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)

The first day in M.

It is such a nice morning I was running across Arbat Street. Sun and calmness penetrated into everything.
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But yesterday was quite different. I had so much impressions and tiredness that couldn’t sleep at night.
The day started at the carriage among other passengers. One quiet student who read the textbook the whole road and other two who drunk beer and discussed their little lives. I shuddered with horror about transportation of my luggage. Three big bags and one small. But I managed to do it fast enough. I did it smart when wrote the road to the hostel down.
Hostel seemed me comfortable and friendly. The hostess smiled and saved the general positive mood.
I went to and fro the train station to get all things at the place. It was such a turmoil to move forward instead of tiredness and hardness.
I slept a bit at the bed. The dinner I had at such a nice cafe where everything was so European and liberal. (I can hear the interview with the employer) There were many beautiful stylish people and nonrussian stuff.
Going to the subway immediately I had a horror struck as I forgot my transport ticket and any paper for sketches. When I went to the need station there remained not much time for the road. I decided to go by bus, went to the stop and saw there two girls with canvas. How stupid I was to follow them and enter the other bus. The terror I got when it rode the other side was inexpressible. The whole way to the institute I treated myself as a bad organised panic monger. The air became dusty and cold, building – ugly.
But the funny truth was that I hadn’t been late much. In great hurry I crept at the workshop where students had already at the middle of the process. Fast enough I met the teacher and got the information. The friendly laboratory assistant gave me some paper. Strange but she seemed know who I am well to touch my hair. (artists are strange) And there I met Checkmareva as it was a film: her great amazement.
We talked at the brakes about all kind of things. And especially we murmured about the level of the students. It was terrible. It’s all. But this is not the reason for relief Vice versa. I felt a great pleasure in academical drawing though it is not a creativity. I was sitting in the front row (oh, how bold it should be) and was well observing. The teacher didn’t come to me to say a word. My impression about him wasn’t great: many vague phrases instead of concrete advice.
The institute looked like our college but little bigger or I just felt so with Nastya. We talked nonstop until her station. We had already disclosed our views on this town and St. Petersbourg our (more her) views on foreign countries. She amazed me with her limited views, it was like her only informational resource is the state chanel.
At the hostel I talked with the female neighbour. Her story helps me to puzzle out the lifestyle, the grin of this town. Until it’s compound, double sided. I have many thoughts but it is for the other post.