Breaking up is hard to do…

… especially when you get barraged with post break-up messages and end up in Brussels, smoochless.

But, let me back up a little first…  cause it all started shortly after I posted my last entry ….and a hop skip and a jump, later …life took a little tumble.

I sat at St. Peters Station, for whatever reasons, accosted by an epiphany that I MUST get what I came for and make any sort of fuzzy life decisions after-wards. I got my head screwed back on straight and the student in me awoke to dreams of a brand new semester of Forecasting hell. What is it about train stations?

You see, right after I last wrote, I had a rather interesting life conversation with my mom in which… at least I think that’s what she said… she advised me to open my heart a little and make sure to enjoy each moment. Then I received a rather inspirational email from one of my favorite people in this world who, as usual, set me straight…

‘somebody very wise once told me’ it said  ‘ …that I should just take my time and figure out what I want first…You should really practice what you preach.’

Thanks friend, I really should.

And so, I put on a pretty dress, got all datey and set out to fall in love. I enjoyed each moment with care… reminding myself of my wise advisers to just         ...let go and feel.

In a strange way, I really did… our conversation was lovely, giggles and smiles, an interesting movie and some lovely tea… beautiful Gent towering over us and empty cobble stone streets paving our way… hand in hand we walked, close. our lips kissed…

Perhaps this is the problem, but with the indecisive week I’d had before, somehow I felt inspired by the night and waited to fall in love. I waited an hour, I waited two, I waited three… I felt warm and special, even cared for… all the while waiting ….for the night to end, so I could go home… alone. Hmm…

Towards the end, we wrangled a bit over the difference in our expectations for the night and all of a sudden without warning, all my so called feelings… were gone. I looked over at him one more time, as I for the 10th time proceeded to decline his invitation to go home with him… and I just had no desire to do so. The truth is, I don’t really see him as a long term potential and in the short term, he’s kind of a pain in the ass, i though! I just want to go home, alone! I waved good bye, turned around and walked away almost single again…

I took each step with caution… how does this feel? a little further… what about now? To my surprise the further I walked away from him and the closer I got to home… the better I felt. And just like that, the decision I fumbled over for weeks… was made.

In the morning I woke up refreshed. I hopped on a bus to St. Pieter’s station and set out to meet the girls en route to Brussels. Oh, how I’ve missed them!… My Russian Mafia… My Sex and The City crew… My girls. While on the bus I thought about the best way in which to end things. In the past I’ve always been a fan of the slow fizzle,  but as long as I’m learning to be a more mature person in Belgium, I thought it probably time to learn to do this whole breaking-up thing, properly.

I reasoned my way to doing it over a text message and proceeded to click away…

As soon as I hit send, my phone rang… and then buzzed, and buzzed again… one text message after another and it all of a sudden became clear how differently we feel about the way things are. The messages are flattering, the never ending calls weirdly sweet, I’ll admit… and periodically come in without a single reply.

But for once, I actually know what I want and he is not it. Predictive Modeling..? so IS. So I’m switching my course work to MatLab, SAS Macros, more CRM and SPSS and bracing myself for another CRAZY student semester with my girls….

When we finally arrived in Brussels for a 100+ people house party – I was the only one out of the four of us not going at it in the corner. I sat there a bit less drunk than the others, thrilled with my new path… ready to kick ass….  and yes, a little lonely… happy with myself,though… i think.    missing his eyes …a little.

And there goes my phone again.

I’ve missed you.

I can only imagine that most women don’t come to appreciate this life long friend until it is too late to say a proper good bye and certainly not while there’s still time to restore the relationship while it’s still alive and kicking with some well deserved and proper respect.

For better or worse, I have been fortunate enough to learn this life lesson early and would like to share with all of you some of my most personal, deepest insights into what it’s like to have missed her so much…

When I was at the ripe old age of 10, I waited for her every day.

I had an older friend who had already made her acquaintance earlier that year and this only fueled my curiosity to meet her. I dreamt of our secret relationship, our monthly meetings, the meaning behind it all… I wanted so much to be accepted into that world, that looking back on it feels slightly bazaar at the very least. The mind of a child really is pure weirdness, isn’t it.

But alas, no matter how much I waited and wanted, she never came.

Eventually I got caught up in the rest of life and made peace with her absence. Until some idle tuesday that is, a few years later, when she finally arrived.

By then I was a little over the whole thing and the audacity of her late, and what’s worse, trivial hello, only made me mad she’d come at all. And this is how we started our journey together – thirteen year old me and her, a slight pain in the ass.

And then, after a bit of a clumsy fall during a bad-ass trip to an amazing place half way across the world which I could still never bring myself to ever regret, she was gone.

I’ve missed her like I can’t explain… it’s not just a matter of getting off the monthly train of routine or parting with your favorite underwear far too soon. Her absence was felt in the depth of my soul and what’s worse, was only felt as an absence of feeling… and on some days, no soul at all.

I can’t even count the number of times when I would force myself to watch some sad pathetic movie just to awaken any sort of sense of pain…  sense of anything, really, that would feel normal. I wish I had a better way to explain what it’s like to feel like less of a woman… In a way, the thing that is most frustrating about her tendency to stop by for a visit, is that she doesn’t always give a shit about what’s going on in your life … where you are, what you’re doing and whether or not this is a good time… it’s a good time for her and she’s back.

…bringing with her some less than desirable consequences … sometimes like clockwork and sometimes not, the bottom line of which is that you have no control. Every time she’s back, without giving it much thought a person is reminded of their inexplicable tie to our physical nature, our biology. You as a human being are just a tool of nature and as much as you may think you’re living through your own determination of destiny and reality, you own control of your needs, ambitions and desires, you’re  really just reacting to the mammal inside you, until that is you awaken one day, like me, and you’re not.

And it’s in that moment, when all of a sudden biology is no longer a part of your daily struggles, and no time is a bad time for your best underwear, and there isn’t really a week you feel more manic than another, or a cramp you despise like someone actually did punch you in the gut, and when you’re bloated you can’t blame anyone but yourself.

You’re not really waiting for her to show up or leave… and when friends ask to spot you, you’ve got nothing to offer them – you haven’t bought one of those in god knows how long. And still, even after 15 months of having lost her, a part of me was never able to give up… for if I gave up on her, I might have had to give up on myself too.

So when she finally barged in yesterday, a little lost and battered perhaps, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I threw myself at her like you would at a long lost friend… together we screamed and laughed and cried and jumped for joy. For old time sake I got on her case about the lack of warning and as usual, terrible timing. I was already running late for my date and was now going to have to make a stop at the store.

I twirled the box of tampax in my hand while standing in line like it was a box of chocolates, surely it was the most thrilling 6 euros I’ve spent in Belgium so far. I begged for a worker to open the already closed bathroom door at the mall…’it’s an emergency’ I said… he must have been confused by my excitement and glowing smile, …but I could have kissed him!

I’m so glad she’s back.

…and I hope she stays a while …and I hope she comes again.

A little tryst…

*Note: I’ve never been one to keep a journal, although I’ve always wanted to… many many times throughout my life I had made the effort to start, but was never really able to keep it going. Lately it seems that my post have been more sparse, but what I’ve found is that somehow while living in this ‘far from myself’ world, so to speak, there’s been nothing more helpful than writing things down. Sometimes, I even go back and re-read my gibberish, just to mentally keep track of my own evolution. The purpose of this post I think will be to find some sort of answer, record some of my thought process… ask better questions and ultimately keep the storyline going. Because, lets face it, what fun would it be to read a novel without the good parts. Family, please proceed with caution… 🙂

As you’ve probably gathered before, my whole life, it would seem, I’ve been running from something… from being American, from being Russian, or just simply being … running towards being loved, away from being loved, …sprinting across continents, hobbies, devotions, careers … running in place, running from standing still and finally running from running. Very few times in my life it would seem I have been able to stay steady and grounded and truly appreciate it for what it is… and the times I do recall of such contempt… are ironically fleeting.

This time, it was 4AM and I found myself running for the door… and another new years resolution was born. stop running.

If I have to start from the beginning, I’ll have to start with his chin… there’s something so sculpturesque about it, that literally no chin could compare. Not even one that came straight out of the mold of a wax museum. It’s rough edges – so masculine in their shape… and a divot that separates his lower lip in half, that seduces …wildly. ….and the coarse stubble that accents his jaw line with a dark shadow, leaves me …raw.

His eyes need only glance to render me powerless – a translucent sort of ice colored glare, somewhat cold and distant in reality, but stunningly piercing…  yet there is a sweetness behind them that pleads with kindness…  like they belong to a warm soul that… if only you had a key for…   and the bald thing it turns out is really of no consequence at all. … and if anything may be god’s gift to women for easily identifying masculinity at its best. The rest of course will still have to be figured out via trial and error, like the rest of the world.

There’s a ton already I don’t like and a ton more I do… there are ways in which he seems perfect and many in which he is blatantly not. But like the crazy fool that I am, I have slammed the breaks on this less than week-long ride more times than even makes any kind of logical sense and have managed to flee from the scene down darkened alleys just a few hours short of dawn more than I care to admit… anything it would seem to avoid god forbid stumbling into my own feelings …or ‘gasp’ …something real.

The one time I made the mistake of letting him sleep at my place, I was wide awake all night. My brain I think really needed to think of the world according to yesteryear and was in no way ready to handle awakening in someones arms. I was seconds away from escaping out my own window. True story.

Next I slammed on even more breaks and said we’d play it by ear… then i ran for the door again.  Today I stayed home for fear of finding more things to run from. I really needed the time to think…

…am I fearful of coming or going… giving or taking… loving or leaving… or being left…

by the end of the day, few answers came to me. Until that is I spoke to wise Oxi who pointed out a wonderful thing about the difference between her and I.

‘I’, she says, ‘am too egotistical when it comes to love… I love for me, so when it stops being for me it becomes time to stop loving.’

‘You’, she says, ‘might not have to fear loving as much if you just keep track of the benefit it brings you and bail only when it brings  none’

Somehow, I liked the idea of not needing breaks, if you always have the option of stopping this freight train… What a novel idea!… I think sometimes I forget that there’s no lease attached to my trysts… no bills to split upon parting, no cats to share, furniture to sort, rings to give away and always a place to call my own. I really don’t need to slam on all these breaks if there’s always an actual stop sign in sight.

Somehow I found this thought empowering… I picked up the phone and for the first time this week made an actual effort…  ‘hi cutie 🙂 just txting to say sweet dreams’.

…and there you go, I’m in Europe and I’ve stumbled on a lil tryst.

Dating in the cold…

With only a slight nudge, the door flew wide open and a below freezing gust of wind hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. In only a matter of a few hours, the air had turned ice cold and the light brisk walk it took to get there, suddenly felt very far. I looked over at my new friend and wondered for a second how this night will end. Within minutes I couldn’t feel my feet,  the tip of my nose was long gone and my fingers were slowly curling inward. We walked hurriedly along deserted streets, barely saying a word. I wanted to keep up the conversation but my brain was completely frozen and my lips iced over shut. ‘Good god, I’m cold!’ I finally stuttered. ‘Me too’ he says, warming his hands together.

… ‘you know, you’re a little bit useless’ I thought… even in SF I would have been offered a jacket or warm pocket or something ….and it’s not even a matter of life and death there… !

The truth is, beforehand,  we had spent another 5+ hours together, walking, dinnering, bar hopping, talking… he even asked to go in for a McD’s snack on the way home. We covered every topic in the book… especially the ones they say not to ever talk about… and still the closest to a sign of interest was a the nervous flickering of a coin that eventually rolled its way onto my side of the table.

And so we began our walk back.

He wasn’t much for conversation either, although must have been less cold as he proceeded to take the long way back and show me a good laundry mat for my future use. It is only now that it’s somehow dawned on me that in fact it might have been to place us right into the lap of his front door, but I was so cold I could barely breathe, let alone think, let alone pick up on drawn out clues to his er… signs of affection.

Maybe I didn’t look as cold as I felt, but if he had said there was a warm room for me within 2 seconds of where we were standing… I would have hands down picked warmth over anything. I mean, ANYTHING. so cold.

But speed of action is not this guys forte, so I couldn’t for a second take the chance on waiting. I was going HOME and FAST.

As soon as we walked to a corner, I turned around and proclaimed that there’s a heater blasting in my flat and I must GO. There was a slight pause… it was as if the world had suddenly stopped spinning for a minute, it really could have.. i’m telling you, it was that cold…!  I stepped down from the side walk onto the street, looked up and then something rather interesting happened… Baldie with his most adorable sweet eyes peaking from behind his bushy eyebrows and sporty looking beanie, dropped a slow gaze into my eyes, wobbled forward slowly and placed his forehead on mine. It was the most sweet and strange thing I’ve ever experienced… so much so that without even thinking about it, I turned slightly and pressed my lips against his warm cheek. For what it’s worth, the moment seemed to last a life time… for maybe a brief second I wasn’t cold anymore. But as soon as my brain caught up with the storyline, my lips did a sudden 180 in the other direction and I abruptly lifted my forehead from his.

I’m not sure which I was more confused by… his continual inaction, or my even more bazaar re-action. Since when do I got around pressing my lips against cheeks of men that don’t even have the balls to kiss me first? And if I’m going to be the one leading this charade, surly it has never involve closed eyes and anything you could call sweet. That’s not my AMMO!

We kissed once more before I parted after-which I darted home as fast as my feet would take me… wondering, am i running because I’m freezing or because I’m running. And, am I uninterested because I’m freezing or am uninterested. And, will I actually study tomorrow like I told him I would…

Where is my AUC?

I’m having a bit of the hump day blues. The day has been painted in a lazy hue, slow and ineffective, without much purpose it would seem except for the occasional twinkle of an idea. My mind is still fully occupied with wrapping up this year – it’s meaning so to speak – picking a new direction.  My cotton thoughts, echoing it seems somewhere in there… in that head of mine numb from all the schooling, but desperately trying to figure out my next move.

You see, within the next two weeks I’ll need to decide on my future … the course to take with it. Should I follow an already existing path, or take a chance on something bigger and scarier – something new. Not just new though, something that deep down in my heart I know is anti-me… something that says to the world… I love money. I love business. I want success and computers are my friend. Honestly, I wouldn’t like this person. But I also wouldn’t like the person I would be if I didn’t grasp at the chance to become it. A sort of life philosophy I want to live by… reject only that which you know. So following that logic, first I must know. I must want to know!

…yet somewhere deep down, i just want to dance around a campfire in some far away land, singing kumbaya…  I’m probably not making any sense, but that is because I’m feeling stuck, and sense is overrated anyway…

I think the problem is in identifying what I’m fearful of… am I more fearful of not trying – due to perceived probability of failure and/or disinterest …. OR … am I actually fearful of not going for the one thing I know I actually want, which is a life of meaning and not money at all. I’ve been clawing at this in my head all week, and still I’m nowhere…

Yesterday, I saw myself taking the easy way out… Today, I woke determined to take this chance of a lifetime and see where it leads… all these codes, periods, commas, delimiters… these forecasting robots, these engineers… these business people with their business plans and algorithms for making the world go round and round. Who would have thought in a million years that I would have my own key to the whole Faculty of Economics and Business building and spend vacation days under its florescent lights… wishing quietly, in the most non-technical way possible, for a predictive model for my future… Where is my AUC?

… I have a friend that is now going through something similar but in a more work related sense and honestly when I think about her situation, it’s as clear as day. There is no wrong move that she can make, only one requirement… the decision needs to bring with it utter excitement. If she can find excitement for the thing she’s about to do, she has made 100% the right choice.  Hmm… perhaps it’s only logical that I take my own advice. I shall wait for some sort of excitement to kick in… i think right now I don’t feel it for either – maybe that’s in fact the problem? Interesting point, dear me. I will know when it’s here.  M… so will you! 🙂

…a resolution

With the new year swiftly approaching, I’ve awaken for the past few days with one thing and only one thing on my mind… what are my new years resolutions?

Somewhat of the total dork that I am, I’ve been jotting down notes for this very day for the entire year… the last big attempt of which was made while I was waiting for N at the airport a few months ago in Brussels. I was sitting there watching all these people – happy and sad, coming and going – and for whatever reason  was stuck with an epiphany for what I want out of life. I had no paper at the time, so I jotted it down on the back of my expired train ticket and stuffed it in my wallet – unread. I wanted the ideas to ferment a bit, so I made sure not to read until just a few days ago, and now that I’ve read it over again … it’s all that i can think about. literally.

I won’t give you the details of what it actually says, as I am a firm believer in jinxing things. But, I have to say it’s pretty spot on and is only missing a a few key ingredients for a good year, one of which I’ve decided could be the only thing on the list and would already make for an accomplished feat. It’s something that seems to be broken inside me and must be fixed like NOW.    …Stop making lists!

… just kidding, I’m not quite ready for that one, but it would be nice if I could learn to focus a little less on the external world and get a bit more in touch with my own needs and feelings. Somehow through years and years of building walls upon walls to protect myself from move upon move upon move…  and break-up upon break-up upon break-up … and other unspeakable things, some of which required a whole damn castle of emotional isolation, I’ve finally found myself looking down at the world from one of my many towers, Rapunzel style with this realization that this hair that I so desperately want to fetch me a prince from down there, is just not gonna cut it!

Enough with the metaphors, but actually I’m not even talking about a Prince. Really I’m just talking about learning to enjoy yourself, relax and know your own sense of happiness. Sometimes I think, I spend so much time and energy trying to figure the rest of this crazy world out… worried mostly about their feelings, their being, their context… that more often than not, I completely forget about my own. It’s soooo time to stop this little watching routine of mine and make a real effort to participate.

This year, I vow to focus on breaking down these walls, venturing outside and just living.  But, I have to say that keeping this blog has been somewhat of an amazing experience from which I’ve managed to learn quite a bit about myself… as I’m sure you have as well … sorry. 🙂  But, I appreciate all the encouragement to keep writing and look forward to taking you all on many interesting new journeys in the coming year.  ❤

Assessing The Damage: On life, love and big bowls of hot soup

 

Last week was much hell… the sort of hell that takes you there and back again and almost makes you feel like a hell warrior, unstoppable, unhuman, studying every waking moment, absorbing information like it’s going out of style… to the point of waking 48 hours later to a brand new you… one that suddenly knows things that you never dreamed of… two test later, a head, packed-full, with sas syntax and multivariate analysis, multidimensional scaling, sprinkled with an array of descritpvie statistics (no pun intended)… loopdey looped, DO done, proc tabulated, freqed, clustered, factored, scaled, standarized, manipulated, formatted, merged, joined, transposed and – failed. And yet, the adrenaline of charging ahead without so much as a second to think… of what or how or why or when…. leaves one to eventually cross the finish line, looking back in amazement of having gone an entire week without a moment to breath. This in fact is how I arrived at Friday… confused, bewildered, energeized, extactic, let down, tired and somewhat anti- climactic. Not over per-se, not even close… yet somehow the luxury of having a few hours to waste, closely resembled eternity and wound life down to a screeching halt.

I didn’t get home until after 5AM that night, and the next night not until 4. The whether is finally getting COLD and as a personal gift to me for having completed this week without dying of exhaustion, the universe made it snow… it’s 2 AM, I’m standing outside my beautiful Ghent with friends and snow flakes are falling all around me. There are some in my hair, all over my black long coat, even my eye lashes feel wet and sticky… I stomp my feet excitedly against the cobbled ground, scraping my boot  heels against the cracks. I zip them each morning with such pride, you know – before I even leave the house, they remind me of where I am…  a place that requires boots and  mittens and hats and scarfes and a daily helpings of big bowls of hot soup. And It’s just perfect.

The only problem it seems is that happiness is found in contrasts… where before these perfect moments arise, there is much harship… and the aftermath is even more devastating it seems (prompting delusional bitter-sweet posts like this). I have two more tests next week for which I need to pull another week and half of utter immersion… the kind that requires me to foregt I’m alive again and transofrm into yet another brand new me by next Tuesday. What I need to know by next week to even have a chance at possibly scorring a 40% , is at the moment hard to imagine… similiar, I would think, if I were to ask you to become an anastraunat by next month.

I know once I dive back in, while difficult at least I will have started, but beginning this long journey is proving difficult and imaging attaining the impossible, unimaginable.

What’s worse, is that somehow with winter, I suppose, come about feelings of wanting to live and love… especially here it seems, people are so much more open and in general have such a different world view on life. Lately this has started to make me feel so American, or cold or something…. somehow my desire for independence and the ability to go it alone has made me rather hard it seems. It’s weird too because I’ve been around foreigners all my life, and yet somehow being in a foreign environment among other foreigners here, has a totally different feel. Here I’ve learned how different the world really is across cultures… everyone with their own sense of humor, their own sense of justice, their own sense of love and definition of success – a multitude of things lost in translation. I apparently come from a place that is cold in spirit, independent, superficial, vein, crude, open and accepting of all thing, yet completely closed, jaded and somewhat mistrusting – how much of this is America, how much of this is me. Then there are others – physically warm, dependent, reliant, demanding, sexist, traditional, naive, mistrusting in other ways…  if we had more time to talk and debate among each-other, I’m sure we’d find that we all come from different points of view… topics like gender roles, sex, education, politics, history, culture are truly seen differently by each person in our group. There is a part of me, that’s dying to be that. For having worked this hard at gaining complete independence, I’m suddenly finding myself missing the old me… It may not even be so, but I feel so different at times, that I wish I could show them that there was I time when I was more like they are. That there was a time when I was younger, and more open, more naive, more innocent, more trusting, more inexperienced, more idealistic, less determined, less ambitious, less selfish,  and yes more loving.

I fear that I am destined to forge ahead with a steal heart, or is there hope that at some point I will encounter a knight or two that might actually melt it still. It seems that to everyone around me, the metling comes as a natural part… their hearts always open to the world. I would like to think that that’s possible again, but I guess some damage can’t be undone. Not really the most uplifting post, I know – but somehow in the aftermath of all the stress and then release, I’ve found myself in a moment of a stand-still. Bracing myself for the coming weeks… and for the first time ever maybe, it made me angry at having found my heart battred from the past. It seems that I am not ready to let anyone in… So, I thought perhaps this is a good place to start… If I can soften on paper, then perhaps I can eventually soften in person.  The truth is you know, the last one really did me in… so before I can even think about meeting anyone else, I think it’s probably a good idea if I start by facing the truth – which at least requires me to acknowledge that I am still healing from the person that made me afraid to fall in love. until then though, I will buy lots of scarfes and warm mittens, eat big bowls of hot soup and love this city instead.

Me And My Slutty Phone

I woke up this afternoon with one thought in my head, and one thought only… that I am much too old to live a lifestyle that forces me to wake up in the afternoon. The very next thought had something to do probably with gallons of water and possibly the compulsion to draw all blinds and lay in bed, indefinitely. Today will have to be a wash, I thought. Surely I will need to wait an entire 24 hours until tomorrow to function again like a normal human being. Close call, but luckily, no.

A few days ago, I made the mistake of not leaving my place for a whole day and since then have vowed to myself to never have one of those days again… not even, when my head is throbbing, and my skin – well, at least still in tact.

I immediately forced myself to shower and pretended to go on with the day as if I was… FiiiiNE. Hoping against all hope that somehow I will eventually trick my brain into feeling so.

Of course, I am over-dramatizing a little. Last night was no Y2o00, Julyo9 or even the following Halloween – memory capacity, fortunately or unfortunately, clearly functioning, and no vomit, bathroom or other similar malfunctions to site. Really, I didn’t even drink that much – but alas, with my growing adulthood I have unwillingly began to chart the downward slope of drinking capacity-meet-age.

Yes, it’s true – I can no longer drink like a fish. And I don’t know how they do it here… stay up past their bed time every other day it seems. But I didn’t get home until after 5 am and around these parts that’s called a cop-out. Like a party, that fizzled too soon. Goodness gracious, my tolerance level is either going to soar to amazing proportions by the time I get back, or really start taking a toll on my health. Keep reading my blog to find out which.

Anyway, the truth is, it was actually a very good time with a few interesting lessons to site.

When I peeled myself off the chair, promptly after posting my last entry, I headed straight for the door and left my apartment as soon as I could – just in case. I didn’t actually have a plan about where I was going… I knew I was meeting my friend and stand-in boy (stand-in vs. the real crush, who couldn’t actually come because he had stayed up until 7 am the night before… – not mine, hers btw), but wasn’t sure what time they’d be back from Antwerp and in general had very vague sense of what it is we were doing. The last thing I wanted was to be some sort wing man – third wheel deal… I only do that for special friends 🙂 So I walked down town, called her a couple of times and realized that I probably won’t be hearing from them for a while. What to do now, I thought. I guess I’ll just go get a beer. So, I found a local bar I’d been meaning to check out and went in.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever gone to a bar alone, but unless there is a guarantee of somewhere to sit and a good vibe inside, it can be a pretty nerve wracking 10 seconds. Luckily, the moment I walked in I spotted an empty chair at the bar and plopped myself down. Not even a second later, all of a sudden, finding myself hit on by guy#1, one stool to the right.

Within 10 minutes, I somehow had his number in my phone, within 5 minutes of that I was totally bored and within 5 minutes more getting extra annoyed at the fact that Maria was still not there. Until that is, I decided to spice things a little by bringing Guy#2 into our boring conversation who just happened to be Guy#1’s friend… and more so, turned out to be a lot less boring. So, the next 30 minutes or so after that, were spent playing these two off each other like ping pong – ok, so it wasn’t the most lady like thing I could have done, but at least I was entertained. When Maria finally showed up, I could tell she was very worried that I had been waiting for much too long…  and very confused as to how I managed to find something to do. At the end of it all, we both decided that this in fact was the best dating strategy there is. The bar is 75/25 packed with men and well, you could probably just walk in.. take a good look around and join whatever nerd you find interesting.

Maria took it a step further, and all of sudden we were all the same table. You know, her and I and 3 random men. Then our other friend and her new beau met us at the bar and we all headed to some fancy club. Where there were a few other guys to meet our temporary needs.

The guys:

Guy#1: I swear I already dated a version of this guy. In fact, after a few drinks – I was having one of those very weird moments where I literally thought I might be sitting in front my old guy. But, to the credit of the one I actually dated, along with a little self justification – he was a lot more interesting and cuter and well… just better and less gay sounding. So, you can only imagine, if even much better didn’t work…. there was no hope here. On top of which he was 40. Which, ok- it’s true, i’m totally ageist and well 36 is where I draw the line (please please don’t let me prove myself wrong). What was also weird is that he thought I was 23-25.. which of course I realize guys are programmed to lie about, but considering we all had a very extensive age conversation during our little tete-a-tete, they really did seem to think we were younger. For some reason when guy#1 said this, I wasn’t flattered at all (though when guy#2 did… I might have been a little 🙂 )… mostly just creeped out by the fact that he invited a 25 year old to a share a weekend with him in Spain… next JULY, at a friend’s apartment… where you pay per bed. But to give me a tiny bit of credit, he was an interior designer/sculptor… like with bronze and stuff, so ok – kinda cool except for the part there where I had to listen to a 10 minute monologue about staircase pricing. TRUE story.

Guy#2: This guy, if you had asked me about him just based on looks, would have never even made my radar, but this of course just goes to show how unreliable my radar is. Ok, I’m totally going to hell for saying this, but he was bald – i mean like… TOTALLY bald… and well, I haven’t yet ventured into that world. Ok, they’re bald now, but they weren’t when we were dating! 🙂 The thing about bald men I think that freaks me out, is just getting past that elephant in the room. I’m weird about this stuff anyway, I remember thinking an ex of mine had dentures because he had perfect teeth and was a bit older than me. Once I was able to talk about my fear for his perfect teeth, we were all good. My fear with bald people – i mean, once it’s clear that they don’t have any kind of weird misshapen head – is that they have cancer. I know, it’s terrible… but how can you be sure and when is it ok to ask? I mean if they’re just bald, but cute then whatever… but it’s my inexperience with baldness that is making hesitant in taking the plunge. Other than that, I thought he was funny and interesting and in some ways, as history so eloquently reminds me, someone I should totally stay away from. At first of course, it would have been shameless to flirt with him right in front of Guy#1 – but luckily, a few drinks in and shame becomes irrelevant. And, I wasn’t even really sure if he was flirting back, until we were suddenly leaving and he frantically punched his digits into my slutty phone. Right in front of his friend too – nice. I waved them both adieu and left them sitting across from each other at the bar.

…g’Night boys.

Guy#2 was 30 and is still a maybe…

Guy#3: is not really of any interest, other than he was spanish/belgian and actually like 10 times cuter than both of the other two put together… but I got bored with him after a while. I should say though that it was the first time I had been waltzed and spun at a club and had this weird awesome – i’m dancing with a foreigner – feeling. PLUS he smelled really good… like fresh laundry. Which also made me feel guilty for not having done my laundry in so long. Either way he deserves a mention.

Guy#4: was his friend. He was a much better rap dancer. We spent quite a bit of time lip sinking terrible rap music and loving it… But, by this point I thought I’d give my phone a rest and just enjoy the dance.

Anyway, I left the night feeling somewhat back in the game at least. This was good news, I was starting to feel hopelessly unromantic. I am however perplexed at whether or not guy#2 deserves a ring…  Either way, it won’t be for a couple of days and I still have to figure out how I feel about this bald thing. Maybe he’s not even bald, just clean shaven… 🙂 We’ll see…

Mission: Parisian Fuck-Me-Boots

omg. I’m back… talk about a hiatus.  That was the longest that I had gone without writing  since I got to Ghent. Won’t happen again.

First of all I have to say thank you to everyone for being so amazingly thoughtful… the messages, the emails, the everything… were just what I needed to put life in perspective. …although I must admit, I was starting to lose my bearings there for a bit… No worries though – with a little help from you, my new friends, a few nights of a heavy drinking – not to mention,  a spontaneous sprint across the borders for a bit of Parisian soul searching in the form of fuck-me-boots, just the boots so far, and I’m back on track.

But in order to tell you how I got here, I suppose I should start from the very beginning…  that is, the day I wrote my last post. It was the day of our SQL exam, and lets just say a lot of people, not excluding myself, were in a bit of a shock. So much so, that we couldn’t bare the thought of studying for anything else… let alone our SAS exam which was swiftly approaching. So, instead we took our dazed minds out for a drink.

As I was walking over to our agreed upon meeting place, in the rain, in the dark… after having failed and then proceeded to not study all day for the next thing. I thought to myself, what on EARTH am I doing…  I don’t even like drinking. And how relived I was to hear my friend say the same thing… only she says it more hilariously, in Russian, always pushing my vocabulary to its limits – “Kat’, Shto za chush – kuda yedish?’ she says. Seriously, shto za chush.

But, as anyone could have predicted, a few beers in (Roomer to be exact – a special Ghent drink made out of flowers that float magically at the bottom of the glass)  and a few hours later…  a much needed break and new, albeit temporary, leash on life.

The next few days after that were spent locked up in our computer lab trying to absorb as much SAS nonsense as possible. By Monday, a day before the test, I was on the verge of getting sick and knew that pushing myself even a bit more would only lead me to having to take the test lying down, brain off. So I spent the entire day and night sleeping, in hope of awakening with at least the slightest ability to concentrate and even half the information absorbed –  i did lose 12 hours of studying time though, so that sucks. By Tuesday morning, I seemed to have slept it off and came to the test at least with my brain in tact. Four hours later, we handed in our exams and sighed deeply as we passed one another in the halls. No words required. Well, actually it went better than SQL… but that’s like saying death by hanging is preferable to the electric chair.

That day was also Amador’s birthday, so we all went out to celebrate and shake off the stooper. I didn’t get home until after 4, but managed to get myself up for class at 9.

Then we went out for chinese food and as I was sitting there thinking about what to do over the weekend… the first chunk of time I can remember having where there doesn’t seem to be an urgency to study… yes there’s a test in less than 2 weeks and hundreds of pages of reading… but no reason I thought, I couldn’t be doing this reading on a train, …or in coffee shop in Paris, eating a croissant perhaps … or tart?.. or french salad…? ( no worries, I had all three! 🙂

.

That night I had company at my place for the first time… tea and waffles, to be precise, so I didn’t get to sleep until very very late (or early depending on how you look at it), on top of which i woke up and realized… ah, I AM getting sick … but I wasn’t about to waste this precious weekend, being sick at home. Heck no. I packed nothing… just my backpack and a book, and headed to Paris on a one way ticket. Indefinitely.

Of course, I knew I was coming back.. i just didn’t know if waking up to a croissant would do it, or if I would want to stick around for a french dinner, or another morning – a walk to the eiffel tower perhaps, or a french haircut? Maybe a tattoo… I was keeping my options open. I needed this trip to cure everything and I just wasn’t sure what it would take… only that I needed to feel alive again, with a purpose… moving…  thinking… feeling.

How long did it take you ask? It took 3 days and two nights… after-which I arrived back at St. Pieter’s station in Gent (after a few train mishaps) welcomed by none other than hundreds and hundreds of rowdy drunk college students standing in line for the city organized I<3TECHNO Tram 21 (I guess I won’t be taking that one home…)  and dozens and dozens of police officers and their dogs guarding this howling mayhem…  the slight but constant drizzle of Belgian rain, my feet tired from three days of non-stop trekking, the air warm but dark… buses re-scheduled again (where is the one I need??? i’m tired.), drunk drivers everywhere, there isn’t a weekend where this doesn’t happen – almost got knocked over  within 5 minutes of getting back… when I finally made it onto a bus, safe and sound, I peeked outside the window and there it was… Saturday night, in my precious Ghent. I just wanted to give it a big big hug. I am home.

Oh, and I needed boots and an Umbrella. Having not ventured out of my apartment for a few weeks now, and never at night – it all of a sudden dawned on me on my way to our Chinese dinner that it’s almost friggin winter!!… like BRRR cold… and like… holy cow, wet and slippery. And how these Belgians and Russians love to make fun of Miss California girl who only owns sandals. So at least, I left for Paris with a mission… go to Paris, clear my head, buy boots – come back when you know what you’re coming back for.

I will probably write more about this later, as surly it will be on my mind for many days to come. But here’s a quick few things of what I learned in Paris.

Standing in front of the Eiffel is a good reminder of this…

The best lesson you can learn in life – one that came to me much too late, but which I welcomed open-arms on this trip – is that there’s only one thing, and one thing only, that you can be 100% sure of in this life – you – exist – ALWAYS.  …regardless of where or how or what you’re doing. YOU, are the constant.

I know that seems like a silly thing to even mention, especially since most people mention this as a negative – as in, you can’t get away from yourself. But the truth is, it’s the best and most positive thing there is about our lives – the one thing that takes fear out of anything and defuses all pressure of any what-ifs. What if… you say? The answer is simple… you’re still there.

A lot of the time, when fear holds us back… from opportunities, from whatever… we find ourselves fearful of change, of not being able to ‘do it’ of having a hard time imagining our lives without something… or imaging our lives with something, or somewhere… like Paris … and then it happens, and we realize that in fact nothing is that big of a change… we are in both scenarios. we are the one constant – the one thing that doesn’t change – the one thing we can rely on and the one thing we won’t get away from. And what does this mean? It means, you need find yourself –  understand yourself, love yourself and realize, in all seriousness, there is no life without you – so get that right, and everything else will follow… So whether you’re in Paris, or Belgium, or San Francisco, or Pakistan or someday- Africa. You, are still you – albeit with a two pairs of amazing Parisian fuck me boots and a parapluie from an ACTUAL umbrella store and a french hat… but of course.

And, what did this mean for me? It made me realize I don’t need to go all that far, to find something that’s actually inside me. Next time I go anywhere, it will be to find someone or something else. But I dearly thank Paris, for reminding me that what I love about traveling should never be confused with what I love about getting away. More on this another time.

Also –  French men in black trench coats are scrumptiously dangerous and a VERY good reason not to live Paris. Serioulsly, it maybe confusing here to know where you need to speak which language… ( i spent the first few hours in Paris, kicking myself for speaking Dutch, then finally switching to Bounjours and Mercis … then back to Dutch, only to realize I was still in Wallonia.. f7ck, I mean Merci – Dank u… shit. Whatever, I’m American, it’s true.. HI.) But, French/Belgian border can be defined much more simply if you just look at the men.. just a quick glance and you’ll know what country you’re in. And if you’re me and staring a frechman in a black p-coat, no words come anyway…   so no worries about the language barrier.

Ok, so mabye they’re not all so scrumptious… at least not the few I had the pleasure of being chatted up by – I am not that lucky. But this morning, I watched the most entertaining pick-up I’d ever seen in my entire life… here’s how it went down. I noticed the woman first… she was walking in front of me… her jacket bright blue, her sweater peeking from underneath it’s rim… yes, I was studying it closely as there was something about the way she walked that captured my attention. I didn’t see her face – her hood was on – only because I was watching her did I realize what was about to happen. An absoltely gorgeous young guy starts walking along side her – tilted towards her – and extends his hand… he is smiley, cheerful and charming… he asks her if she knows french and keeps up the pace… something about the weather and possibly where she’s going… I was right behind them and waiting for her to give him the boot – certainly I would have.

Of course, he was cute,  but I wouldn’t have wanted him until I’d seen him from this angle… she wanted him. She took off her hood – she’s asian –  and they walked giggling for about a minute, then he took her hand in his and clutched it warmly. Surly, I thought, she will tell him to go to hell now. But instead, she played along. If i didn’t know better, I would have thought they surly knew eachother…. they walked, hand in hand, rubbing shoulders… smiling… fast-paced – oh how I wanted to know how this story ends. But then they turned down a strange alley, and I thought maybe I don’t…  But here’s the funny part. If it had happened to me, I surly would have been uninterested… I point blank declined an invitation just a day before that, and the one before that as well… But watching this girl enjoy his company (ok.. and also lets be honest, he was HAWT… but I really don’t know if that would have made a difference for me)… and not shooting him down off the bat, gave me something to think about… something to strive for, perhaps… assuming of course she wasn’t an asian hooker (shame on me!)  I think it maybe time I soften around the edges a bit. Yes, Paris taught me that.

Paris taught me a lot more, but I think it’s time for bed…  I will say this though, I really really loved it… it is everything that everyone says it is… beautiful, grand, so french… just gorgeous on every level … and damn, those men in black p-coats. Oy.

But who would have thought that I missed school and studying and my precious Ghent… dorky Belgian boys and all.

My Russianness

I should really be studying right now…  But, last night something kind of amazing happened, so I feel like it deserves a few moments of my time to document it in history. Ok, so maybe it’s wasn’t like anything super amazing – at least not what you think. No, I didn’t fall madly in love with anyone and/or spontaneously awake with all of my SQL/SAS problems solved. But, I did decide that it was time for a little break. And, a few of my classmates and I put studying aside for a while and met up for a Russian dinner/movie night, instead.

I know I mentioned the Russian girls before, way back in the beginning – during my more pissy days. I do admit that there are still times when I struggle a bit with keeping the right russian/english ratio balance around here – but all in all I’ve managed to find good friends in them, so in reality it’s a kind of blessing.

It’s as if I’ve traveled to an entirely new place, only to learn to be my old self – the original, Russian self.

Every day of my interactions with them, I learn new slang words – they laugh at me for not knowing, ways in which I am indeed so russian, and of course a myriad of ways I’m not.

But as far as cultural journeys go, I’ve pretty much come to terms with the fact that this lesson is unavoidable and without coming to terms with my Russian past, I indeed can not go forward.

 

 

And so, we made pel’meni. Not from scratch of course, as that would take a long time. But it was amazing to see all the different ways in which we are alike – the foundation of our so-called sisterhood is based on the simplest of things…

ingredients for salad, so staple…  love of sour cream, universal…     our humor, so much the same.

We’ve already planned a date in the future to make Borstch – finally I’ll get an authentic recipe!

 

But, last night we kept it simple – we ate, we drank French wine and giggled over random things.

 

It was kinda funny though, I’ve never been to a dinner party where the topic of conversation ever ventured into the world of kasha making… or discussion of favorite stockings and boots. I have really found my people, haven’t I. Just add a future scavenge for orange eggs in the country side and life will be complete.

On the other hand though, there were of course those pesky differences. Those moments when I stayed quiet for lack of having the right words (most certainly how they are when we speak English) or when I’m being explained something because I’m not in the know… still of course, nothing but a foreigner.

But, who cares – foreigner or not, we see the world in similar colors and that comes with such a better view. I was reminded last night of all that it is to be Russian…   it is to be resourceful (Foil can do magic when you need it to), it is to be frugal (‘One Yogi tea bag can surly make three cups of tea’  – and you better believe we had CUPS and CUPS of tea) and it is to use laughter to diffuse any hardship that life can bring (There was much laughter). Indeed then I am Russian.

But of course, the best part of the night, the one that brought my entire life full circle it seems, is when we watched Eat, Pray, Love…. dubbed in Russian, NO LESS.  From the hilarity of cultural translations, to the idea that Julia Roberts was somehow Russian… and even more amazingly, that her story… is really my story… I found myself in the crossroads of my entire life – my past, my present and most certainly my future – all of a sudden – meeting in one place. In that moment, I was challenged to own my Russianness , reminded of my own journey that brought me here, and inspired to complete hers…   Of course, from experience as well as what the movie would suggest, it is true that running from things in this fashion is not always as productive as one would hope … and often leads life to come full circle, but by the time I get all the way back to the beginning – it will indeed be a fresh start. And in the meantime, I’m full-circle, back to the beginning, of being Russian and starting that journey, all over again.