The End

So im not going back; and all because of a delayed bank statement, which arrived today. My flight is tomorrow evening and i dont have a visa. So that's it, decision was out of my hands anyway. I'm disappointed. I miss my friends; they were the greatest, truely indescribably amazing. grr im so pissed off. simo wrote me, and i was on facebook looking through his photos and got so jealous. and magda emailed to say i was her favourite volunteer. and darina sent the sweetest condolences. there's photos i was meant to take, that i didnt, photos with them; photos of that 'Belfaso' shop i slipped past everyday on my march to the LSC. the forty minute walk through snow and cold, my fingers so brittle they could barely bend around the handle of the plastic 'mega' bag of text books id be carrying. man my memories of nizhny are so vivid, because life was so real.

and for the past week ive been sitting at home in my pyjamas, with smelly hair and an unwashed face. pouring time into this rut of Alley McBeal replays, internet surfing, peanut butter sandwiches and shreddies. grr its pathetic. i need to reincarnate that super woman ego that drives you to the gym, to buy high heels, to spritz perfume, to not be a messy smelly tramp disappearing into my house. but id rather disappear then go back to clubs and high street, where stupid men eye you up like they're man enough, when they havent lived through racism and fear and skinheads and -30. and yet i feel like i abandoned them. my wonderful friends that are still there, shivering in the cold. waiting for me to come back.

So i guess this is it, the last page; the End of my wonderland. I hated it, but man i loved it.

11.02.09

i am still in london. and there is problems getting my visa, because now they want a bank statement and i have none with me.

i know all my mother has to do is fax one over, but i feel like this is the last fire exit. i have gotten really sick, in fact, im sitting writing this in my coat and scarf. and of course hayley best is online, enthralling me with stories of international hotties, sunshine, and general happiness. and then i imagine hong kong and the first image that comes to mind is being in a roof top swimming pool as a helicopter flies by.

and everything in russia is grey and cold and filled with uncertainty and insecurity.

is that really what i choose? i keep trying to tell myself someone needs to, we cant all just live lives of oblivious luxury (after hearing a radio journalist describe how police were told not to investigate the daylight murder of a human rights lawyer and female journalist in moscow, i have come to the conclusion that russia is still a third world country), and i could never respect myself for choosing the easy way out... but why does it need to be so hard? why cant i have chosen to go to new zealand or portugal instead? i know that an extended period in any country isnt a holiday, but six months in malta or italy would have been a darn sight easier then russia. but i suppose harder in different ways.

i went to russia because it was mysterious, and alien, and unconquered, and i knew it would be difficult. because i seem to enjoy putting myself in situations that are really just beyond me, like when i signed up for that hellish week of hiking with an ex-marine and spent five days stumbling after three unhumanly fit boys that ate uphill miles like they were landrovers- while i struggled with sunstroke, dehydration and my completely unpractical army boots. gosh. i dont know what to do.

i dont know even if ill be able to get the visa at this point.