27.11.08

its been a week, i havent blogged anything. theres not much point in writing down every detail of my life. ive gotten over that initial terror that makes me have to record every event as though by writing it down, it hasnt overcome me orsomething as gay. so from now on we shall just focus on important things. hopefully i will continue to write something every day as i want to be in the habit, and also, because its an inclination that helps anchor me into who i amor at least who i want to be. so to begin with, last weekend Magda and I did not go to a club. I went back to her flat, and after some discussion with her flat-mate Anastasia- as i napped, they decided this weekend would be better. insteadwe stayed up until about half twelve drinking green tea and talking. Anastasia is a beautiful girl- in that gentle dignified way, she is softly spoken and very welcoming, with excellent english. She is petite with fine gerbilish bones and gleaming hazel hair, apart from her clear skin and littleness her beauty is 'realised' (as the russians like to say) in this quiet modest demeanor. there is nothing garish about her.
in some ways i am jealous that Magda gets to live with a flat-mate,her apartment is far bigger then Sveta's and because of their similiar ages (Magda is a misleading 26, Anastasia is 21 or 22) the arrangement isnt awkward at all. Magda seems really happy that Anastasia choseto host her because of their 'similar interests' rather then any financial bonus. Magda spent a year or something in France, she can speak French- which Anastasia is learning becasue she met her parisian boyfriend at an EVS work camp. Anastasia's father arrived to sit with us, i think he was checking up on Magda who moved in the night before, he brought cookies, muffins and chocolate which made me go 'awwwwww' inside. Although I explained earlier about how much i hate Russian men, i only hate them in multitudes, alone and vulnerable they are actually really amusing.

especially when they are middle aged, with girth. like the man i was squished up beside today on the way home, who smiled as i silently laughed at how ridiculously packed the bus was, how i was being pushed further and further away from the entrance and would probably never be able to get off- and catching my eye made some probably witty comment in Russian. Her father had brown hair, a jovial Russian belly, a waxed moustache and big red cheeks. He shyly ate awayat the sweets and attempted to communicate in rusty english, i think very nervous. but it was sweet that he tried. after about thirty minutes of conversation, which Anastasia translated, including the economy crisis, urban versus countrylife and some reflection on an apparently famous Polish author, that should have got the nobel award, he left. whispering to Anastasia at the door, out of sight, that she was very lucky to have met us. i slept over, and in the morning we went to the first day of our on-arrival training. this entire week has been on arrival training. Practical games, roleplays and theortical seminars on socialization, team building, public relations skills etc.which has been actually quite interesting. our trainer, Natalja- who hates to be mistaken for Natasha- which she later explained is because of it's association with a famous russian Prostitute, or the amount of russian Natashas thatholiday in Turkey for sex, is another one of those remarkable people i have been so lucky to meet. She is a very charismatic woman, but not charismatic in that flippant way, but because she is just very intelligent. To be honest, me and Magdakind of joked about her appearance, but only because she tends to wear t-shirts that are too short, and lets her belly protrude freely over the rim of her trousers, completely unaware or at least unabashed. Apart from that andwhat is maybe unkept hair i think she carries the authority of beauty that doesnt wither with age and is all the more potent becasue her vivacious eyes are always animated. she is a pyschologist who works for Sfera (my hosting organisation that we later learned is Russian for 'sphere'alluding to 'planet' as it is an NGO that exists to promote and iniatiate volunteering, particularly on an international level) with a fluent efficiency of english, or at least ability to communicate. She used the word 'cool' alot, and didn't alienateherself because of age, participating in the boys' drinking rounds because she was 'strong' and could handle it. She is also very enthusiastic about polish sweets, and the three latest volunteers (for whom she repeated everything in russian)brought some souvenir sweets- which by the way, are so good! And when a volunteer insisted on prolonging discussions with his reflections on 'how not to be afraid' or the 'egyptian question'which he studied at university, she flashed her eyes at me in a subtle mirth and excused the fit of giggling i couldnt control- which of course, i apologized for later. group dynamics definately improved as the week continued, of course to beginwith we were all amiable in that polite cooperation, but after various roleplays, games and truth or dare at 2am in the morning- and some crazy dancing; Iskren's moonwalk,

i dont just 'like' Gwen the wandering cyncial frenchwoman with a hoarse throaty accent- that pronounces my name 'Ra-chelle' and has been to every country in Asia barr 2, or Artur the undecided polish professor for whom 'philosophy is a lifestyle' t

hat smokes like a chimney, smiles mischievously, and teased me with temptation as the manifestation of 'narcotika' and then chided me as my conscience- in Russian, during our drama exercise, or Iskren and Magda. They have even achieved that status where, even if i dont like them, i still do. we evenvisited a matrioshka factory, which was interesting enough.

The other three volunteers where really nice, its a shame that our interection was limited to 'kak de la?' 'hiroshaw spaseba', 'prejatna poznakormetza' etc. but they, along with Kasia, Artur, Magda and the polish association have definately left me with the impression that i would like to visit Poland one day.
for me however, the best thing about the training was our three day escape from the city. we drove for two hours, past little settlements of wooden 'dachas' -like huts, that are supposedly very cosy, and a gradually whiter and whiter landscape, into a forest. it was like finally catching my breath.

i hate the city, and in that space, away from the confines of a tiny apartment with a lovely family, the never ending bustle and stares of the street, where there is a sky that you can see and seems so much closer, i just felt better. on the first night we watched some russian comedy from the eighties, a parody of Russian folklore that was acually a really good insight into the russian ideal. Russians are farming village people, the videos i watched in my childhood are pictures of russia, the picture of a braided goosegirl in greenforests where bears roam and mushrooms grow, where it snows in the winter and families crowd together around a modest fire, where there are ballerinas and orphans, is actually Russia. and the books i read, about 'hard' life, and leagues of immense wood, landscape and land to transverse, is actually russia. but to be honest, i hate what its becoming. that saturday night i had also stayed over at Magda and Anastasia's, and she invited us to her friends party in the suburbs.
after taking a busfor about thirty minutes, until we reached the 'suburbs' which is still more over crowded then anywhere in Belfast, i got in a car for the first time in the weeks that i have been here. her friend Masha picked us up in her black land rover and drove us to her house- the first house i have also been in since i arrived. i hate to use that word again, but it was beautiful. her parents built it so it is very new, and what must be very expensive- with marble floors and a spiral staircase.i think her family are the 'new money' everyone raves bitterly about, and although the house itself wouldnt be much bigger then my own, in Russia its price tag definately is. stepping into that house was like stepping into a new dimension. her friends are the new generation, that smell good, are glamourous and play loud obnoxious music. Masha had orchestrated the entire party (of about twelve people) in order to ensnare 'her love' who she raved about, and guaranteed that i would notice when he arrived- eventually, after some hesitation on his part, Luif arrived- and she contracting in excitement everytime he turned away, introduced me to this 'muscian' barely my height, completely unintriguing.
what was intriguing, was firstly Luba, a 21 year old that went on and on and on about America, she spent four months there on a work and travel programme, and now speaks with a very americanised accent that she is self confessedly proud of (everyone at the party attend the linguistic faculty so speak fluent english) and was even wearing a white t-shirt she had printed "Obama"on. After a few drinks she expressed loudly how much she loves Obama; he's such a good orator and has a sexy smile, and her general enthusiasm for democracy. Of course she wants to get out of Russia asap, because she hates it here, and firmly believes that freedom of speech is a facade- she even knows a student that was expelled or suspended because she expressed controversial ideas during her journalism studies. And then there was Anton, Luba's best friend who accompanied her to America, and also wants to leave Russia. 'metrosexual' everyone warned us before he arrived- and yes, probably quite effeminate. we talked about the social standards for his generation, and with a snort of disgust or else wry acceptance he pointed at his clothes and told us that brands are all that are acceptable if you are a russian, which cost your arm and leg. In russia what you wear is how successful you are he told us. he works as an editor in a fashion magazine, and is therefore prevented from writing about politics or anything with substance; but doesnt care as long as it pays. this also means though, that he is on a perpetual diet and that the mini-skirt, v-neck, big boot wearing, wannabe model russian women dont impress him because he 'knows' fashion. he also works as a PR manager and hates how much he has to smile. Anton is intelligent enough to know that the superficiality of his clique is degrading, and 'intelligent' enough to realise he has to accept it to survive. although it would be easy to disdain these youths as desperate spectres of american capitalism, who would willingly even eagerly trade their own heritage for flashing lights, as i may have concluded earlier... who can blame them? how can i turn up my nose at people who want more then tiny apartments, and the constant unpredictableness of their existence, a life of 'survival'?

me and Magda whispered together in the front room very tempted to just get completely drunk because we were so intimidated, but in the end- these kids were as open and welcoming, if not more so, then anyone back home. There was also Sebastian, perhaps the least presumptious looking party member with a mop of brown hair, the only one my age, who is a DJ at a local club and lives in a 'bedsit' that he hates.
but every forty minutes i would sneak to the bathroom for as long as would be normal for someone to need to pee, and missed Sveta and Sirosha, and dare i say it, home. Im perfectly fine here, daily things are more familiar, i dont stand to be humiliated by the stares anymore... but i dont love anyone. i dont understand people. i mean it in more then a cultural barrier way, i mean it spiritually. most of my friends at home arent christians anymore, but at least my very close ones are or were, and they see beyond the flashing lights, or get lost with me in them. of course volunteers want to help people, and to escape whatever fishbowl of mentality it is at home, but the things they are escaping from or searching for are things i cant even comprehend because they are so much older then me, or look from a completely different perspective. to be honest, i tend to find myself the group leader, i suggest my opinion or the antics, i turn off the lights and turn up the music, i propose the event, i drag them to run around the building in the middle of the night, but it is wearisome. during the training, me magda and gwen stayed up til 2am talking. the conversation turned to 'greatest fear' etc. and for a moment i had to double check, as a participant in this emotionally loaded discussion amongst two restless mid/late twenty year olds from Poland and France- offering advice and suppourt! of course life takes its toll, maybe they are just more weary then me, and i in my youth more enthusiastic then them, but to hear that someone has travelled the world running from a problem is not glorious or awe-inspiring or romantic, its just sad. and almost infuriating. it makes me miss having someone to love. someone to admire and see the endless potential in, and therefore be lost with, without losing self respect. it makes me realise how dearly i love where i come from, and who i come from; my friends and family, and i know most of it is cultural indoctrination; but i wouldnt want to be from anywhere other then northern ireland. where nature lies down to sleep with us, and the sand is so cold and wet. Russians are like dwarves, they are fierce and weathered and brawny; they would smoke pipes and have mushroom hats and live in caves, but irish people are like elves. with fiddles and jigs and laughter, and as i am not completely deluded- pettiness. amongst europeans, russians and even the english i tend to notice how much i laugh compared to everyone else, i dont think this is a character trait, i think this is a bangor trait. i think this is a glenlola trait.
And next time i embark on an 'adventure' (although that word makes me want to be sick, as adventure isnt something you go looking for!) i am going to bring someone i love with me, because its true that life is about people, and without someone to share it with- it might as well have never happened. its reduced to lonely folly. we make music to dance to together, we write books for others to read, we paint pictures to be seen, we invite others to heaven. life isnt a secret and i think this is my lesson (among others). so anyone who wants to can read this. And if you are my friend and want to go to Siberia or Alaska you must tell me, as although i would like to go with someone, i am not scared of being alone, and this isnt to say i cant make friends where i am.
im apprehensive of writing these things firstly because they are terribly sickening humiliatingly sentimental, secondly because i dont want to name the monster. i know though that i wouldnt want to be anywhere else, and there are momentsof assurance, when goosebumps prick my skin in recognition of that timeless creature, completely possessing one moment in time so that it can hardly bare to contain it- and seems to stretch out into eternity, such as tonight, as i walked home from the bus. usually it is so dark i cannot see where i am going, and last night i stepped into a huge puddle; but the winter snow has started, everything is white, and under the streetlights the park opposite where i live glimmered in the dark, the entire road sparkled in this bright mistiness that seems to rejuvenate everything, children were laughing and playing as two old men strolled around talking with their ridiculously adorable fur hats, and i smiled. im not going to be scared of being homesick, because if you look hard enough it is wonderful here, instead it will be what will drive me when i want to give up, that one day soon, im going home.

p.s. what did whoever wrote Siberian Barber think he was going to achieve by condemning unsuspecting young girls such as myself (who didnt even want to watch the film!) to all the soul draining elements of that qualifying, heart aching response to what is in fact, a great tragedy (minus the cliche emotional scars of the herorine).

20.11.08

went to my class this morning -_- and to be honest, im beginning to lose interest... ive never really been an avid fan of language, in fact, im half chinese and cant even speak cantonese! i suppose though that learning is about perserverence, and my lack of moitivation may be due to discouragement...but seriously man! russian words change according to their freaking location in a sentence. there's not even a set word for me, but it changes according to thecontext so that for example just to say 'my age' you have to say something that is basically the equivalent of 'the years moving toward me', and then that 'my' will change again when you say 'minya zavot' or my name is, becoming'the name belonging to me'. so you have two different words for 'toward me' and 'belonging to me', rather then just my, and then probably a whole bunch of other mes that i havent even been taught. i mean comeon! for every englishword, the russian will have about another five syllables. just to say 'cold' you have to wrap your tongue around this three syllabled 'hol-den-ya'. and sometimes you look at russian text, and just see these neverending words, thatyour mouth was just not created to pronounce. eg the ever elusive 'bl' that suonds like 'eugh'- which you make by saying E and then pushing your jaw forward, supposedly. i had a hard enough time just learning to say 'squirrel'! i am not so bitter really, when i look blankly at russians now, im not so ashamed. i dont understand but that doesnt make me stupid or some sort of lesser alien. heck, the music they listen to is english, there is an Accessorise here- and well, they cant have their cake and eat it! or seeing as i have always found that saying completely illogical (what else are you meant to do with cake?!) if they want the cake, they are going to have to eat it! they cant justpick off the cherry or icing, they gotta scoff the entire thing- including that muttering foreigner who wants to exchange the ugliest pair of high heels she bought in a fit of desperation. because finally, after my lesson with Sergei,i bought some clothes. well by clothes i mean a jumper dress and pair of heels, as hopefully tomorrow we are going to sample the Russian night life. i also got a jigsaw puzzle of a sunken ship, to do with Sirosha, which after hours offiddling with tiny pieces, i realised might be a bit too advanced- for both of us. 2000 pieces! flip sake! eventually we gave up, after i pointed out 'tomorrow night' in the slovaird (dictionary) and we sat down to watch Sinbad and theSeven Seas on my laptop. Sirosha is such a wonderful child, he is so unbelievably happy despite spending literally hours alone, cooped up in this four roomed apartment. with nothing for company but the computer, an odd friend he might invite home, and Muzik. Now, Sirosha's relationship with Muzik is a bit odd. He obviously loves the cat, he wont give it peace- but he loves it with the rough affection of a 12 year old boy. he torments the cat, he willplay fight it, drag it around the flat, toss it around; he has scratches all up his arm from their tumbling. It's good that someone pays attention to the cat, i dont think its allowed to leave the flat, one day, when someone leftthe front door open for a couple of minutes, i watched Muzik paw at the air as though expecting some sort of boundary to be there- even with the theshhold wide open before him, the cat didnt leave. he/she seemed confused, andjust couldnt comprehend the idea of leaving. I think it's a perfectly healthy cat, its fur is glossy and he is very sleek, and thanks to Sirosha, active, and besides outside is getting so cold i doubt he/she would want to be there anyway, butit was a bit sad to be honest. and sometimes i wonder if Sirosha has traumatised him/her, if he/she just succombs to the antics because he/she literally cant escape. But Muzik seems affectionate enough with both Sveta and Sirosha,so perhaps it doesnt mind at all.it snowed most of today, and settled on the ground. my teacher explained that because of an anti-cyclone or some technical weather term, the skies are always blue and clear in the winter. so the landscape completely transforms, i think this grey autumny season is the least enjoyable, for everyone. with a good coat apparently the winter is pretty comfortable, central heating seems as natural as lights here. tomorrow i finally have my on-arrival training, three days in the city, and then four in a village somewhere, in the countryside! yay! where it will probably be like a snowglobe, withsugar frosting everything. we're also going to visit a nationally famous matroishka factory! and three polish volunteers arrived yesterday, they dont speak english and they will be living in the village, so i wont get to see much of them;although they will be at my training. with Myself, Magda, Artur, Gwen and Martina. i'm beginning to really like polish people. And hopefully tomorrow night...partay!

19.11.08

after what was maybe an awkward lesson with Sergei this morning (i think his lover was there. unless he isn't gay) i met Andrea at SFERA and we went to Piano Theatre; our project; Andrea has been working there for two months. we took two buses as Piano Theatre is located outside the centre, and what a relief! to finally escape the bustle and looming buildings! before changing buses Andrea and I even went for a three minute walk into a nearby park, obviouslyby now most of the trees have shed their leaves, and the grass has all withered, and when we stopped to look out over Nizhny Novgorod from the top of this hill litter pimpled its face. but still, it was rejuvenating.and there were trees literally everywhere; these stark observing naked white trunks that spiralled upward in such a lazy grace, without slouching branches or thick barkish growths. the trees, as dense in number as the nizhny inhabitants, were all packedclosely, and yet retained a dignity of space. they all seemed to be watchful individuals preserving their room. trees here are so different from the ones at home. they seem less domestic, they aren't as decorative or something. perhaps because in thisweather they cant grow in the same green lushness or spindly prettiness, they seem more weathered. more grim. more silent. more ancient, more part of a nature that hasnt been so easily trimmed and preened by man. daily its getting colder, and im beginning to understand more about the city becasue of it. i understand now why people pack so tightly and impatiently into buses, because no one wants to wait in the cold. i understand why people hurry in the streets and sprint in front of traffic, chased by the chill. in January it is expected to drop to -30 degrees. and despite the abominable buildings everywhere, and the cars and the manmade ugliness, nature is present in theoverpowering temperature. like the breath of God. and it is so awe inspiring. tonight on the bus home, i peeked out of the window, through a hole i made in the steamy glass, and for the second time today, glimpsing cosy lights on the horizon i caught the beauty of Nizhny. The first time was after my lesson, when i stood by the bridge overlooking the Volga. this huge river that at first appeared so drab and grey and lifeless, until the stillness of it occured to me. the silence of it, despite its immensity. like a motionless tongue. like a slumbering titan that can only be stirred by some force greater then this world. after Russia, the next destination on my list- to be fulfilled at any point in my life, probably aftera string of other exotic locations, and not in the near future, is Alaska. Ive wondered why i am so obsessed with the cold, when i am a sun worshipper, i think its something to do with the vastness of it. the leagues of emptinessthat extinguish everything. and im also so curious about the calling that led whatever ancient people the eskimos were to migrate into the polar regions. there is a french film, in my top five favourite movies ever, Le Grand Bleu- or The Big Blue, written by the absolute genius that is Jean Reno- which basically explores this diver's complete obsession with the ocean. well, rather then obsession, his vulnerability to its'call', the same vulnerability and fascination that must have inspired all these myths of mermaids etc. im not 'at one' with the ocean or anything, but to a degree i understand that tug. the almost transfixing lament of a bue dream that permeates through the water, making you sway in the tide; tempting you to dive under and never resurface, to climb deeper and deeper into the black. so surely there is some magic in the elements, some alluring promise that we continuallymigrate in search of, leading some peoples even to the top of the world. maybe i just unconsciously indoctrinated myself when i was a child, with White Fang and Frankenstein, but ive caught the whiff. the instinctive spiritual desire to be at one with something bigger then myself, that finally can be materialised, and isnt limited to scriptures or prayars or church sermons, because it surrounds us.anyway, finally i arrived at Piano Theatre! what is basically a dressing room and performance area in a school for deaf children. and before i go on to describe Piano, i need to relate one really quite surreal experience before i forget it. on the way back to sfera from our day's work, Andrea and I were standing at this bus stop. Now, the school is situated in what is basically a forest with a road through it, with a spar-ish thing about forty yards away that maybe leads tosome small hoky settlement, but apart from that, its in a relatively obscure location. a complete change of scenery from the heart of nizhny where i have spent most of my days so far. at the bus stop however, there were probably about fifteen people waiting. We stood talking, and suddenly i noticed that a group of four young teenagers were staring at us- making very animated expressions with their faces, so that it was quite obvious. Iasked Andrea if she knew them, she of course was too unsure to turn around, and suddenly in a flash, these kids started speaking with their hands. obviously i have seen sign language before, but never in such fluency, i havenever fully witnessed a complete conversation between deaf people. and far from being disabled they seemed to communicate with the same vivacity and variety that we use verbally. their motions were so quick, and precise, so naturalit just seemed like another language. four boys joined them, lounging on one another with the same bravado of any teenager. it was as though i was suddenly among what seemed for a moment like this whole new race of people, and surrounded by these mystical trees, like i had literally stepped through some portal. obviously i dont think they are a new breed of people, but i have never witnessed that type of development before. a whole new method of communication! it was startlingly fascinating, and i gasped! in the end Andrea realised that they knew her from Piano Theatre, which is why they had been gawking, and i think, maybe being quite mean about us! As for Piano Theatre? we were greeted by Vladimir, a charismatic and enthusiastic 'actor'. he is one of those people that is effortlessly disarming, and who's energy constantly flows outward, interacting with his environment, sharinghis thoughts. my first impression was that he spoke fluent english, although as the morning progressed i realised he did not, but his general ability to communicate over compensates. he seems perhaps a bit eccentric, but i know that he will be among the best people i will ever meet. he still seems so optimistic and generally just happy, despite Piano's constant struggle. They rely on sponsourship, andhave no idea what ups or downs tomorrow brings. gradually they have built a reputation, having toured Russia and some european countries- a documentary is going to be made about them, but 'bureaucrats' who will happily finance dance or acting, are not so convinced when it comes to pantomime. both him and his wife, Martina- who only speaks Russian and a bit of German, appeared haggard when i really looked at them. from fighting nail and toothfor what has not been a very financially rewarding dream. and what a humble dream! to help deaf children express themselves. we spent the day dusting and vacuming. Andrea has explaind that there can be very little to do, she is currently involved in trying to form Austrian contacts, and i am supposed to do the same for Britain. They have a dog called Pasha, a floppy eared cocker spaniel that is brown and white. and absolutely lovely. animals always save the day, they always break the ice, because like children, they are the same all over the world. and Vladimirshowed me the tricks he can do, which are properly astonishing! He has trained him to roll, bark, sit, walk between his legs, and do all these other things in a little routine! Vladimir is a truely talented! at around 2pm his sonarrived, a mid/late twenty year old that is very attractive and now involved in the buisness. in fact, it is a family buisness- their children have all been recruited, testifying to the sincerity and again talent of their parents!i think these people are going to be really special, and even if i only perceive from a distance, it will still have been a blessing to even just watch. and tonight when i got home, someone let fireworks off in the square outside my window. and now i am supposed to learn the russian numbers Sergei gave me for homework. but cannot be bothered

Привет

I'm slowly beginning to read Russian- pronouncing it of course, is another matter;

but here is my name!

РЗЙЧЕЛ

Why?

I just wanted to say, that writing everything is really for my own benefit, which is why these blogs are so long and detailed. and uninteresting! and about to get reallllly cheesy!

18.11.08

was invited by a russian girl, Natashja to her english class. she is nineteen and studying languages at university. she collected me at 11am from sfera, and we walked down to the 'linguistic and financial faculty'- which is this pale blue square building surrounded by a high iron gate, and strange statues- including one that has got giant knives and forks sticking out of it. i meant to take a photo, but walking out i was too scared, and almost tripped over in frontof this gang of teenagers, standing around smoking and generally being intimidating. inside we descended until i was pretty sure we were underground. the building was honestly quite old, different from modern facilities of british universities i have seen so far- which all seem alot more competitve about attracting students. it was warm at least. central heating in russia is amazing. the class was a small group of about eight, with one male member and a teacher that had a strangely distinguished english accent and took pains to ensure that her students spoke in perfect grammar- going so far as to hesitate when a girl began a sentence with 'if we were...'. the teacher was very friendly, we conversed easily for a good forty minutes, her students- all very shy, only beginning to ask me bland questions; what i thought of russia etc. when she pressed them, having run out of ideas herself. we spoke alot about Moscow, and wheter i should visit it. the teacher- who i later learned was called Elena, expressed similiar views to Sergei about Moscowites- 'in Russia we say there is Russia, and then there is Moscow'. obviously alot of wealth is centralised in the capital, although i did also discover that Nizhny Novgorod has been historically regarded as the third capital of Russia; 'it's wallet'. obviously i was asked alot about northern irish, irish and british culture; and spun my answers out as long as i could, and probably left them with the impression that allllll people eat in N. Ireland is potatoes... after an hour and fourty nine minutes i left, Elena directed me out, and asked if i would go to a language school she teaches at some evening as they are in 'desperate need of native english speakers'. of course i agreed, and she now has my number.
afterward i walked around the street sheepishly looking in clothes shops. i tried yesterday, but dressed in my tracksuit bottoms i couldnt stand the disgraced and disgusted looks of some of the women; who are literally always in kneehigh leather heeled boots. i lasted a bit longer today, but eventually gave up; finally dismayed by the reflection i caught in the only full length mirror i have seen since arriving. and went back up to sfera. where i spent the rest of the day doodling, on facebook or talking. tomorrow i will begin my project, as piano theatre are finally back in town. but, after watching an EVS propaganda video Magda showed me- as part of her research (as she is giving a presentation about EVS) as i wallowed in boredom and realised that in general alot of the volunteers dont have much to do, i began to wonder why i had really come to russia. to work? ... to be honest im not that interested in children. i do love them. the more time i spend with children, the more glad i am of them. being around Sirosha and Lorsha is always such a pleasure and even relief, because i have come to the conclusion that children around the world are all exactly the same- they have this universal language that isnt verbal or even communicative, its like a language of existence. but i kind of just see them as part of the scenery, as another wonder of creation that although i appreciate and even admire, i am not particuarly 'interested' in. i like the stars, i think space is unfathomable, but i do not devote my energy to becoming an astronaut. maybe its laziness, but likewise children are just there, they are just this inevitable part of life becasue they perpetuate it- they are the next generation etc etc. i love to be among them, but i didnt come to russia specifically to work with them. so did i come for experiences outside of my project? obviously yes, but how much can i experience of real russian life when i cant communicate with russians? At the weekend Sveta took me to like a back alley market, where most of the 'natives' obviously do their shopping; without her involvement i would have never seen it, and will probably spend a good deal of my six months immune to the 'real' russia- i will spend my money in shops most russians cant afford to shop in etc. but i suppose, what is the real russia? why should my experience of russia be any less genuine? but did i even really come to experience the 'real' russia? when i can be so deluded and idealistic? i know i didnt come to be a 'volunteer', and live in this surreal air bubble of suspended reality. did i come because God called me? obviously there was some wierd dream planted in my heart; an unshakeable 'perhaps' that i can only call curiousity. but i wonder why God would have me here? i cannot really find any reasons for why i would have me here, other then some superficial fascination with Dostoevsky that doesnt even correlate with my goals, because really i am very aware of where the literary sphere ends, and how much of an imposter it is when invited into reality. but am i looking for a scapegoat in saying that the reason i came was God? am i being irresponsible to say i was 'led'? is it just that my ideals have proven groundless thatnow i blame God? but what ideals did i really have?
what i'm saying, is that i dont know why i'm here. it isnt to work with children. it isnt to be the guest in a house of people i cant communicate with. it isnt to drink vodka with europeans i barely know enough to like. it isnt to sit in SFERA on the internet. and yet i wouldnt be anyhwere else. im here for a purpose. perhaps it will be my metamorphisis. everything seems so oddly still around me, as though nothing will move, as though i should be here and nowhere else. and i dont know where the strength is coming from. i dont know why im not completely overwhelmed, and how, when homesickness begins to whistle just under my perception, i can so easily draw away from it and resolve to be content. again there is only one answer, there is one word and one conclusion left. when i am silent and have nothing left to say, one idea still resounds from me. God. and i know that because of Him, these six months will go so quickly. Because his authority is time.
i got the bus home, and while waiting outside sfera for bus 64 (that takes absolutely ages to come) it started to snow. i love it when it snows in the dark. when little flakes of white float down from an unpenetrable black above, like a greeting from some secret place.and all the world, and even nizhny novgorod seems merrier. i cant wait for the snow, for some sign of the natural world in such a grey bleak festering city. i have even changed my laptop background to a picture of grass! and i will miss my beach until i am sick, and those long summer evenings and the fresh air and the wilderness of the sea. i have decided that i dont agree with cities. anyway, despite the uncomfortably dropping temperature, beside me, near the bin i had watcheda beggar hoke through for vodka yesterday, a boy was having an icecream! they love icecream here! and apparently its really cheap. when i got home, Lorsha and Sergei greeted me. They gave me a bunch of flowers they had picked! Lorsha seems particuarly interested in me, he came to stand in my room and gestured to the view in the window, exclaiming 'beautiful' and trying to make conversation in russian. i helped them with their english homework again, for which they continually apologized and kept repeating in the most adorable oblivion; 'thank you big!'
p.s. i should have brought The Simms!

16.11.08

feeling dirty and unwashed, we went to Mcdonalds at about ten! serhan left us getting on the bus to Hannes' dorms, where we went to his room for 'chi', and i suddenly got a little homesick, because it was clean and my friend has his bedsheets. he shares a dorm with another austrian, of which there has been this anti-climatic 'buzz' among the female volunteers. i then went with jehnya, whom i met last weekend at the party, to vineyard church. was pretty decent, sermon was very good; the pastor is one of those direct blunt americans that cracks dry jokes and doesnt accept excuses. met an american girl who was been here studying for a semester, and cant speak russian. i was also introduced to Almira, a very very fluent english speaking middle aged russian woman, who just provoked this huge outburst of warmth and relief in me. at this point, i was feeling oddly 'unedged'. she was genuine and forthright, speaking her thoughts which i love. she told me i was beautiful, and then asked for my phone number; she is going to contact me about events they organise for my age group; including a housegroup for international students. she is just one of those people i know i will be able to be honest with, because she is honest herself, she directly asked me about any problems i might have, and i kind of gulped and said if i do, they will probably come out soon. i barely know this woman but i thank the lord for her, i thank God for people that have innative enough to be forceful, and expect openness. i thank God for blunt people. and i really hope i can fit in with this church, and make christian friends. Jehnya is so good, he is so friendly, and introduced me to as many people as he could, and he is 'always happy', everyone loves him. after church i met up with Kasia, Sara, Marie-Ann, and Hannes at the tram station.
Leaving Hannes at the super market, we went to the International Day of Tolerance event hosted and organised by the Polish Association, of which Kasia is a recent member. What an interesting meeting. Firstly there was the russian chairman, a grandfatherly 50 year old with a camera, that kept taking photos of everything, and me in particular- even asking me to write down my name because i was 'his taste in a woman, although (his) wife is a blonde' which after the vodka shots got going, he reiterated three times. Then there was the vodka shots, glasses of wine and smartly dressed, suited up adults who had come to get drunk. Then there was this floppy haired spectacled professor, a brilliant man in his field apparently, but just quite crazy. When we first met him we wondered if he was drunk, he spoke very loudly cracked the strangest jokes, would ridiculously compromise your personal space, stood with the oddest off balance poise and flirted with his three students. Then there was the three students, very intelligent eighteen year old girls with text book fluent english- using vocabulary i barely possess, who got drunk and started singing 'my heart will go on', 'the lemon tree' and 'i'm blue' and dragged Marie-Ann to the front of the room for a rendition of some french song. Then there was the singing, the warbling, and the lets hold hands and dance around the room in a merry circle. and then there was the accordian that appeared from nowhere. it was very interesting, and very polish. After our 'dasvadanyas' and last photos, it took about half an hour for them to finally let us leave. i got the bus 71 with Sara, Kasia and Marie Ann- who all got off at Polshad Lenina, my stop was the next one, but i missed it, and very aware that i was now hurtling into some unknown region of the city i sat and watched Nizhny Novgorod go by, in exhaustion. Eventually got off to cross the road and get a bus back to Moskowski Woksal. and now i am home, exhausted, going to hand wash my clothes in the morning and then meet Sergei for a russian lesson, and hopefully, another discussion. p.s. the state of my teeth and skin is a joke. i never feel clean. the water here is so crap, it goes straight through me -_- i'm always thirsty.