My tummy is happy. David taught me that.
He said that pain was inevitable, but suffering is optional; and so I'm choosing to enjoy my raspberries, and therefore my tummy is happy.
It rained, all day. Well, not all day. On and off. But the sky opened up and poured; it was creators way of reminding me that he was listening and was helping me find what I needed to heal.
I've been lucky enough to meet early on the people I needed to point me in the direction I had to follow to make myself happy. It's said that happiness is only in the small moments; you had to learn to appreciate the little things and everything else was just as it goes. That happiness was the small things.
I don't believe that. Not anymore.
It's never had to be that way; moving from day to day grasping onto the little things that could bring you sunshine. Those little things, they bring you sunshine because of your perception. And so. And so.
Perception; a sight, a taste, a feeling, a smell. A memory, an interaction, an interpretation.
Round and round, like the blank lines of a coloring book slowly being colored in by all the different things that affect our perception.
Yoga.
My heart is happy when my body is happy.
And so I'm going to India.
Because that's where my heart says it wants to be. And I am learning to trust myself, because that is what my heart says it is ready to do.
My happiness comes first; guidance moon, thank you Darla.
India.
It's going to be a beautiful year.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
What's a mortar and pestle for, anyway?
I've never really had an idol, someone I wished I could be.
Unless, of course, you count the infatuation I've had with a russian witch ever since I'd seen her illustrated in some of the most beautiful story books of my childhood. She was always there, an omnipresent shadow of power, really reflecting whatever it was that we feared most. People stayed away from her, the same way they evade the things that scare them the most, until finally life forces them to meet her and overcome what it is they were running from. My fascination with fairy tales has lead me to pursue not only hearing a story read in its native tongue, but also attempting to read it for myself.
My bucket list, this funny little scribbling of hopes for my life, happened to include listening to a babushka tell the story of Baba Yaga; the only trouble with that was that the story was Russian, not Ukrainian. This meant that beg as I might, no one really knew the story.
So, I got the next best thing; my eventually to be working counterpart read and translated it for me.
The problem was that I had been learning Ukrainian and the story I chose to translate was Russian; they may look similar, but there's a vast difference between the two languages.
Anyway, you can imagine how comical it was for my counterpart to listen to me try, and butcher, a language that had oppressed and continues to oppress the Ukrainian language that I have grown to deeply appreciate.
But I digress, the following is the English translation of Baba Yaga;
Once upon a time there were gramma and gramps. The grampa became a widow, and married another wife, and from his first wife he had a girl. A wicked stepmother did not love her, and was thinking of how to get rid of her.
One day father went away and stepmother tells to girl; go to you aunty "my sister", ask her for a needle and thread to sew you a shirt. And this aunt was Baba Yaga Boney Leg.
But the girl was not silly and before hand came to her real aunt.
-Hello aunty!
-Hello dear! Why did you come?
-Mother sent me to her sister to ask for a needle and a thread to sew me a shirt.
Looking at her, aunty told her where she would have to go, and then warned her:
-there you are dear niece, but the birch will try to hit you in the eyes; tie her with a ribbon.
There the gates will creak and clap; pour oil in them.
There the dogs will tear you; give them some bread.
There the cat will scratch your eyes; give him some ham.
The girl went, and she was going, going and finally came.
There was a hut and the Baba Yaga Boney Leg was sitting there, making fabric.
-hello aunt!
-hello my dear child!
My mother sent me to ask you for a needle and a thread to sew me a shirt.
-okay, sit for now and make the fabric.
And the girl sat near the spindle and Baba Yaga left and told her maid;
-go start the bania and wash her knees and do this properly, I want to have her for breakfast.
The girl sitting, not alive nor dead, scared asks the maid;
-my dear! Don't burn the wood but pour it with water, and bring the water with a seive - and she gave her a hanky.
Baba Yaga is waiting, and she came to the window and asked;
-are you making the fabric my niece, are you making the fabric my darling?
-i am making my aunty, I am making my dear.
Baba Yaga went away and the girl gave ham to the cat and asked;
-is there a way to get away from here?
-here take a hairbrush and this towel - says the cat - take them and run away; the Baba Yaga will follow you, put your ear to the ground and when you hear she is near throw first the towel and the wide wide river will appear.
If she will cross this and will nearly catch you put your ear to the ground and If you hear she is near throw the hairbrush and the thick thick forest will appear. She won't get through it.
The girl took the towel and the brush and ran away;the dogs wanted to tear her but she threw them some bread; the gates wanted to shut but she poured them with oil; the birch wanted to whip her eyes out but she tied it with a ribbon and it let her go.
And the cat sat near the spindle and made the fabric; not that he makes a lot but more he spoiled it. Baba Yaga came to the window and asks;
-are you making the fabric my niece, are you making my dear?
-i am making my aunty, I am my dear - answers the cat in a rough voice.
Baba Yaga ran into the hut, saw that the girl ran away and started beating and arguing with the cat, asking why didn't he scratch the girls eyes out?
-i am serving you for so long - says the cat - and you didn't give me even the bone but she gave me ham.
Baba Yaga went to the dogs, to the gates, to the birch and then started yelling at everyone and beating them.
-we are serving you for so long and you didn't give us even hard burned bread, but she gave us fresh bread.
The gates say;
-we are serving you for so long and you never even poured us with water but she poured us with oil.
The birch says;
-i am serving you for so long and you never tied me with a thread but she tied me with a ribbon.
The maid says;
-i am serving you for so long, and you didn't give me even a piece of cloth but she gave me a hanky.
Baba Yaga Boney Leg jumped into her mortar and pestle and began to sweep around herself and then flew to catch the girl. The girl put her ear to the ground and here's Baba Yaga is following her and she is near so she took her towel and through it and a river appeared really wide.
Baba Yaga came to the river and gritted her teeth with anger; so she returned home, took her oxen and brought them to the river and the oxes drank all the water from the river.
So Baba Yaga followed the girl. The girl puts her ear to the ground and hears the Baba Yaga is near so she throws the hairbrush and the forest appears, the thick and scary forest. Baba Yaga started to chew it but she couldn't get through it so she returned back home.
The grampa was already at home and asks;
-where is my daughter?
-she went to her aunty - answers the mother.
Soon afterwards the girl ran into the house.
-where have you been - asks the father.
-oh daddy - says the girl - so and so, my mother sent me to my aunt to ask for a needle and thread to sew me a shirt, and aunt Baba Yaga wanted to eat me.
-how did you escape daughter?
-so and so - tells the girl.
Grampa when he heard that became angry at his wife and ahot her; and himself with his daughter started to live in good, an I were there, honey and beer drank on moustache, ran but nothing came into my mouth.
Baba Yaga is honestly my favorite; ever since I was a small child, she struck fear and awe in my heart. Why, you may ask, was this evil witch one of my heros?
It wasn't really that she lived in a house sitting on chicken legs, or that she flew in a mortar and pestle set, but more that she was just such a funny and honest character; she represented desire.
A large difference I noted, through many hours of research made just in the attempts of communicating with my kindergarteners, brought me to observe that Ukrainian stories and Russian stories, did not use the same characters to communicate messages.
Ukrainian fairy tales centered around animals and food before humans, and Russian fairytales focused on humans before animals and food.
I'm still trying to figure this one out.
I'm in love with stories; tell me a story and you'll steal my heart.
That being said, I've got a lot more listening to do.
Unless, of course, you count the infatuation I've had with a russian witch ever since I'd seen her illustrated in some of the most beautiful story books of my childhood. She was always there, an omnipresent shadow of power, really reflecting whatever it was that we feared most. People stayed away from her, the same way they evade the things that scare them the most, until finally life forces them to meet her and overcome what it is they were running from. My fascination with fairy tales has lead me to pursue not only hearing a story read in its native tongue, but also attempting to read it for myself.
My bucket list, this funny little scribbling of hopes for my life, happened to include listening to a babushka tell the story of Baba Yaga; the only trouble with that was that the story was Russian, not Ukrainian. This meant that beg as I might, no one really knew the story.
So, I got the next best thing; my eventually to be working counterpart read and translated it for me.
The problem was that I had been learning Ukrainian and the story I chose to translate was Russian; they may look similar, but there's a vast difference between the two languages.
Anyway, you can imagine how comical it was for my counterpart to listen to me try, and butcher, a language that had oppressed and continues to oppress the Ukrainian language that I have grown to deeply appreciate.
But I digress, the following is the English translation of Baba Yaga;
Once upon a time there were gramma and gramps. The grampa became a widow, and married another wife, and from his first wife he had a girl. A wicked stepmother did not love her, and was thinking of how to get rid of her.
One day father went away and stepmother tells to girl; go to you aunty "my sister", ask her for a needle and thread to sew you a shirt. And this aunt was Baba Yaga Boney Leg.
But the girl was not silly and before hand came to her real aunt.
-Hello aunty!
-Hello dear! Why did you come?
-Mother sent me to her sister to ask for a needle and a thread to sew me a shirt.
Looking at her, aunty told her where she would have to go, and then warned her:
-there you are dear niece, but the birch will try to hit you in the eyes; tie her with a ribbon.
There the gates will creak and clap; pour oil in them.
There the dogs will tear you; give them some bread.
There the cat will scratch your eyes; give him some ham.
The girl went, and she was going, going and finally came.
There was a hut and the Baba Yaga Boney Leg was sitting there, making fabric.
-hello aunt!
-hello my dear child!
My mother sent me to ask you for a needle and a thread to sew me a shirt.
-okay, sit for now and make the fabric.
And the girl sat near the spindle and Baba Yaga left and told her maid;
-go start the bania and wash her knees and do this properly, I want to have her for breakfast.
The girl sitting, not alive nor dead, scared asks the maid;
-my dear! Don't burn the wood but pour it with water, and bring the water with a seive - and she gave her a hanky.
Baba Yaga is waiting, and she came to the window and asked;
-are you making the fabric my niece, are you making the fabric my darling?
-i am making my aunty, I am making my dear.
Baba Yaga went away and the girl gave ham to the cat and asked;
-is there a way to get away from here?
-here take a hairbrush and this towel - says the cat - take them and run away; the Baba Yaga will follow you, put your ear to the ground and when you hear she is near throw first the towel and the wide wide river will appear.
If she will cross this and will nearly catch you put your ear to the ground and If you hear she is near throw the hairbrush and the thick thick forest will appear. She won't get through it.
The girl took the towel and the brush and ran away;the dogs wanted to tear her but she threw them some bread; the gates wanted to shut but she poured them with oil; the birch wanted to whip her eyes out but she tied it with a ribbon and it let her go.
And the cat sat near the spindle and made the fabric; not that he makes a lot but more he spoiled it. Baba Yaga came to the window and asks;
-are you making the fabric my niece, are you making my dear?
-i am making my aunty, I am my dear - answers the cat in a rough voice.
Baba Yaga ran into the hut, saw that the girl ran away and started beating and arguing with the cat, asking why didn't he scratch the girls eyes out?
-i am serving you for so long - says the cat - and you didn't give me even the bone but she gave me ham.
Baba Yaga went to the dogs, to the gates, to the birch and then started yelling at everyone and beating them.
-we are serving you for so long and you didn't give us even hard burned bread, but she gave us fresh bread.
The gates say;
-we are serving you for so long and you never even poured us with water but she poured us with oil.
The birch says;
-i am serving you for so long and you never tied me with a thread but she tied me with a ribbon.
The maid says;
-i am serving you for so long, and you didn't give me even a piece of cloth but she gave me a hanky.
Baba Yaga Boney Leg jumped into her mortar and pestle and began to sweep around herself and then flew to catch the girl. The girl put her ear to the ground and here's Baba Yaga is following her and she is near so she took her towel and through it and a river appeared really wide.
Baba Yaga came to the river and gritted her teeth with anger; so she returned home, took her oxen and brought them to the river and the oxes drank all the water from the river.
So Baba Yaga followed the girl. The girl puts her ear to the ground and hears the Baba Yaga is near so she throws the hairbrush and the forest appears, the thick and scary forest. Baba Yaga started to chew it but she couldn't get through it so she returned back home.
The grampa was already at home and asks;
-where is my daughter?
-she went to her aunty - answers the mother.
Soon afterwards the girl ran into the house.
-where have you been - asks the father.
-oh daddy - says the girl - so and so, my mother sent me to my aunt to ask for a needle and thread to sew me a shirt, and aunt Baba Yaga wanted to eat me.
-how did you escape daughter?
-so and so - tells the girl.
Grampa when he heard that became angry at his wife and ahot her; and himself with his daughter started to live in good, an I were there, honey and beer drank on moustache, ran but nothing came into my mouth.
Baba Yaga is honestly my favorite; ever since I was a small child, she struck fear and awe in my heart. Why, you may ask, was this evil witch one of my heros?
It wasn't really that she lived in a house sitting on chicken legs, or that she flew in a mortar and pestle set, but more that she was just such a funny and honest character; she represented desire.
A large difference I noted, through many hours of research made just in the attempts of communicating with my kindergarteners, brought me to observe that Ukrainian stories and Russian stories, did not use the same characters to communicate messages.
Ukrainian fairy tales centered around animals and food before humans, and Russian fairytales focused on humans before animals and food.
I'm still trying to figure this one out.
I'm in love with stories; tell me a story and you'll steal my heart.
That being said, I've got a lot more listening to do.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
a piece of mind
I've never had the opportunity to really know what it felt like to be the littlest. The littlest girl, the littlest cookie maker, the littlest child. That one kid, you know the one that everyone takes care of because they're, well, the little one? That's something I've always wanted.
Always.
And it might sound silly, unreal even, but I discovered what it was like to be the littlest. In a Ukrainian kindergarden, surrounded by little ukrainian and russian children, and the babushkas that taught me what it was to make a home.
I'll start at the beginning.
It was a warm and mild afternoon, and we (yes, there was a large we. About 20 we's, to be precise) were not outside, but sitting in the side room of a Ukrainian church. The effect of the light streaming through the windows would have been lovely, any other day, but seeing as I was still dealing with jetlag all I wanted to do was sit under a tree and sleep. The country I thought I would have nothing in common with actually produced an enviable variation of maple trees. Leaves, being what they are, had already started blushing different shades of red and yellow. That's where I wanted to be; sleeping under the ukrainian maple leaves.
But I wasn't. I was in a church, broiling.
Eventually the meeting progressed to more then a snails pace as we got to the topic most of us had been waiting for. Chalk touched board and scribbled out a list of workplacements. The work placements were important, they'd be where we would be getting the biggest chunk of our volunteering done. That being said, the options were listed and we were asked to mark in order what we would like. It should probably also be mentioned that the program is really into cultural relations, so each canadian was going to get paired with a ukrainian. I picked, and at the very bottom of my list was a kindergarden.
Of course, like most option selecting processes in the last several months, my last choice became my working spot. To say I was disapointed was probably an understatement; I didn't know what I was meant to learn playing with kids.
Looking back, I've come to realize a few things over the course of the last four months. The most prominent tidbit probably being that most learning is a gift and a surprise; you're not really learning if you know it's coming. It's the kind of learning that grows through all other levels of experience, and for me was the foundation of where I started to trust in trust. Life is unexpected, otherwise we would never have lived at all.
Moving back, my work counterpart seemed about as thrilled as I did.
We entered the school area, a hidden gate emerging between thick bushes. Different brick shelters painted in flowers and rainbows had been built all around the constraints, as a multitude of brightly colored playground toys littered the school.
We stepped through. An awkward silence filled the space we stood in as we let ourselves through the buildings doors.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mapsandlines/
Always.
And it might sound silly, unreal even, but I discovered what it was like to be the littlest. In a Ukrainian kindergarden, surrounded by little ukrainian and russian children, and the babushkas that taught me what it was to make a home.
I'll start at the beginning.
It was a warm and mild afternoon, and we (yes, there was a large we. About 20 we's, to be precise) were not outside, but sitting in the side room of a Ukrainian church. The effect of the light streaming through the windows would have been lovely, any other day, but seeing as I was still dealing with jetlag all I wanted to do was sit under a tree and sleep. The country I thought I would have nothing in common with actually produced an enviable variation of maple trees. Leaves, being what they are, had already started blushing different shades of red and yellow. That's where I wanted to be; sleeping under the ukrainian maple leaves.
But I wasn't. I was in a church, broiling.
Eventually the meeting progressed to more then a snails pace as we got to the topic most of us had been waiting for. Chalk touched board and scribbled out a list of workplacements. The work placements were important, they'd be where we would be getting the biggest chunk of our volunteering done. That being said, the options were listed and we were asked to mark in order what we would like. It should probably also be mentioned that the program is really into cultural relations, so each canadian was going to get paired with a ukrainian. I picked, and at the very bottom of my list was a kindergarden.
Of course, like most option selecting processes in the last several months, my last choice became my working spot. To say I was disapointed was probably an understatement; I didn't know what I was meant to learn playing with kids.
Looking back, I've come to realize a few things over the course of the last four months. The most prominent tidbit probably being that most learning is a gift and a surprise; you're not really learning if you know it's coming. It's the kind of learning that grows through all other levels of experience, and for me was the foundation of where I started to trust in trust. Life is unexpected, otherwise we would never have lived at all.
Moving back, my work counterpart seemed about as thrilled as I did.
We entered the school area, a hidden gate emerging between thick bushes. Different brick shelters painted in flowers and rainbows had been built all around the constraints, as a multitude of brightly colored playground toys littered the school.
We stepped through. An awkward silence filled the space we stood in as we let ourselves through the buildings doors.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mapsandlines/
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Lucky number 17
So 17.
That's how many ways I have learned to learn from what I did not know.
That's how many days must pass before I can truthfully say I have proof to show, that this has changed me.
Change is a funny thing. Can we ever say we have changed if we did not know that we were? Can a concept be grasped if it was never really formed, grown or being?
At heart I am green, a babushka wrapped in cloth and the smell of sugar crisping in the glass baking tin that has become my thoughts. A basket of questions, with a whole that never seems to stop dropping or retrieving questions. A hole in the wall, that's where my truth comes to find me curled in a cup of coffee.
17 days, and I write.
That's how many ways I have learned to learn from what I did not know.
That's how many days must pass before I can truthfully say I have proof to show, that this has changed me.
Change is a funny thing. Can we ever say we have changed if we did not know that we were? Can a concept be grasped if it was never really formed, grown or being?
At heart I am green, a babushka wrapped in cloth and the smell of sugar crisping in the glass baking tin that has become my thoughts. A basket of questions, with a whole that never seems to stop dropping or retrieving questions. A hole in the wall, that's where my truth comes to find me curled in a cup of coffee.
17 days, and I write.
Monday, October 18, 2010
You live a little, you learn...
If there was a possibility of one in a million that I would get into trouble... you bet that trouble would have found me faster then flies to rotting fruit. Speaking of which, I don't like fighting with fruit flies over my
breakfast... they seem to think they're as entitled to the damn stuff as I am. Well, I'm putting up a fight. I discovered a cover for the first time this morning, and blocked the little buggers out. Ha! That's one me, 40 flies... just incase you're wondering.
I've discovered that underneath the fasade I have of burning and ruining all baked goods, there was a kitchen goddess waiting. Necessity calls forth funny talents. Atleast, I make a mean banana chocolate chip bread. And it actually tastes good. (Discovered you really cant leave that little spoon of soda out of the recipe... the damn thing doesn't rise on its own).
Besides my fight with flies, I've also been battling the fine cuisine element of fat for the last 4 weeks. It is in everything. They even serve it as a steak. A fat steak.
"Christa, why aren't you eating your food?" "Hmm, you know what, I really hate not to taste this lovely fat steak, but I'm not feeling well. But you go ahead and have mine, wouldn't want it to go to waste".
Flies, fat... what else?
Oh, my inate desire to break rules.. Yes, that was a bit of an issue.
I am dressed like a bum. Honestly, the people on my team actually think I know nothing about clothes because all I packed was yoga gear. I am not a bum! The style in Ukraine is incredible... puts all of Canada to shame. Except that everyone here is a size zero or smaller. Which, to be honest, I am bigger then just from measuring my left breast. I'm not really blending in.
I play tag with little kids. When they said I was working in a kindergarden I thought; "Hey, this will be easy... just play with kids all day". Ok, well my idea of play, and the idea of play of the 200 children ages 2 to 6, was quite different. I am a walking doll. And also the main character in karate tae kwon doe classes... or my face is, more precisely.
I got to teach a class last week. Poor suckers. Stuck with me for 8 hours as I rambled on about everything and nothing. Best moment was probably when they realized that yes, I was serious, they had to lie on their backs and pass people over a human zipper. :)
On a serious note, I am absolute class. I learned bitch in Ukrainian when I accidentally asked for sugar wrong, and continue to do so with an innocent face as I have tea at a new house. Really its too easy, all I do is point to the damn sugar bowl and ask for some "succa". One hint, its not sugar.
They don't drink water here. At all. Tea, coffee, carbonated sodas... vodka. No water. My body is still protesting.
I want to be a babuchka. So I can pick mushrooms properly. Honestly, I suck. I couldn't see the damn things and these little old babuchkas move like lightning.
Stargazing on a rooftop. That so far, was my best night. The entire night was a meteor shower. Wish after wish. And the people! I've never met people I felt so close to, so quickly. Open-minded. Thats the only way I can describe it.
I miss home a lot. Adventure is like a drug, but sometimes you need a small recharge.
Went to L'viv this weekend. City was stunning.
Besides the fact that every other day I need to cross the worlds scariest bridge - literally, its half in the water and made of sheets of metal, and there are cracks in it!!! - and that I only know "Trochke, trochke" which means little little, I think I'm doing a bang-up job. I work at a kindergarden, and haven't lost any children yet. I'm only in a bit of trouble... and I haven't managed to get lost yet.
There really is nothing like being completely illiterate, to wake up one day and discover that "hey, I can actually read this!!!", "Do you understand it Christa?", "....No, but that's not the point".
Understanding is a funny thing. You think you know yourself, your boundries, and basic frame. I'm discovering though that what I know, is not truth. Its my truth, and there are several different ways to look at it. More then that, I'm being forced to live different truths. Doesn't sound hard, but what if I told you that being gay was bad? Oh, that one is easy... half our country is still filled with small minded shits. We can understand that one. What if I told you though that you were wrong about the idea of fairness, that you shouldn't try to be fair. Now we get a bit trickier. And what if, just imagine, everytime you tried to say no to something... you were forced to do it anyway.
I have a wonderful counterpart. But I've spent my whole life avoiding relationships because secretly, I can't stand people. I have a permanent partner, for better or worse, for the next 5 months.
It's hard to argue with someone you have to live with. Lets just say that.
And maybe get you thinking on what happens if I try to say no to anything.
Miss home
xx
breakfast... they seem to think they're as entitled to the damn stuff as I am. Well, I'm putting up a fight. I discovered a cover for the first time this morning, and blocked the little buggers out. Ha! That's one me, 40 flies... just incase you're wondering.
I've discovered that underneath the fasade I have of burning and ruining all baked goods, there was a kitchen goddess waiting. Necessity calls forth funny talents. Atleast, I make a mean banana chocolate chip bread. And it actually tastes good. (Discovered you really cant leave that little spoon of soda out of the recipe... the damn thing doesn't rise on its own).
Besides my fight with flies, I've also been battling the fine cuisine element of fat for the last 4 weeks. It is in everything. They even serve it as a steak. A fat steak.
"Christa, why aren't you eating your food?" "Hmm, you know what, I really hate not to taste this lovely fat steak, but I'm not feeling well. But you go ahead and have mine, wouldn't want it to go to waste".
Flies, fat... what else?
Oh, my inate desire to break rules.. Yes, that was a bit of an issue.
I am dressed like a bum. Honestly, the people on my team actually think I know nothing about clothes because all I packed was yoga gear. I am not a bum! The style in Ukraine is incredible... puts all of Canada to shame. Except that everyone here is a size zero or smaller. Which, to be honest, I am bigger then just from measuring my left breast. I'm not really blending in.
 |
| Active imaginations |
I play tag with little kids. When they said I was working in a kindergarden I thought; "Hey, this will be easy... just play with kids all day". Ok, well my idea of play, and the idea of play of the 200 children ages 2 to 6, was quite different. I am a walking doll. And also the main character in karate tae kwon doe classes... or my face is, more precisely.
I got to teach a class last week. Poor suckers. Stuck with me for 8 hours as I rambled on about everything and nothing. Best moment was probably when they realized that yes, I was serious, they had to lie on their backs and pass people over a human zipper. :)
On a serious note, I am absolute class. I learned bitch in Ukrainian when I accidentally asked for sugar wrong, and continue to do so with an innocent face as I have tea at a new house. Really its too easy, all I do is point to the damn sugar bowl and ask for some "succa". One hint, its not sugar.
They don't drink water here. At all. Tea, coffee, carbonated sodas... vodka. No water. My body is still protesting.
I want to be a babuchka. So I can pick mushrooms properly. Honestly, I suck. I couldn't see the damn things and these little old babuchkas move like lightning.
Stargazing on a rooftop. That so far, was my best night. The entire night was a meteor shower. Wish after wish. And the people! I've never met people I felt so close to, so quickly. Open-minded. Thats the only way I can describe it.
 |
| Opera house!!! |
 |
| L'viv |
I miss home a lot. Adventure is like a drug, but sometimes you need a small recharge.
Went to L'viv this weekend. City was stunning.
Besides the fact that every other day I need to cross the worlds scariest bridge - literally, its half in the water and made of sheets of metal, and there are cracks in it!!! - and that I only know "Trochke, trochke" which means little little, I think I'm doing a bang-up job. I work at a kindergarden, and haven't lost any children yet. I'm only in a bit of trouble... and I haven't managed to get lost yet.
There really is nothing like being completely illiterate, to wake up one day and discover that "hey, I can actually read this!!!", "Do you understand it Christa?", "....No, but that's not the point".
Understanding is a funny thing. You think you know yourself, your boundries, and basic frame. I'm discovering though that what I know, is not truth. Its my truth, and there are several different ways to look at it. More then that, I'm being forced to live different truths. Doesn't sound hard, but what if I told you that being gay was bad? Oh, that one is easy... half our country is still filled with small minded shits. We can understand that one. What if I told you though that you were wrong about the idea of fairness, that you shouldn't try to be fair. Now we get a bit trickier. And what if, just imagine, everytime you tried to say no to something... you were forced to do it anyway.
I have a wonderful counterpart. But I've spent my whole life avoiding relationships because secretly, I can't stand people. I have a permanent partner, for better or worse, for the next 5 months.
It's hard to argue with someone you have to live with. Lets just say that.
And maybe get you thinking on what happens if I try to say no to anything.
Miss home
xx
Sunday, October 17, 2010
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