daily, reflection, senses

Note on the environment.

While I was cutting the onions I watched an old documentary about Pozner. You know, to discharge my mind. But during that time, the sharp contradiction I faced so often during school and college time met me again. My grandma went to the kitchen too and was washing and moving something in our three square meters, she was talking some rubbish and expecting me to answer something on that.

The image of Pozner’s early life in the upscale environment, educated people around and variety of tasks around made me feel envy again. Surely, my life is another story, but there is something offensive in looking at wealthy life. I won’t the beauty and freedom of such lifestyle but I regret I hadn’t a possibility to be surrounded by the better environment. And surely, there is neither excuse for me nor a reason for sadness. I just see how things are linked to each other. Past and present.

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daily, reflection, scribbling, senses

Reflecting at the cafe

So, most of the days I spend learning either history or social study and have nothing to do outside the flat. Sometimes as it’s been just now I go down the street to refresh my mind. That’s basically all I do.

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A month ago at my hometown, the mass cafe – McCafe was opened.  And today I was there again (it opened here) and did the regular thing I do at the public places – watching people. People are actually the most variable part of that cafe and the most important. Because it speaks for itself. Both times it was like a time machine into the past – talks and types of the girls around were surprisingly the same as it was many years ago. (I don’t mean a type of wear they took but sort of talk they had) While quantity didn’t change they got (I presume) that dump sense of involvement in the western world. An awkward pretty girl had done all she could (make-up, clothes, and location-cafe) to be like “them”. But the magic hadn’t happened. That wasn’t enough to immediately become a part of “that” world and thereafter be happy.  Faking felt around quite sharp.

The more time I stay here the clearer reasons why I was eager to move on become. There are no good or bad towns but suitable for you personally or not. Not a moral problem.

But at the field of the preparation, I’m (yes) diligent and hesitating. Sometimes I can legibly hear a teeny tiny voice speaking to me that’s it’s all a silly idea and I am not able to endure this all properly and will only decrease. I cannot imagine the whole study process containing a pile of information. Plus to this, I’ve got some creative ideas outside the institute’s walls. While I’m free I think easily. (But I still despise drawing)

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reflection, senses, trip

2/10. May holiday at home

That was the second day at hometown and home particularly. I was going to write every day but for the reason of tiresome, I hadn’t done it yesterday. These two days we were shopping across the town, we’d been at all the big trade centers and small old ones. Tonight I got that I could not see shoes anymore. My wishes are very concrete and understandable (which makes it more manageable at Moscow rather than here). I’d better overpay for quality and comfort than waste hours and hours in the temptation to find a needle in a haystack. However, I cannot be angry with mom by her hesitation and endless search.

My visit here emerged some thoughts about the capital town as a beautiful and blossoming place. I totally forgot how terribly boring the life here is, how empty the streets and how colorless are rare people. I have no idea where to go out and where to walk despite all the years here. People move less, are less diverse and calmed down in a bad way. There is poor history around here. I don’t know, it’s felt limited and narrow like shallow water where is nothing more than can be seen.  And it appeared to me not so evident from the Moscow point of view.

I thought I could hear myself better here but it turned out controversy, there is more noise of routine and narrow-mindedness than I presumed.

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daily, privite life, reflection, senses

good old Sunday evenings

So Sunday is losing its power above everything and concede a place for another study week. I’m in the usual for weekend’s evening after-bath mask. There is a good old comfort of Sunday evening which reminds me school time when we went to the bookstore with parents and made dinner with the noise of comedy show or news. I was reading much more than now.

But surely this day as a few before wasn’t congenial at all. Even today I went out of the room just for “not being in the room alone”. I had delicious noodles for lunch, bought two nice t-shirts at the Russian shop and a stylus for the phone. Even when I went down to the supermarket I could hardly be logical on my own (here we are! ) sadness. It went out of the lack of control over my own life on the day-to-day basis. There is no option of modification or deviation. I have to do what is to be done for the session. And it could be nicely endured by me if it wouldn’t take almost all the time with some dull connections and useless talks. I hate meaningless, and it’s the point. I must remember.

However, as I felt killing time was not my main reason for melancholy, the main one was a well-known sense of loneliness. How unique! My position of double life helped a lot in alienation. People aren’t dull, they see tribesmen. At the supermarket, I saw peripheral vision a known girl standing in the queue. It was like the invasion into my Sunday routine. I run away and hurried up to not to meet her again. Talks and smiles, you know. Nastya is quite happy in her successful private life in the new room. Which is nothing with me at all.

Certainly, I’m going to visit home at the vacation – it’s too hard for me to endure the whole time though I know it’s a good test. But, yes, it’s good to remove some things.

Finally, I cannot throw the study on the road and move forward without, I need to put it into the proper place, get papers and move forward.

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reflection, senses, trip

after SPb

I need to describe, to leave some pieces of evidence of lasted trip. Saint Petersburg remained in my mind as a dirty, dusty town with spoiled street and grand architecture. That was a relief to come back to Moscow and open the door to my room. My routine at Peter’s was totally the life of Nastya: her room, road to the work, habits, and friends. That was clear to me that my life, whatever it is, is much better than her despite her independence, personal life, work, and perspectives. I felt like my own problems, routines and dreams are more suitable for me. They are totally mine and this makes them the best for me. The best match you’ve watched is what you’ve played.

My joy of living own life allowed me to work with a lighter mood. I could really roll up my sleeves and do need. Whoever the teachers and course mates are. I surely got that being a visitor at the theater is enough for me. No scene construction, please (Nastya will work with it someday). The other thing I got is that Moscow is the best Russian option for me (yes, despite all gray people, traffic jam, and housing problem). There are so many spaces for walking and working and developing. Immediately, I began to appreciate my being here and love little pretty details which define this town.

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daily, reflection, senses

Damp Monday

This day could be called miserable by some unpleasant point which begun the previous evening. The whole night I tried as hard as possible to focus and get asleep while the roommate was doing something with the night lamp. It was truly troublesome to make me relax. She went the Saturday night and spent the whole Sunday lying in pyjama in front of the laptop. I, in contrary, had a very busy and active Sunday. But in spite of all my weariness, I couldn’t get asleep and, as a result, today I had circles under the eyes and some tension inside.

I wore the new clothes: light blue jeans and beige cardigan. I must be a joyful moment of beauty. But while I was hurrying for a history lesson, I felt something that every girl wouldn’t prefer to feel in the light jeans. Yes, that was it. Fortunately, the lecture turned out to be a review of pictures and artifacts which are mostly well-known for the art department. I could relax and utter the answers easily.

The way back to the hostel, one part of me guessed that it would be a scene. At the morning I found out crumbs at the kitchen table and moreover the tablespoon stained in my coffee. It was a decision to leave a note with a message kinda “please, clean up after yourself and don’t touch my coffee”. Simple isn’t it. But there was a scene which I didn’t manage to control as polite as it should be.  She assumed me blaming her for all sins. I was so irritated that the phrase “it sounds like an accusation” seemed me even on the way back utterly stupid. I explained her in a most impartial way I could – showing the real way of accusing and cleaning out my intentions and thoughts I wanted her to get. That was and still plain that she took offence and frowned even more. Ethical practice case.

At the way to and fro at the damp gray roads with dripping cars and trams (and everything), it seemed a day when one wants to give up all this stuff called life. When the walls, lifts, people, study look especially terrible.

But at the drawing, I laughed a lot and felt even relaxed for some time. Then it only decreased. The talks appeared illogical, impulsive and primitive. The sitter was out most of the time and I completely lost a zeal to draw hands and foot. I went out at three and on the way got that the roommate can be still there. It looked obvious. And it turned out so. She cleaned up one of my shelves at the kitchen and put there a plastic glass and a box of tea (instead of few cups and a stack of plates). I asked her openly whether she was offended and is everything OK. Her answer No was obviously unclear. Now she is lying in her pajama and, I perceive she isn’t going somewhere out. Not today.

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daily, reflection, scribbling, senses, to improve

fulfilling

It’s not as bad as regular Tuesdays are. Neither rush nor hurry, nor anxiety about the mastery. I just got up at the time and did my sketches, then read the cinema history textbook (which like a lecturer itself is not very linear). Everything is calm. But I feel that this calmness, this pure silence should be accurately fulfilled with proper content.

When I pay more attention than a normal student should do for history it reckons by me like a non-doing “right” things which include the major study. For some reason, the fear uttered by one sitter at the drawing lesson is still with me and it still has its impact on me. This is the fear of being noticed. Not good, really. As a result, I can be lost among other students and people and girls. The only seen mean by this is reminding you that life is yours only, and there won’t be any other time, any other chance for a living. People around don’t care, so you should care about being yourself.

It seems strange to me that I don’t work like crazy but sleep enough, go to the lesson, talk with people and basically ok. Maybe it’s a result of my confirmation with the idea that I won’t be applied this year and there is no need for a real try. But it’s not so. I must try cause at least it’s fun.

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