The whole night I could hardly sleep well – the wind was blowing out of the window even through the blanket. I was waking up despite all the tiresome in my body (sleepless night at the bus and the busy day of purchases) and idea I needed to get up with the alarm clock. Now I’ve sealed the frame and hope for the warmer night today. Nonetheless, I had overslept the first lesson quite consciously and had no pangs of conscience about it though it was Russian history.
The strange thing is to take the heavy bag with paper and pencils, go to the roads and traffic lights to study. At the crossroad, it immediately struck me that Moscow lives its own life either I got it or not. There is some special air which I can seldom feel and recognize. The mixed sense of routine, disorientation, business and diversity. The life which is going on without particular persons but the big system. Typicality and complexity in the same basket. It is sunny and warm and people are scurrying as any other time, any other day.
You know how strange it is to come back and find out that nothing has changed. At the entry to the department, people forth are observed and upcoming talks are foreseen. Small talks and my barely concealed reluctance to mix with them. Fake smile. But I frankly tried. No set had been done at the moment I came in. The teacher gathered us at the workshop and spoke to us about the program. As usual, he was very optimistic and confessed that every year the course becomes worse and worse, that we have bad drawing as we all had bad preparation at art schools and colleges. In a word, he hasn’t changed for the last month – the same grumbling dwarf. The only fruitful point I got out of his speech was the number and content of the painting sets at this term. Certainly, I hadn’t been amazed at all.
At the hall I saw the girls speaking with each other, one of them was Nastya and for some reason, I decided I need to come and say hi. The other girls were so much the same that I could only joke about that. They were complaining about something. The talk with Nastya and her friend Tanya was kind of formal, though it looked friendly enough. Some moment I saw clearly that Nastya is sort of dump. We discussed the difficulty to go by bus home and she insisted that as far as she had no problems with that it’s easy. Finally, I burst out and said something about mom’s unluckiness at the road and some of my own occasions. She appeared to me a bit self-confident in terms of narrow-mindedness (it’s not the only example). To say nothing about the manner to pull the blanket over herself and let people talk about her. But their company is quite safe for me and this is the major reason I’m with them. No provocative questions or soul’s excavating. It’s comfortable and safe, and regressive.
The lunch went alike all the Thursday lunches. The girls couldn’t change the tune and discussed unfortunate love affair. Quickly I left them and went upstairs to read the detective. About an hour I read it. At the workshops nothing had been changed, the girls were chatting, the models were going to and fro. I and girls decided to go out. So went back to the hostel with some naive sense of freedom (while The Economist at the table).
The early morning call by my mom made me get up. She was to enter the town. I did my exercises, make-up and all other morning routine. I was waiting for her at the entrance hall by the aquarium. Fast and easy were happened to be at my room where she could evaluate the coziness I made. Delicious regular breakfast with hometown sweets. There were some new jars at the fringe. Though I looked fresh my manners were closed and awkward.
The way to the visa center we were talking about all different minor things. The path led by Google wasn’t right because of the fence. Mom amicably asked the cleaner and he gaily told us everything. The yard of the centers was typical for any public service. The polite man at the entrance helped us to figure out what to do in the process which was simple and therefore not so magical as British one. My mind blurred away and I didn’t understand anything. Thank God, mom organised all that stuff – mine responsibility is the cultural program and logistic. So we were photographed (really bad), fingerprinted (not impressive). As for me that didn’t have such special spirit as real consulates have (that was just the visa centre).
We went out with some lightness by done task. As for me I felt the hardship inside. Some terrible inner pain which reason was in her desire to pay for my study and continue all this tiresome stuff. I kept silence while we went through the grey district to the metro station.
During the way we decided to go away at the center and visit my favorite cafe. The exit wasn’t right but for some reason we found the other cafe of that label. That was a place, menu and time I like mostly. The spirit of young and fresh center with deep background. We both took the cream soups and I added the cake, she added the Quiche. That was as noisy and vital as usual. I could feel so free and easy to think up ideas and talk about positive things like Czech beer, dreams coming true and the historical spirit of the central district – the only place where Moscow is actually Moscow. The conversation was like close friends’ meeting at the coffee shop. Evidently I didn’t want to finish that, but we had to. For some short moments of drinking black tea with tasty curd pancake I even could feel happiness. While we were waiting for a bus she noticed the way people wear here. It totally depends on the district.
At the station it turned out that the next bus was at six this is why she decided to put me on the bus and wait at the train station. That was cold and uncomfortable. She said I looked sad, so I was. I didn’t want to go to my district, to the hostel, to the institute, to the tasks, to all those people. She offered to buy a ticket and ride with her. But I took a bus and moved to the North with some music. En route it turned out to be the accident with three cars. As we stopped I decided to go to the hostel instead of the meaningless lessons and went though the park.
Those were stones inside my breast, stones of low self-esteem, doubts and fear. I’m twenty-two and I don’t feel like I know who am I. Does anybody know for sure at all?
The roads were dry and clear, they were almost ready for spring. Before we went to the balcony this morning and everything had been covered with show. And since the very morning it still has been snowing.
I went outdoors not because of free slot at the time table but of huge lack of concentration. I made stupid mistakes and yawned during the whole process of writing so called essay. The pathetic topics which are far away from the real questions started with How. Today I’ve catched myself automatically writing hackneyed phrases on moral issues. People, it doesn’t help to make pupils more ethical!
Many ideas for next three months rotate in my mind as a squirrel in the wheel. A bit fruitless I mean. Mom says I think not about that. But the process of preparation has already came to extreme point. But I begin to think that the whole life can be the process of going to one “exam” to another. Life will gone anyway. I wanna say that there is no reason to be cycled on exams.
The last visit to the ophtalmologist is done. And I’m really glad about it and about my good recovering. I was worried a bit about my condition because I had daily headache lately. But at the overrun corridors I made an impression of a cool girl with english homework and translator in hand. This is how I tryed to fence myself. The stir could bother anyone. Anyone so cowardice as me. My sight was checked and they directed me to the same study. There was the same woman who operated me. She hadn’t recognise me which relieved me a lot. But then she defined me by trembling. I was quiet calm (I presumed so) but my body still didn’t agree to be examined. What to say? My scattering and concentration do not matter. My eyes are OK.
At the town there are everywhere policemen like some parade or presidential arrival should happen (amendment: Prime minister). But the rest of the town shone with all possible colours and I am to thank the eye drop for this super effect.
I had very colourful dreams this night. All about the end of the world. The first one was about the alien’s invasion and the total genocide of major people. We could see the bloody heaps of bodies and the gas cameras from their space ship (in deep chrome colour). We were seated there to be sent on the new peaceful planet. The second dream occured at the Earth where people immigrated outside to survive. Trolley buses did not ride at the deep dark streets. It had to be the big end for everything in that world.
Such dreams are results of the time in my own life and mixture of news at the main channels.