Runaway Bride

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I had this dream today. I was in this big old villa, because I had to get married. There were all these unfamiliar people and in-laws, who I couldn’t recognize. They took me to a changing room, and gave me a choice of the things I could wear. I tried a few of them, and they were all uncomfortable: there were transparent shirts, and colorful tunics and none of them were “me”, none felt right. Finally, they gave me a beautiful white skirt. It was humongous though, really wide and heavy, with a few meter long train. People were waiting downstairs, but I realized I forgot something, so I went searching for it through the house, getting lost on one of the floors. I could barely squeeze myself through the narrow doorways and I couldn’t find a way out. In a rush, I was getting tangled in my own skirt, thinking, “Oh God, people must be waiting for me!” When I finally came down to the marriage hall (or altar or whatever its called) there were almost no people left. Everyone just went home. And to my embarrassment, I realized that my white skirt was stained all over. Why was I pleasing all these people when they didn’t even care? Why was I wearing what they told me to wear, when I didn’t even want to be there in the first place?

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Dare to follow your dreams

 

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I remember when I got this post free card, I was about 12, but already firmly set on the idea that my dreams would come true. I used to look at it and think, this is what I would want my life to be like: surreal, rich with experiences, creative. I wanted to live multiple life times in one. I wanted to create a life of my dreams.

And then, as if often goes, life has gotten into a rut. There was this race to finish high school, then uni, then to find a place. All the insecurities that people and circumstances have planted in my mind, about how I should live and what I should do, started to take root. I was lost for a really long time. I think probably my entire 20s.

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My grandfathers poetry..

Вот эти великолепные, пронзительные стихи, Иван Савельев – поэт, прозаик, и по-совместительству мой дедушка – посвятил мне еще в 2005 году.. Я нашла их на отрывках бумажек, и решила увековечить, пока время не стерла эти строки.

 

Сапшо

Любимой вничке Дашеньке в память о Пржевальском

Дни как соты в улье. Улей

Принимается душой.

От июня до июля,

Все Сапшо. Сапшо. Сапшо.

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Черным вспыхнула душа…

Черным вспыхнула душа —
Гематит ночной,
Стальным холодом ждала
Поезд проходной.

Он промчался мимо вдаль,
Впереди — гудок, гудок,
Темным ветром обдало,
Сердца ляпис, лепесток.

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The search for meaning

I’ve sort of been in a state of artistic melancholia lately (perhaps because of hopelessly dark hours of the year, which I’m spending behind my computer screen, sipping cold coffee). Because of my current life situation, the existential emptiness has really hit me with a triple force this time. It has never been easy going through some life altering changes, and being in between cultures, countries and jobs made it even more difficult, but the recent events of my life have avalanched like a rockslide, crumbling all at once: my family left abroad, I finished uni, moved of out my favorite town and ended up in a horrific, ghetto place, which I called “meth-lab” because of the meth guy who used to live there before me (see my other post). Writing my book for these many long months, being pretty much on my own, without a community to support me or even a desire to do anything was an up-hill battle kind of experience. I often wondered what it means to be human, how much an environment has to do with who we become, and who I am as a person. The isolation from the outer world has come with a price of continuous mental breakdowns, flip outs, depression and what not, but at least I have learned some valuable lessons in life, such as gratitude, acceptance, persistence and finally, following your dreams. I have realized that life is precious and of course, it is very fragile. It is the moments of solitude which often force us to confront our fears and worries, and after I finished uni and ended up in a vacuum of my silverfish infested flat, without going out or talking to any for days, I was suddenly confronted with this heavy as lead, horrible question, “What is the purpose of my life?”

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