History of Time of Sorts

Long, long ago, before there was even sand in the hourglass, there was a teeny, tiny dot, so small it was virtually invisible -- that was presented to you as a gift.

At first, puzzled and perplexed, you thought it was a joke. Yet, trusting and inquisitive, your intuition led you to accept it and, before long, to carefully examine it.

And lo, after becoming extraordinarily teeny and tiny yourself, you found there was an entrance of sorts into this little treasure, in the form of a long and winding path. So inside you went, through the densest grove of ancient, moss-covered, bending oaks you will ever see. And before long, you found a shiny, gold, old-fashioned key that had been left upon a large, rounded stone, as if especially for you.

With key in hand you proceeded down the path until you arrived at a massive gate. Just above it there was a handwritten plaque for all who might pass beneath it:

"Welcome to the Jungles of Time and Space, Where nothing is as it seems, yet all things are possible. Should you ever feel lost or weary, Forget not from where you have come, And follow the signs..."

Peering between the wrought iron bars, you could see the entire Milky Way Galaxy and a hundred billion galaxies beyond it. Your thoughts raced, your imagination ran wild, and as you raised your key to the sturdy, reinforced lock, slowly slipping it in, and gently turning... there was a sudden flash of light and burst of sound. Whereupon, seemingly light-years later but, in fact, no longer than an instant, you found yourself in the most beautiful human form, living on the most beautiful little planet, having a wonderful life, a wrinkle of curiosity on your brow, reading this very Note, right here and now.
Talk about a sign -
The Universe

Love is...

when you go to bed in boyfriend's boxers, hugging his t-shirt as a teddy bear...

On a Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, when the boy was up here for a visit, I was making French toast, when Mother Sugar walks into the kitchen, sees me at the stove, stops in silence for a moment, gives a chuckle and says “Would you like an apron, Miss?

“No thanks. Would you like some orange juice?”

“Oh stop it, Miss Domestic.”

The boy’s watching the scene in silence. Mother Sugar turns to him and says,

“Just so you know, she isn’t usually like this…”

“Yeah, you’d be lucky to see me toasting a bagel.”

The boy, who has had more than one occasion of seeing me by the stove, doesn’t seem to understand how funny the whole situation is. Later I tell Mother Sugar, that you know, I’m quite domestic, after all.

“Ok, then. Dinner is at seven tonight?”

“Yup. Don’t be late. I’ll heat up the pasta that I made from the box the other day...”

Catching the last grains of warmth...

Slowly, reluctantly I am starting to fall into a routine. Despite my initial dismay, frustration and disappointment and after careful consideration of all my options, including dropping out or transferring, I finally came to realize that at this point the most rational thing I can do is stay exactly where I am and finish what I have started. Not that the issues that I have with the program, the school itself and the educational system in general are going to go away, or I am going to feel less of a conformist – merely a realization that with all things considered, including costs and benefits, staying here is perhaps the best option, especially since I will be out of here after the end of the academic year, only six months of internship away from getting the damn degree.

So now I’m getting sucked into the routine. Classes, assignments, midterm exams, group meetings here, community meetings there, lectures, seminars… I’d say I’m busy, except that I do not feel like what I do on daily basis is important or matters on the grand scheme. I’m merely going through motions without much excitement or motivation. I am not very productive, despite the fact that I’m on top of my classes; I don’t accomplish much, contrary to what my grades so far can tell; I feel like I waste too much time, sulk too much, watch too much TV. I feel like I am constantly trying to keep my academic life separate from the rest, I feel as if the rest of my life is somewhat on hold, and I’m here, merely biding time.

I feel like I’ve been biding my time for way too long. The past three years have been nothing but continuation of a transitional state, one temporary stay after another. It’s getting old, or perhaps it’s me who’s getting old and am tired and in need of permanence, stability, shape and order, less uncertainty…

I feel in constant conflict with myself. What I seem to want these days overlaps with what I need; where I seem to be moving towards to seems to not be where I want to be. It’s been a continuous, repetitive theme for quite a while, regardless of my daily routine. I am starting to forget what it is like to live in the moment. I feel like I’m starting to forget how to appreciate my day. I am starting to forget what it is that truly matters and am falling for promises for some distant future that I’m not sure I even want…

For now it’s the routine – school, classes, assignments, meetings here and there. I am, in a way busy, although none of it is either all that exciting or important in the grand scheme. And even if I know that the smartest thing for right now is to stay exactly where I am, the smartest thing may not necessarily be what is best for me.

Before I can even start thinking about development...

“I will never forget the look of hope on the face of the farmer, as I watched him sign the loan agreement and handed out the loan in the amount of two hundred dollars. This would help him repair his old Soviet tractor and buy seeds for next year’s crop. He was happy. So was I. This was my first loan disbursement during the month of internship at FINCA Armenia. Since then I have seen the same expression of hope and gratitude on many faces, which has been the best reward in return to my work and the greatest source of inspiration. I do believe that it is possible to make a difference in the lives of people, however small the efforts and changes might appear at first glance.”

I applied to Brandies with a genuine desire to learn about development. Ranking among the best in the field, the program offered an alternative, “holistic” approach to global development issues, covering a wide range from poverty reduction to global health, to environmental protection to sustainability. At the time my knowledge of “development at work” was based on observation rather than first hand experience, and likewise, my understanding of development was more intuitive than based on existing theories and approaches or backed by empirical evidence.

I was driven by belief that it was “possible to make a difference in the lives of people, however small the efforts and changes might appear at first glance. ” I also felt that those who are more fortunate bear a certain responsibility towards those who are born without their basic rights and opportunities. To me development meant creating opportunities to those who are born without them, as further rephrased by one of my professors as “development is expanding human choices.”

By the time I got to Brandeis, I had read, if not significant, at least certain amount of literature that turned my aspirations to hardcore interrogations, my desire to learn how to achieve development to skeptical “why do existing approaches fail one after another,” and “are there any alternatives other than numerous attempts to achieve blueprint, universally applicable models that act more like band-aids than true solutions to existing issues?”

As I delve deeper and deeper in existing challenges facing development, I am overwhelmed by array of issues that arise as I attempt to answer even one single question. The misadventures of development practitioners in the field during the past decades, as phrased by my beloved Bill Easterly, leave little to no hope or reason to adhere to any given approach or method. Even more so, in the course of time, seemingly simple and well defined development objectives have been becoming more and more obscure as the attempts to overcome them are meeting bigger and bigger obstacles.

As reluctant as the field appears to be to admit its shortcomings and ignorance when it comes to achieving worldwide development, it is becoming obvious that if you don’t know what works, chances are you have little to nothing to teach about how to achieve development. The most you can do is to critique the past approaches, learn from past mistakes and search for alternatives that may not necessarily guarantee any tangible result. However, the first step in even trying to move towards development is to accept the fact that we are, initially, ignorant in the field and do not know how to achieve development, as our failures indicate, as opposed to pretending that we know what we’re doing and giving far reaching promises such as Millennium Development Goals stand today.

From this viewpoint, I cannot help but consider the moral implications of my choice. Medical students, before starting their practice, swear under oath to do no harm. There is no such oath for those practicing development. And yet, at this point it only feels as if we’re the blind trying to lead the meek, without stopping to question whether we’re doing good or making things even worse. Do we have the right to treat social policies as experiments of some kind and thrive to achieve development for the sake of development only without stopping to consider the lives we’re aiming to alter? Do we have the knowledge? Do we have the strength? Do we have the ethical right, even if our intent is driven by nothing but goodwill? Is our intent driven by goodwill alone? Is goodwill alone enough to try and accomplish something that’s rooted deep into centuries and challenges such basic fundamentals as justice, equality, basic rights and needs?

The hardest part of this journey is not the academic work (or in my case, the lack of challenge that I’m faced with these days). Nor is it the professional pressure or genuinity of my intent. It’s not even the over increasing complexity of social, political and economic challenges that the field of development faces. The hardest thing, as this point is finding answers to the ethical questions, without reconciliation of which I do not think I’ll be able to go on.

Doris Lessing Wins the Nobel Prize for Literature

Doris Lessing, "[the] epicist of the female experience, who with scepticism, fire and visionary power has subjected a divided civilisation to scrutiny," according to NobelPrize.org., wins the Nobel Prize for Literature, 2007.

Perhaps my most favorite writer of all times, whose books have impacted and shaped me like no other literary work has done. The Golden Notebook my one and only and all time bible to free womanhood is perhaps one of the greatest analysis of the forces, events and phenomena that shaped the post modern world depicting conflict at every level of fragmented society as we desperately fight and resist the limitations of human condition.

It makes me extremely, ecstatically happy to learn that the prize went to her, one of the greatest visionaries of out times.

For full stories, read here and here.
* Photograph courtesy to CBC.ca

This is actually starting to get a little scary

Only yesterday, through sobs and tears I mumbled, half legibly

"When you want something so badly and you don't get it, it hurts so bad that you stop believing that you will ever get anything you really truly want..."

And this morning:

Actually, Nika, it's not that you want stuff that you don' t have, but that you want stuff that you think you don't have.

And the best way to change this is to begin thinking that you have it.

"Oh, there's my electric, fully loaded, 2008 Habitron cloud maker!!!"
The Universe

Are you playing with me, Universe?

Seriously, first this:

Talking a lot about something that bothers you, Nika, is a pretty good sign that you've got something huge, and profoundly liberating, to learn.

Whooohooooo!
The Universe

and then...

First, as a child, it seems like the entire world is there for you and you rush to drink from its every cup, sometimes wondering to yourself how anything could ever be more fun.

Then, as you grow older, if you're observant, you realize much of what you enjoy was made possible by the contributions, work, and labor of those who came before you, and you're taken aback, disappointed even , because with maturity you can now see cracks in the façades, imperfections in the details, and 10,000 ways it could have all been done better.

At which point, folks typically choose one of two paths: Spend a lifetime lamenting how far from perfect things are. Or, to one degree or another, roll up their sleeves and pitch in.

And should they choose the latter with gusto, dear Nika, they will come to know, to the core of their sacred being, that the differences they might make in the world cannot be made by another. And then they will discover the answer to their often-wondered childhood question.... That the most fun one can have in time and space comes from making such a difference, and that the joy derived from serving is 10,000 times that of being served.
At your service -
The Universe

Ok, i get it, i'll stop the bitching now.

I have been quiet for a while. I have also been down, depressed, disappointed, frustrated and apathetic about this whole school thing (and not only that, but that’s a whole other topic for discussion that I won’t go into at this point). I guess I am really having trouble with adjustment – but it’s the adjustment of my expectations rather than getting used to my new surroundings that is giving me the pains. I do not like the program – to put it as simply as I can. What on paper promised to be an academically rigorous top level education, in practice proved to lack challenge and be as full of bullshit as everything else. I’d follow Tamara’s advice and try to create my own learning path in this whole schooling process. In fact it looks like the only thing I can do in order to survive the next two semesters or so. And yet, at the same time, I cannot hold down the whole “what the fuck” question – the somewhat petty, but at the same time rather tangible and legitimate concern of mine – the financial cost. To pay a fortune for what does not hold to its promise? Am I simply paying for the name rather than quality? Am I buying rather than earning this degree? Surely it’s not groundbreaking news that education is some kind of business in its own way – but can’t you be at least a little subtle about it?

At this point I’m not sure what to do about what seems to cause me such great frustration and pain. Of course I could always quit, go back to Richmond, or home, or anywhere else for that matter, get a more or less satisfying job, do something I’ve always been good at doing – the mundane, repetitive everyday tasks, without expecting any immediate rewards. Or work for a non-profit, grassroots, community based development something or another – honestly, I don’t even NEED a degree to be able to do that – so what the hell am I doing wasting time and money?

But then, what little rationality I have insists that I give it at least another month or two, bite the bullet and go on, finish what I have started because, just like my boss told me– all I need is a piece of paper saying that I’ve got a degree, I’ll be better off with it than without it. But then, I have to question how good I am in playing along the pretense game and how I will feel about myself when all is done and finished. A hypocrite? A conformist? A hopeless cynic? All of the above? I do know bullshit when I see it. I recognize it from miles and miles away. As hard as I try, I cannot quite ignore it – at this point it’s only a matter of further exercising my skills to cope with it.

Maybe I will, after all, get something out of this on top of master’s degree – the perfected skill of coping with bullshit that can always come in handy in all aspects of life. Will it be worth forty grand? I guess only time will tell.

Mother Sugar asks me how I like the house so far. I tell her that I love it.
“What is it about it that you like?”
“It’s very artsy. Colorful. Open. Warm. It has such a positive vibe to it.”
She agrees. Then mentions that the reason she’s so curious is because at my age she would never live with a woman of her age. I tell her that one of the reasons i chose the house was her. She’s amazing, what can I say?

The house itself is very nice. It has a feeling of a home – something that i have been missing for a while. I am not sure whether it’s because of the all female household, or the way she has set it up to be, I love the warmth of this house. I feel safe here. Somewhat sheltered,

Mother Sugar has hosted several kids from my program. One of my roommates, an African queen from Ghana, is in my program as well. Mother Sugar knows so much about the program that she deserves an honorary degree for her indirect involvement and the amount of support she provides to the students.

We often talk about development. She listens closely to my skeptical and somewhat gloomy opinions about the state of development today and in the past. She finds them depressing. She says I sound different from all the other kids who seemed to be on perpetual high of goodwill. She says that I make her think. She thanks me for that. In her turn she asks me what the hell I’m doing getting into this… I tell her that I’m driven out of my biggest fear – the fear of poverty.

“Have you seen poverty from up close?” she asks.
“I have,” and I tell her about life in Armenia in the 90s after the Soviet collapse. She listens closely. Asks if my family is doing well now. I tell her that they’re all right.
“They are paying for your education, aren’t they?”
I look at her as if she’s in sane, at the same time realizing that there is no way in the world I could relay to her how impossible and outright lunatic is the idea of my mother supporting me. In her turn, she looks at me in disbelief.
“You know, my first impression of you was that you come from a wealthy family.”
Other than one of my bosses’ endearing mocking about my Persian princess attitude, this is a first. I am not sure how exactly I can tell her that it is beyond the attributes of wealth and poverty that I could even start to describe my background to her.

Mother Sugar tells me that she’s lived in poverty herself. Raised her kids in poverty in Israel. Looking at this woman, who seems as American as one can be, I have to wonder what her story is. Still most of it in the dark, I have a hard time putting the little snippets that she told about herself together - New York. Israel, Washington DC, Boston…
I wonder how much more there is to it behind this cheerful woman that reminds me so much of my own mother.

Our conversations leave me with a feeling that we share a new level of understanding, one that reaches beyond our genuine liking of each other, similarly radical political views, innate skepticism and intolerance of any kind of bullshit.

Somehow I feel like this year with Mother Sugar is going to give me a whole lot more than what I will learn at Brandeis. And I am extremely grateful for that.

After having been to classes for a full week, I can finally take a break for a minute, and make an “assessment” of my current situation.

I am starting to realize that I came to Brandeis with high expectations and the wrong attitude. And at the end of the week I can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed – still unsure whether my disappointment is unreasonable, or reasonably justified. Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions. Perhaps, it’s not the program, but my own ambivalence and attitude towards it, perhaps I am being arrogant, ungrateful, impatient, or maybe all of the above. I do realize that I should be grateful to be here. I do realize that this is a privilege. As the program director said in his opening speech (and we all know how to take these speeches seriously), I am, after all, among the lucky few, among the elite… How many people in the world have access to primary education, let alone graduate school at such fine academic institution? How can I not be ecstatic when I am so close to that shrine that I made graduate school be?

I am, in fact, surrounded by young professionals from all over the world. I am guided by mentors who have several decades of experience not only in academic field, but in the real world. They all have been there, right at the very grassroots – in gutter and squalor, in desert and jungle. My own adviser is the founder of the program himself, who’s been all over the world, and led and directed multiple programs within the giants of the industry. My professors have held similar high ranking and respectable positions… Our inspirations are shared, our dreams are encouraged, our academic aspirations rewarded…

Day in day out classrooms heave with our joint goodwill, compassion and empathy, arguments flare with bright ideas and passion… Reading materials encompass the finest ideas from all over the world, to serve as food for further thought… This is my element, right here, in these classrooms, among the bright and accomplished and young and inspired… And yet, by the end of the day I feel as if I have been let down, disappointed, lost…

I did, after all, come here with highest expectation to find not only shared compassion and good will, but in search of excellence, highest academic excellence that takes nothing for granted, tolerates no givens, when even the most obvious, apparent, almost axiomatic notions are questioned, challenged, dissected. Excellence that can no longer afford naiveté, excellence that looks beyond the accepted, traditional and takes the uniform thoughts to a completely new level of seeing, reasoning, understanding…

So far I am yet to come across such excellence.
For now, I have to wonder whether my expectations were, in fact, unreasonably high. Perhaps I did turn the idea of graduate school into a shrine of some kind, an almost impossible shrine that only very few can reach… Perhaps, what I am looking for is not to be found here, in this fine academic institution or anywhere else, for that matter.

Yet, what I am feeling now is not just disappointment. What I am experiencing is Holden Caulfield syndrome of some sorts. Despite my excitement, my blatant admiration of the new faces that I got to meet in such a short period time and my initial inspiration with such high reaching and noble ideas, what i see and hear is something old, familiar, too subtle and elusive for me to be able to explain, yet tangible enough to be felt with my backbone – the fake… false, carefully guised undertones that creep in every time professor pauses to cough, every time a question is left hanging in the air in the pursuit of the next. The game of pretense. The old, familiar game of pretense… None of this is serious, none of this matters, coined phrases thrown back and forth, clichés, technical words that have become so common that they have lost their meaning, recycled, repetitive ideas that are being served to us on a pretty plate like an exotic and fabulous dish…

It’s going to be a long year…

I already want it to be over. Hence the bad attitude.

And yet, I need to remind myself, before I move on to my next assigned reading, that it’s not just the Master’s degree that I’m here for. Although the last thing I want to do during the next year or so is to question and challenge everything that’s served on my plate, I do need to exercise a certain sense of reality and healthy dose of cynicism to get through this…

More on this later…
Back to the dissecting table – my daily readings, that is.

Busy

I know, I know, it's the familiar, untelling, knee-jerk answer that you hear left and right, but at this point, this is the only thing i can come up with, until some of the chaos of the first week of classes, unnecessarily complicated registration process and just getting used to my new surroundings and schedule finally settles down. For now, here's an excerpt from my bible of everydayness by Amy Krouse Rosenthal on this very brief and limited one word answer - busy.

How you been? Busy. How’s work? Busy. How was your week? Good. Busy. You name the question, “Busy” is the answer. Yes, yes, I know we are all terribly busy doing terribly important things. But I think more often than not, “Busy” is simply the most acceptable knee-jerk response. Certainly there are more interesting, more original, and more accurate ways to answer the question how are you? How about: I’m hungry for a waffle; I’m envious of my best friend; I’m annoyed by everything that’s broken in my house; I’m itchy. Yet busy stands as the easiest way of summarizing all that you do and all that you are. I am busy is the short way of saying —suggesting—my time is filled, my phone does not stop ringing, and you (therefore) should think well of me. Have people always been this busy? Did cavemen think they were busy, too? This week is crazy—I’ve got about ten caves to draw on. Can I meet you by the fire next week? I have a hunch that there is a direct correlation between the advent of coffee chains and the increase in busy-ness. Look at us. We’re all pros now at hailing a cab/pushing a grocery cart/operating a forklift with a to-go cup in hand. We’re skittering about like hyperactive gerbils, high not just on caffeine but on caffeine’s luscious by-product, productivity. Ah, the joy of doing, accomplishing, crossing off. As kids, our stock answer to most every question was nothing. What did you do at school today? Nothing. What’s new? Nothing. Then, somewhere on the way to adulthood, we each took a 180-degree turn. We cashed in our nothing for busy. I’m starting to think that, like youth, the word nothing is wasted on the young. Maybe we should try reintroducing it into our grown-up vernacular. Nothing. I say it a few times and I can feel myself becoming more quiet, decaffeinated. Nothing. Now I’m picturing emptiness, a white blanket, a couple ducks gliding on a still pond. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. How did we get so far from it? See also: Coffee, Stopping for; Crossing Guard; Nothing

So it begins...

A few things, while I have a minute to breathe, reconnect to the world, check email, make phone calls and jot down some thoughts, before I plunge headfirst back into day four of orientation at Heller School of Social Policy and Management. More to come I’m sure, for now, this will have to do.

• Where do Peace Corps Volunteers end up after they’re done with their two year service? Apparently, the SID program at Heller is the place to be – it seems like ninety percent of the Americans who are in the program (and believe it or not, they are a minority in an extremely diverse and colorful incoming MA student crowd) are returning Peacies. To take this further – what are the chances that you’ll meet one, let alone two of these amazing well-wishing, tree-hugging do-gooders that have just come back from your own country? Even more so, what if you even happen to have personally seen them on site? From the day one, when after being freshly inaugurated and sworn in, they crowded my favorite bar, making complete fools of themselves, i'd stumble upon them throughout the year here and there in ever corner of downtown Yerevan… A former PC groupie that I was back in the day, while conducting series of interviews with them for my still unfinished project, I actually ended up befriend a few (they are, after all, charming, and adorable, and totally harmless). And yet, Brandeis was the last place I’d expect to run into a former Armenia stationed Peace Corps Volunteer – but then, it’s a small world that makes room for even the most improbable encounters to happen.

• Among the many questions that I’ve been pondering upon for the last year or so that were directly or indirectly touched upon during the course introduction session earlier today: the ethical side of development as to who makes development happen, how certain development projects are created and chosen for implementation, who gets to decide which projects to choose and how to implement. The question being - do we (development practitioners) - or the developed countries, namely the West in general, have the moral and ethical right to make development happen - choose a project for a country or a region that we know little to nothing about without even considering the issue of participation and collaboration, thus ending up face to face with downright hostility from the locals and leaving the site shocked by their "ingratitude"? A dominating theme in the attitude the West that is prevalent not only in this particular field, but the entirety of US foreign policy. To come to think of it - can Western thought and the Western model be imposed to the rest of the world, with neither the knowledge, nor the participation, nor consideration of choices of those who live in the region?


• Snippets from introduction to Poverty and Assets – Poverty is a man created phenomenon that doesn't go away because certain groups happen to have vested interest to make it stay. Certain economists consider poverty as necessity, the driving force of progress – if this is so, capitalism does truly encourage the worst tendencies of human nature. Any comments?

• From introduction to Food and Nutrition – Food for Peace Program, a seemingly harmless and humane project has turned out to be one of the most harmful, if not downright criminal in the practice of aid that sends the agricultural surpluses of US produced wheat and corn to malnourished countries, in the long run has resulted in disrupting the already shaky local agriculture and bankrupted thousands of farmers. Due to a very powerful farmers’ lobby in the US, the US government has agreed to buy the surplus from the farmers, lest the excess supply should push the prices down, and dump it on countries that would rather grow their own produce, which in its turn would result in gradual growth and development of local agriculture. However, as long as the lobby exists, the program will not stop. Politicians of wheat and corn growing states that rely on farmers’ vote will not let this happen either. Speak about morality. How is it different from dropping a bomb on a given country?

• From introduction to Framework to Development – despite the fact that foreign aid has been in practice for several decades, it’s still a very young field in its experimental stage, where both practitioners, policy makers and scholars are trying to find applicable solutions to pressing global issues more through trial and error process than a unified and collaborative strategy (if it's even possible to come up with one). If that’s the case, why does the UN and other joint aid agencies make the assumptions that they will meet the Millennium Development Goals by the projected year of 2015? One has to wonder whether it is pretense, arrogance or plain ignorance or there is more to it that what “they” let us know?

Needless to say, I’m excited. And this is before even the classes started. Yet, the fact that they won’t let the incoming class register for courses yet drives me insane. On the bright side - I found out that I might just as well try to find a real job instead of shitty unpaid internships for my second year. As delighted as I am, this adds yet another important task to my already crowded agenda for the coming year, more on which will come later...

The last days in Richmond were almost surreal. Starting from the big storm last Thursday night that lasted all night and shook the ground with lightning and thunder, to the heat finally subsiding a little, to overcast skies and fog in the morning and the smell of fall in the air predicting all kinds of change, and the red brick of the houses looking brighter against the gloomy sky…

Running on Monument for the last time, through the mist of the early morning fog… Packing. Cleaning up… the trip to the airport…

Lisa came to visit on Sunday. I hadn’t seen her since I left Gainesville. That was an eternity ago. Seeing her, seeing myself, how much we both have changed since then and yet how familiar it all felt. How much at ease both of us were. The same welcoming feeling of familiarity. The same long conversations over coffee, the same musings of what happened, and what will next… Our past, our future, our plans and dreams…
She wanted to see Richmond, since I spoke so fondly of it. Showing Richmond to her gave me a chance to see it once again, all the favorite places that I will miss so much, the downtown and Shockoe Bottom to Boulevard and the Museum District, Byrd Park and Carillon, the bridges across the river, the Fan and Carytown… Showing these places to her felt as if I was showing a part of myself, despite the fact that I myself was so new to Richmond only a little while ago.

Finishing up the last little tasks at work. Trying not to forget to pass on the last little details to my replacement. Finishing up training. Hoping that I was leaving all these files in good hands, and yet for the first time realizing how good of a job I had done even having only partially applied myself in this work.

Leaving work was harder than I thought it would be. Although work itself is probably one of the last things that I will miss, it was hard to leave the place, especially after knowing that I’ve been valued and appreciated. It’s strange how throughout this entire year, after feeling so strange and out of place with my foreignness, ill fitted liberal ideas that I kept to myself, my lack of genuine interest when it came to real estate, to only partial effort that I put into my work, I suddenly felt welcomed, accepted, a member of an extended family that sent me away with genuine wishes and warmest goodbyes.

Almost all free time outside work for the last couple of weeks was spent with him. Playing, joking, being cute and silly. Cooking together, going out for meals. Watching Before Sunset yet again. Distracting each other. Planning future trips…

It wasn’t until we were at the airport when it hit. It hit hard. When I was about to cross the security check point. And every single tear that I had been trying to hold back for days, every sad emotion that I would distract myself from fell crushing on me. I cried through the entire flight. Listened to David Gray and cried. And yet, despite the sadness that still lingers with me and gets me teary eyed, I am so hopeful and optimistic … Looking back at the relationship this time last year, and even a few months back, I realize how much it has grown, how different it is from what once started as an undefined, equivocal, ambiguous relationship… All the uncertainties that I once had, all insecurities are gone. What I once asked for – continuity rather than commitment, is what I am finally able to see. I realize that I could not have been happier. That I cannot be happier now, from however many miles away… For now, it’s merely a distance of days, surviving time in short intervals: eight days, ten more days, two more weeks until I see you again. Soon. I promise.

А на последок я скажу…

This time next week I will be in Waltham. The time interval between now and then seems gray and fuzzy. Next Wednesday seems an eternity away. Once again I am reminded how multi textured (flexible) time can be, rigid in some occasions, fast and rapid and stretchable in others…Every day seems to have acquired a special significance. Yet, in the bigger scheme, it’s just another day, another week…

It still hasn’t quite clicked in that I will be leaving in less than a week. I’ve known this all along, from the first day I came to Richmond. Yet it is still hard for me to comprehend that I will be leaving. Perhaps it’s partly because I know that the leave is not final, that I will be coming back, in as little as three weeks. This time next month I will be back in Richmond for a long weekend, thanks to Rosh Hashanah that’s an official holiday for Brandeis. I am looking forward to these coming trips. Another one in October, one for Thanksgiving, a month long stay during the winter break… I’ll be here in February, in March and April…Yet anything after that seems vague and blurry… It gives me an uneasy feeling – the fact that I do not know where I will be in less than ten months, let alone this time next year.

I try to be realistic. Try to keep myself still, not to run ahead of myself, which is something that I have been doing a lot lately. I try to objectively identify all the options that I have. Likewise, be aware of all the limitations that are on my way. And for the first time, these limitations don’t make me feel helpless… Better prepared, maybe more pragmatic but not helpless… And yet, for the first time I ever remember myself, I wish I knew what was coming towards me, what the future holds for me. I once used to be the greatest believer of randomness, perceiving the human condition as our collective helplessness against circumstances that determine it all… Thus I never let myself make any far reaching plans, even in my wildest dreams and felt frozen and paralyzed within the bounds of my limitations… Lately I’ve been trying to look at things differently. Trying to believe that there’s always a remote possibility for even the impossible to come to life. Lately I’ve trying to look at things through the power of believing. Make room for even the farthest reaching dreams. And likewise I actually believe that it is quite possible that I find myself one day looking at Himalayas, strolling the streets of Prague or back in Armenia working on a documentary… Or back in Richmond, living quietly on Strawberry Street. Maybe happily married, with a couple of kids…

What makes it possible to believe in all of the above is the fact that I am the happiest that I can possibly ever be... It’s a feeling that comes from within. From the certainty of knowing of what’s important and what’s with me to stay. Those are things that cannot be taken away from me, won’t be left behind…Everything else, everything I encounter on my way, or happen to accomplish, will count as bonus points to this happiness. At this point, I am moving from point A to point B not because I have to, but because I want to… And that’s all that counts…

And now, only a week away from moving, only a breath away from yet another exciting adventure that lies ahead, I feel incredibly calm and confident. I am leaving Richmond with a peaceful mind, knowing that it will always have a place in my heart. And that is something you can’t leave behind. Neither now or ever.

A few things

- more as side notes to myself, in hopes of turning them into full blogs between now and the move, that is, if I don’t collapse of exhaustion, dehydration or pass out from excitement first.

• If I had a nickel every time I trained someone, or my take on summing up residential real estate in a few paragraphs, as my way of marking an end to a phase. I hope that after the next two weeks I'll never ever have to deal with it again… Even when I decide to buy my own house one day.

• Between Persian princess and street urchin, I will forever go down the history of R&C as the girl who not only politely corrected the boss that “No, Mr. R., it’s diphthong, not dipthong” but was also able to explain what it actually meant and illustrate it on examples. Big deal – even the dumbest student at Brusov knows this, and yet, the Boss-Who’s-Always-Right was not only impressed but somewhat hurt, as I shoved the dictionary right at his face and ended the argument with Subjunctive “I wish I were wrong…”, thus scarring the poor thing for the rest of his lifetime… The incident itself took place a couple of years ago, and yet up to this date the guy won’t stop bringing it up. Food for further though - you’d think that with such grammar background, I’d make a lot less errors on this blog but my short attention span has been a long established and documented fact.

• A baffled attempt to respond to an image conscious comment thrown at me some weeks ago, as in “You look great! Different.” “Different how?” “You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight. You look skinny now. ” Apparently the comment affected me more than I'd expect it to, hence the necessity to write a coherent piece on an extremely tangled and convoluted mess that weight related issues once used to be.

• Can someone tell me what’s the difference between a regular physical checkup and a school checkup? Apparently there is, since they’re billed differently and chances are that my current health insurance won’t over the latter. Which sucks – such a waste of year long insurance money thrown away for nothing. Does anyone actually need another long and drawn out rant of hostility and rage on how much health care sucks in this country?

• Is it just me or Starbucks has been brewing some seriously mediocre coffee lately? An observation of the last few months or so based on visits to several stores, including one in Boston and another one in D.C… On a slightly different note – as my coffee consumption dramatically decreases, my soft drink consumption increases accordingly. Between the two, I’m not sure what to consider a lesser evil…

• I have finally reached the point where I am mentally and emotionally done with Richmond. And yet, I find it hard to list every little thing that I will miss. However, I can firmly assert that anything south of the river or north of Broad will not be remembered fondly…

• As much as I hate winter, I am having a really hard time dealing with dog days of August, when Richmond seems to be the hottest spot in the whole entire East Coast, if not the continent intself (seriously, check weather.com, if you don’t believe me). At this point, frost bite and snow seem a much more pleasant alternative to this blood boiling, brain melting, suffocating hell. I do realize that I might want to reconsider this last statement in a few months. I think I need to move to a place like Oakland, or San Diego, or whatever happens to have temperatures of perpetual upper 70s, if for nothing else, at least for the sake of having one less thing to bitch about.

• And lastly, I still owe a comment to Tamara, and the promised reward, so hopefully, that will be coming shortly. Just to let you know that I haven't forgotten.
  

It’s August yet again…

My two notebooks have come to an end… Pages filled with scribbling, half sentences written in hurried, illegible handwriting, dark butterflies on the margins… Lists, random quotes, words underlined for future pondering…

The year in Richmond is in these notebooks. Two summers, fall, winter and spring… From the very first “Give me a day…” to frustrated “How long it takes to get better…” to affirmative “I need more definitions” to shy “I love you” to trembling “I’m afraid of randomness of circumstances” to reminiscing “this time last year… ” to wistful ”if only… “ to airy “I’m happy like I’ve never been before…” to restless “I have to go and see…” – this has been the year in Richmond. How ironic that both notebooks would come to their end when my stay here is coming to its own end…

I need a new notebook…

Yet I am reluctant to get one, just like I’m reluctant to write these days, as if I’m afraid of what might come out, afraid to voice what I do not want to hear, lest I wander off into a territory that’s better left untrodden…

My days are filled with little tasks, small deadlines, chores, must-do lists… I concentrate on them one at a time, trying to live in those moments, stay in those moments as long as I can, aware of every passing minute as seconds tick away… My days are full… My heart is full… at night my dreams are crowded… prophetic…

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for in the Golden Notebook… And yet, I’m at awe that the book still has that strong hold on me, just like I did when I first picked it up when I was barely eighteen, not knowing that the book would change me, shape me like no other book would… The divided self – in four notebooks, in hopes of bringing it all together in one unified golden notebook… I think of all the notebooks that I’ve left behind, scattered bits of myself left here and there…

I need a new notebook…

It’s August yet again.

I’m leaving the new notebook for everything after…