefloor ridiculously- affecting guilt as he complimented and then continually insulted me! telling me he could read from my face that i am unhappy, i can easily fool boys, and seem 'artificial' but will also go far in life and marry an arab. i dont know if its amusing or concerning how much some of these guys seem to think there is something wrong with me.

Taikwondva sat down and forced me to talk about myself, to define what makes me 'special'; concluding that i am a very 'complicated' girl. But their vocalised concern is sweet. and i feel like in the few hours i have known these guys, the more sincere i have been, and therefore the more sincere our friendship is. there is none of the superficial giggling and smiling that is only companionship and not real friendship. Generally i notice that my african friends want to have 'deeper' connections, i conversed with Kampilla for at least an hour- he criticises me for making small talk, and expresses a similar desire to just be alone sometimes.we discovered that we both love Dragonball Z. and Carlos, complaining that i wasn't dancing or making merry, was surprisingly acceptant when i replied that i just wanted 'to speak', returning that 'speaking is good for the soul'. i like to be with them, because they dont just want to be around me, they want to actually know me. of course i also love the other volunteers, but there is something reassuring about having male friends, Mo; the sweetest cutest most adorable Morrocon with a squeaky voice- who is a demon on the dancefloor; posing, pouting, losing control firstly with a hair flipping- jirating russian girl, and then another volunteer- told me drunkenly as we marched to the buses that if anyone did anything to me, to phone him and he would handle it. and yet he wears a hair band. he sprawled out carelessly on the sofa in the morning, with his baggy trousers half way down his bum and head rested on Kampilla's lap randomly exclaiming 'stop lying', telling me and every other girl present that he loves us from the heart. he is a house dj, with his own mixes; he copied all the music from his phone onto my lap top, and as i went through it this evening i discovered among pounding arabic beats and to-grind-to hip hop old skool anthems like 'rhythm is a dancer' and even 'pretty woman'. as well as footloose, en vogue and whitney houston. and its just so wonderful. hes a regular cutie pie.

Vlad joined me and Kampilla in the kitchen; they are 'brothers' in music. immediately, almost as though its some sort of burning idea hes been carrying around under his skin, he launched into this discussion about 'the system'; frustrated that we live lives we make no decisions about. that we have no freedom in. he told us that he has no time because of what life demands from him, he is studying for two degrees, has a job, goes to the gym, has a girlfriend and is learning english- with barely enough time to pursue what he actually loves; like the guitar. He told us about a russian he knows, a successful businessman that was very rich- who decided to just give it all up and go live some simpleexistence in Africa, without any modern communication equipment.

as we conversed i glimpsed something of the mentality that is deeper then the dress sense or food or taste in music or way of socialising, but the mind set that has been instilled in them. As the topic moved on to the possibility of destiny, and then spirituality; the difference between Kampilla and Vlad's point of view was so telling. Kampilla believes in destiny 'too much', and having once consulted a withdoctor has seen the workings of supernatural forces, whereas Vlad believes firmly that man makes his own way. Of course, this could be their individual personality traits, but discussing foreign policy with one of my students on Friday gave me another glimpse into what Russia is.

On friday i spent an hour with a young middle-aged student, who introduced himself as 'half Armenian' pointing out almost immediately his 'darker eyes and skin'. i asked him about the armenian community in Nizhny Novgorod, and how the city reacts to it; he confessed that he actively tries to avoid associating with it, in order to escape the attention of skinheads, but as a sort of inside outsider, i think he has an unusually informed position.And what was very interesting, was as he described Russia's world position, he omniously concluded that if Russia were a super power- it would be far crueller and merciless then America has ever been. At the party another russian guy who had brought along his 'best friend', pointed him out as 'half jewish', explaining as he got more and more drunk that Jews are greedy; blasting Sasha affectionately, but quite vulgarly, in russian when he was finally totally intoxicated. and he did get very determinedly drunk, offering around Russian Vodka very loudly, challenging me to a game of billiards, and Vlad to an arm wrestle. He wasn't violent or aggressive, but just abysmally drunk. I know him from the English class I drop into sometimes, in order to help with 'conversation', he is a very astute and clever young student, tall and attractive enough; studying economics and possessing enough of a sense of social responsibility and patriotism in order to accept, without hesitation but some dismay, his civil service in the army for two years, beginning September. while most of his friends have found reasons to avoid it.

I know boys get drunk, not just in Nizhny Novgorod; in Bangor and in every human settlement in the world, but there is something more sinister about it here. in a nation prone to alcoholism. despite what i have previously written,when i asked Vlad and Kampilla if they think Russia is a spiritual place, i couldnt help but to agree as Kampilla shook his head decisively. there is a spirituality here, in the pressure that i cant help but to feel; and it might be how close to the top of the world we are geographically, and therefore how near to 'heaven' (obviously not), but im beginning to wonder if that pressure is the absence of anything optimistic. its like a numbness which has grown up in the absence of joy or hope. within which the most festering insidious decay thrives secretly. culminates in alcoholism, xenophobia, depression; fruits of hopelessness. i have idealised about the 'music of the russian soul', but as Dinesh described Russian clubs he explained that they are ruined by russians who have no sense of rhythm. maybe its because i havent had access to the radio, but i almost never hear music.

Songs broadcasted from street speakers haunt Bolshaya Pokrovskaya,and when i first arrived i couldnt help but to laugh at how ironic it was. cheerless people trudged through streets as music jingles over their heads. Now, in the misty steam of -23 degrees, the music is almost mournful. My other morrocon friend, told me that Russians have none of the melodic instinct natural to his own arabic culture. And music is spiritual isnt it? music is a vehicle of joy and emotion. and yet music here has been reduced to the mind boggling thump thump thump of hardcore techno that keeps you awake and is the soundtrack to constant grind. Of course there is the famous russian ballet, and the famous classical composers i have no idea how to spell- and barelyknow how to pronouce... yet since i have been here, i am continually struck by their contemporary art. its just wierd. its like a thrashing frankenstein, that doesnt know itself, or what its purpose is. there is the fierce war-like monuments that loom menacinglyagainst the sky, the electric fountains, the statues of unproportioned women that arent quite sexual or exotic, the dance showcase i gaped at in Fantastika- with probably quite talented dancers reduced to silently wriggling their bodies and straining their faces in alien like costumes, a really odd statue of giant knives and forks and other just bizarre 'art pieces'. of course this is a really shallow observation to make, as my knowledge is limited, i am naive and easilyimpressed, and have no doubt that there are hundreds of spectacularly talented artists in not only Russia, but N. Novgorod itself; i am generalising from the very little i think i know. but the very little i do think i know, makes me wonderwhere the self expression is? where the spiritual harmony of body and mind which is usually articulated in music and art and literature has gone. is the russian soul being stamped out? has it been oppressed by centuries of turmoil and communism? that it barely knows how to recognise itself, and is dependant on hostility and violence instead? but as i must reiterate, i feel better today, even if i wanted to literally cry this morning from cold and exhaustion. i spent the night with people i love. and i finally have people to love, even if i dont get to see them so often or know themso well. and once again my hope is restored. when it is this cold outside, you must burn a bright fire within. so i do believe that there is still alot of warmth here, you just need to knock on the door, pull it open, and then take off your boots and coat, before you can discover it. there is music i just havent heard and art i havent seen.