Love dimensions

Ever since our childhood we are being called the best. Best in everything: painting, jogging, making airplanes and writing poems. The reason for this encouragement lies in the fact that our parents are trying to make us better by what appreciating us for what we already did. We call it love, they call it parenting.
My own experience has always been less reassuring. My parents, even though being the best parents in the world for me, never stated that I was the best sonet writer or the brighest music student or the most beautiful and charming model. It was right on the contrary  and I have felt discoureged and unmotivated no matter how good I was at that.
It was more than that. Everyone knows this least desired feeling of being compared to someone who is "better, smarter and brighter". Well, it doubled in my case where 
I have been competing with two older brothers, who were, are and will be better for my parents.
And its not just because they are older, but because of the stereotype they live up to. In my country a girl is a half of a man. No matter how hard she tries to be like her brother or just a man, she will be underestimated just because she is a not expected to be better than him.
A man in the patriarchal society has to always be faster, smater and simply better. And a woman either naturally stupid or she has to pretend she lacks brains.
And here is the question: What if I am better, faster and smarter and I realise it despite all the bullshit I have to come across?
Should I just hold my mouth clenched (shut) or speak up and say that I am better?
Easy example: whatever my older brother says my parents always listen to with  care and consideration, even though it might be a useless talk about his hunting/fishing which bores me to death.
Whatever I say, no matter how interesting and funny it is, no one listens, or they make me feel like a complete idiot by saying its irrelevant and not worth talking about.
Do they love me? According to my emotions after the time spent with them, NO.
But thats family. Here's another story. Boyfriends. What about them keeping the track of who they are actually dating. I actually had only one boyfriend who was genuinly interested in what I was doing with my life, bothering about me, giving me advice and praising my accomplishments.
He knows that I am particularly thankful to him for that, since this is something that appears to be missing in relationships.
Why when we date someone we dont show much interest in things which might be the vital source of living for this person?
So, my question is: when we love someone, how well do we know the person we "love"? Can you love someone just for who that person is, what he has achieved? Can we truly appreciate people for who they appear to be without trying to modify them?
And if you dont know/not interested who your beloved is, what do you love then? Do you love yourself in love? Or maybe you love the LOVE?

Martini on a Saturday night

In the world where my best friend is the laptop can I hope to find something more "real" than that? A brilliant home-made Versace without a flaw or a Johnny Depp black-and-picture without a hint of an unnaturality? Can I make anything real in the world where people screw without love and then marry without sex? Can I be an old-fashioned girl still believing that somewhere out there in the darkness of this misery I will find something worth living for?
Sometimes I ask myself the question which makes me wonder: are there any bounderies? Does all my life have to go straight according to the plan once made up in my head: the ONLY one, a great home, job, possibly kids and opera every Friday... Maybe not? Maybe the plan can maintain some alterations like marrying a homosexual friend, adopting a kid from China and watching opera on TV on Tuesdays?
Stiil thinking whether its better to believe in dreams and try to make them happen or make the most of what I can.
Great nights with fabulous friends in Kassel! No future! Only NOW!

At times....

At times like this all I can think about doing is smoke, drink and see cheap people... At times like this all I could think about in the past was riding horses, listen to a hell a lot of Sinatra and rearrange things in my apartment.
By now all I am doing is listen to Sinatra restless and unsure if it was just another "lesson" or it was a part of the "destiny" plan.
When your heart is dead you cant make your body live the way it used to. 
My heart was turned into a stone. My life turned into a turmoil. What else do I need? I have reached the point everyone reaches in life - I crashed it spectacularly into pieces. And what is left is emptiness and no place to go and no one to turn to and say the last good-bye and the last I really love you.

L'intimita

One of my favourite French novels narrates about a young woman lost in the middle of Paris where her life takes a strange route as she follows her mother who had disappeared from her
life years ago. That takes her life in a strange complication of events which all end up with her having found a man who seemingly was as sensetive, refined and out of the world as she was which brought them together and twisted the plot of the novel.
Another French piece of art, called "Amelie" actually made me cry in the end, having pictured
the most romantic story of all ever filmed.
What do they both have in common? Well, me and my falling in love pattern, which was so beautifully presented in both of them. This certain pattern has also shaped my own fantasy of meeting 
someone special, someone dreamy, sensetive, obsessed with something artistic, smart but 
humble and romantic.
A beautiful pattern brought up by romantic dreams of sharing something very special together, something no one else would understand. Its a desire of having those special intimacy strings which are just there and none of us has to fake the real intimacy, which is just there when you meet the right person.
How does it make you feel to meet someone like that and be able to share THE SACRED without
the fear of being misinterpreted or judged?

Love and being loved is truly worth living.
 

Happy Talk!:)

Recently, I have been asking myself one and the same question over and over again: How many of us think of happiness and truly enjoy it when it shows up on our threshold? Where lies the reason for us to postpone the joy of life and why, once it is on our threshold, we hush it away as a homeless beggar from the street?
Being a girl myself, I can tell, all young girls spend long sleepless nights passionately dreaming about being happy, being in love, being with someone who shares this love with you... But when it comes right into your hands, right into your life, it hardly seems to be true and looks more like a dream which will end up once the sun shows up on the horizon. Why being happy and having all that we have been begging and longing for is not wanted once we have it all?
Face that. Whatever you are dreaming about, longing for,  deep in your heart you are keeping the hope it will never come true. Why would you do that? Why would you punish yourself when you truly believe it must show up, for you deserve it and you know you deserve it?
Why when we get into a relationshup which seems to be "too good to be true" we cross the fingers in hope it will never go away, planning your break-up words in the meantime? Why do we not believe in happiness?
I used to know a person who would make up reasons for fights with her boyfriend when she felt their relationship was too still and uneventful.  What did her boyfriend do? I knew him as a very sweet good-natured guy who was good enough for any girl, who could appreciate him. Well, as the fights would go on, he was going "to pack his things"  and go, even though their passion seemed to me unbreakable. A month after their offcial break-up, which followed by a long series of long late night calls from her, I started to feel irritated at how that person could manipulate not only her life but also her exbf's life and now mine to get her suggestion that every couple had to suffer prooved. I am no longer in touch with this person for a different reason and as far as I have heard she keeps on having short affairs with guys whom I would not look into eyes, and you would call "bastards". This way, I know she satisfies her need of having troubles and fights on a regular basis and moreover, manifesting the world that "all men are real bastards, commitment phobics and emotional fuckwits".
If you are following the same relationship pattern, either with your partner or your friends, isnt it about the time to stop looking for worse and start looking for better?
When are you going to break the stereotype and say: "I love men, they are adorable!" or "Women are God's creatures!"
Dont let your happiness stand waiting for you to open the door on the threshold, just open it and let it in and host it with joy!

The BIG Decisions

Life is all about choices, choices which we make everyday and converted them into our daily routine practice. Should I brush the teeth if I am in a hurry? Should I call my parents when I feel like they are angry with me for not taking the course they thought I would take? Should I drink tequila when I know I have to get up early? Should I move to a different country and start it all over again? Should I have new friends? Should I just grow up and be responsible for my decisions? Is it the time to end up doing only mistakes and just "trying the life on"? How long does it take to seriously consider yourself as a grown-up person responsible for your deeds?
What happens after graduation? What happens when you are not certain of the nearest future of 3 months?
Most of the time I just dont want to make a decision or take responsibility still hoping everything is decided for me in advance. Most of the time I just hope there is someone Big and Experienced to help me out. But what if I am all alone? Scary.

My very true love

“I will call you later tonight”, his voice distracted hanging up. Thoughts rushing through my head: “No more in love”, “No more interest in me”, “Maybe another woman”, “Divorce”. The last one makes my heart sink and beat faster. Call back. Waiting. Long rings. Counting seconds. Heart beating faster. No answer. Answer-machine.
“Well, just another one”, me comforting myself, while making myself chamomile tea and lighting a cigarette. Shaking hands touching my face, getting wet and soft, my eyes, probably, red. “Gosh, why now?” putting on a Dolce dress and painting my face through the tears. “Why tonight?” Dropped the purse, forgot the cab number, left the mobile on the pillow. Missed call. Him. Smiling to myself. “Bloody bastard!” – I will never fall in love with a man again!

black holes and revelations

Women thinking of themselves as victims? Simone de Bouvour in "The Second Sex" insisting that men picture women as their slaves and friends of humans, men...
But what if its only us who build this picture of a weak woman not able to live the same life men do? What if its only comfortable for US to pretend we are victims when in reality we have made that clear for ourselves we are even stronger than men? The only reasonable explanation I have is the upbringing problem. And since the upbringing can be moderated it leaves hope for us to get closer to the Indian society in their advanced way of thinking and living.
Our position in the world, in the modern society is only and fully dependent on our own impression of ourselves and others. Its up to you whether you feel more comfortable in the position of a strong or a weak. Its your mind and your life and your world!

thoughts

Sleepless night. Yet again. In a vain attempt to get the feelings given from above and express them on paper.
Would anyone care to read that? Anyone who I care about, I mean. Would they think I am poor with syntax or too genious?
I admit it: everytime I write a piece I flash back on those who might be reading that piece in the future. Would they love me more or not anymore?
Does my writing actually influence my life routine? Does it disturb it in any way?

Актриса

Что просыпается в вашем сознании при слове «актриса»? неясная смесь дорогого парфюма, загадочно-манящей улыбки и шуршащего костюма? Кто она: видение? Озарение? Вдохновение? Загадка? Возможно, все выше перечисленное, собранное в единый букет, светящийся радостью и полный жизни как «Подсолнухи» Ван Гога.
Чем она так привлекает и манит? Что в ней не дает юным поклонникам спокойно спать по ночам? Что заставляет вас приходить в театр вновь и вновь? Уж точно не декорации! Это делает она одним своим взглядом. Она заставляет слушать себя, даже не прикладывая особых усилий! Она заставит вас плакать от смеха и смеятся над собой! Она уведет вас в свой мир, в мир театра; мир, куда возможно проникнуть только с ее помощью и только через нее. Она - царица в этом чудесном королевстве и вы с радостью позволяете ей властвовать над вами и вашими эмоциями! Вы любите ее. Признайте это!


(посвящено Ивановой Татьяне, одной из самых выдающихся актрис времени и моей хорошей подруге)

Sue Townsend's "Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction"

Marigold and I walked to the cathedral arm in arm. She was wearing a red beret and a khaki trouser suit. I didn’t say anything, but she looked like a paratrooper on leave. Perhaps she is subconsciously preparing herself for war.

Marigold rang early this morning to say that her parents had told her that I was an admirable young man. She sounded very happy. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had been awake half the night wondering how I could end the relationship.

The two girls of Two Gals ‘n’ a Van are not girls. They are strong-looking middle-aged women called Sian and Helen. My mother Had invited them downstairs to have a cup of tea. I could hear female laughter coming from the kitchen. I asked my father what the women downstairs were talking about.
He said, ‘Just women’s silly slobber – the price of cabbage, was Princess Diana murdered, will Hans Blix find any Weapons of Mass Destruction, cats, the change of bloody life, Sex and the City, and how men are not needed any more. Helen is trying to get pregnant. Sian has been doing the business with a turkey blaster and a bottle of sperm that’s been donated by their gay-boy friend.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Where did we go wrong, Adrian? We let them go to work, we let them be bloody vicars, they drive cars, there’s one who’s a captain in the navy, we bought them machines to make it easier to do their housework, but they still hate us, and they’d rather have sex with a kitchen tool than with a man.’

At 5.30 I asked Mr Carlton-Hayes if he would be the guest speaker at the creative writing group dinner.
He said, ‘My dear, what a shame. I’m hosting a drinks party for the neighbours this evening. The only person you’ll get at this late juncture is somebody who likes the sound of their own voice.’
We said simultaneously, ‘Michael Flowers’.
I checked the mumming poster. Flowers did not have a performance that evening. I rang him immediately. Netta answered and said that her husband was at the hospital, visiting Marigold.
I rang Surgical 2 and asked to speak urgently to Michael Flowers. The nurse asked me I I was a relation. I said no.
She said, ‘Then I’m afraid I can’t put you through.’
I was desperate to speak to him, so I said that I was Marigold Flowers’s fiancé.
I pulled a cracker with Marigold. The novelty was a plastic ring with a gaudy pseudo-ruby stone. Marigold asked me to put the ring on the third finger of her left hand. When I did so she shrieked, ‘Look, family, look, family, I’m properly engaged.’
How we all laughed.
Netta said, ‘I’m sure as the jewelry shops open Adrian will be buying you something rather splendid. Perhaps a large cluster of diamonds would suit you, Mazzie.’
I realized then that Marigold had not informed her family that the engagement was off.
A strange thing happened to me. I disassociated myself from my surroundings. I seemed to hover above the table. Voices sounded as if they were counting from afar.

I was mortified that it was not Coco Chanel who emerged from a taxi outside the Lawns, but Coco the Clown.
Marigold was wearing an orange fright-wig, a large checked jacket, hoped trousers, a bowler hat and flapping comedy shoes. She had completely misjudged the rules of fancy dress – that young women should dress alluringly. It was only women as old as Tania Braithwaite, who was dressed as a carrot, who could break this rule.

At 11.59 p.m. Pandora gathered her guests together in the living room and turned on Radio Four so that we could hear Big Ben strike 12. But nothing was hear. Radio Four was silent.
It was my father who started the panic. He shouted, ‘Iraq has sent a Weapon of Mass Destruction and flattened Big Ben.’
This was deeply ironical, since my father was at that moment dressed as the Iraqi leader.

Darren Blardsall said, ‘I reckon that George Bush is sort of like Mr Rochester and that Jane Eyre is a bit like Tony Blair.’
‘So who is Saddam?’ said Mr Carlton-Hayes.
‘Saddam is the mad wife in the attic’, said Darren.

long-distance calls

She had another cup of coffee. Her wide blue eyes kept on staring out of the frozen window, her cold fingers typing fast the thoughts crossing her mind. Her ear was gradually getting hot from the phone she kept on holding for hours. A talk with an ex persuading her to come back and start all over again. The errant thought: why? What for?
He seemed to want the sex only, “just like all men”, she thought. But did he really want to get back to her or was he playing with her feelings once again, like he used to do, like he liked to do that? There was no right answer for that question.

The conversation went on. He kept on being hard on her, saying: just say yes and I will come…or maybe you already have someone else? Tell me straight. Are you afraid of telling me that? You should not be afraid. Just tell me.

She thought he was too persistent and that even flattered her: he wants me, he wants me so much that he now plays my game. I’ll play with him.

Would that matter to you if I was? Would that matter if I said that I was married or divorced?

I would not bother a married woman. It’s a taboo.

Okay, so what if I told you that I was seeing someone? (her voice turning soft and velvet, she already knew that it was simply her tone that was driving him crazy, wanting her even more now, that even entertained her)

You made me curious. That “what if” made me interested. I even started thinking about that possibility. You know, previously I was thinking you were actually dating someone else because you seemed to be too reserved and cool with me lately. It was just a suspicion that you were with someone, not necessarily a “must”.

(Laughing) You men always look for the simplest explanations! Another man is never a reason, it’s always a consequence.

She now knew he was about to burst out. That made her feel powerful She was indeed powerful. Being a woman, she thought was the best role she could ever think of on that playground where men make up their own rules and think they lead the game fooling themselves and thus taking that thought too seriously giving up too quickly being too weak.
Did he want to simply put her in his foolish made up frames of female conduct? Did he want to say that he is a host and she is just a guest taking a chair in the corner? Is she a servant? Is she a side player to him? Or is that only about him? Is he simply afraid of her taking her power back?

That thought made him hurry in a yet another vain attempt to get her back to his prison, to his prison called “relationship” where she was a meaningless part of someone who needed nothing but a decoration or an entertainment, rather than a person with problems and concerns. That thought slapped her fiercely on face and made her collect the thoughts and emotions and say: I am not sure. I will think about it. I have to go now, I have another call…

Dinamarka, Denamark, Denmark, Danmark, Дания...

A tiny country somewhere in the north known for the Vikings, Hamlet and mermaid girl, it turned out to be unforgettable for me.
It was only 1 week, but what a week! Constant stress, life in the Markstrat world, loads of Danish beer, new friends, old problems, parties, fights, love and hate snow, rain, sun... There was everything, the whole life in one week.
I have never thought I could be so involved in a "game", which indeed seemed so real.
You eat and think about your competitors, you sleep and think about the business plan and a new strategy for the "Vodite" market. Despite the fact that for some it all may sound boring, we actually had fun!
Inflation? - happens!
Called "Coca-Cola" "Coma-Coma" and surprised why noone buys it - not a fatal mistake!
Advertisment will save the situation! No money for it? - ask Italo for the loan!

I want to say thank you to David for the life lessons he has taught me, Lorena - for help and inspiration, Selma and Charlene - for support and friendship, Sarah Kniel - for the opportunity to be there, Italo Trevisan and Xenia and Kennet - for faith in us and support, Keld Harbo - for the organisation, all the Germans for the their friendship and Ronan for the best speech I have ever heard.

I will never forget the time we have spent together and will never forget the main lesson Markstrat taught me: the human relationships are priceless.

Wintermaerchen

Cozy and concentrated reading the "Competition Policy" book, listening Mozart I suddenly turned my head to look out of the window and "Oh!!!" It is snowing! These tiny little grapes reminding me of home and love fly out from nowhere and struck the ground filling it with their presence, covering it with a yet transparent white blanket and filling me with joy.

Ich bin wieder schon zuruck!

Liebe Freunde und Freundinen,

Ich freue mich sehr zuruck in Kassel zu sein:)

I just got back last night and must admit that it was a real pleasure for me to be finally back and see all my friends here again and my lovely Frankfurt which is absolutely adorable now.

The weather here is so warm and sunny that you would never even think that its winter! In Russia, it was pretty much the same though. It never snowed and even if there was some snow it all melted right after the New Year's.

I was very happy to spend some time at home and see my family and best friends there. But it was ganz kurz fur mich. Leider. My mom got a bit overexcited and kept on feeding me almost all the time and to be frank I had a thought that they would not take me on board after that...

In a week my exams and tests will start and I am supposed to be done with them by the mid of February. There is a huge amount of work to be done still and hoffentlich I will not "die researching".:)

I also plan to do some travelling: in the nearest future its Magburg and Frankfurt, of course, maybe Hamburg also.

Ok, will go and enjoy spring coming right in the middle of winter! I have never had such a winter in my life. I guess its a grant for all the coldness I had to tolerate before.

Happy New Year!!!

Dear friends,

I wish you a very Happy New Year, which I hope will bring you a lot of luck:)
Be well and dont forget to smile!!!

Love,
Anna

my poems

Since some of my fiends wanted to read my poerty - here it is, though not all of it, but only the poems which have previously been posted in my journal:

В пепельно-белых кроссовках
В старой потертой избе
Жизнь меня вновь заключила
Ключ снова вверив тебе.
Холод, железо оковы
в мою впивается плоть.
Ты, как безумный сторож,
их крепко и туго зажмешь.
Блеск твоего острого взгляда
как пуля сквозь сердце пройдет.
Мне холод и вечную сладость
оставит навеи твой лед.

Валентинка

не красную розу, не сердце из шелка,

а лук я дарю -
Луну в облачении жесткой бумаги,
тот свет, ускользающий снова во тьму.

Бери.

И лук ослепит тебя слезами счастья,
раскроет тебя...

Так? Ведь я же правду говорю?

Не милой открытки ванильные ноты -
Я дарю тебе Лук.

Его поцелуй обжигающе-страстный
есть отпечаток того, что в сердце храним
сейчас и навеки.

Возьми его.

И желтые кольца его мы
с радостью детской в обручальные превратим.

Лук, рассекающий души,
разрезаешь ножом.


Далеко-далеко, по ту сторону ночи,
на большом растояньи
я в мечтах о тебе.
Лунным светом залитые очи
закрываются снова во сне.
Как приятно.
А может быть горько?
Как позволишь мне это назвать?
Мои песни в убогой каморке
не желаешь услышать и внять?
Я пою - лалала. Ты не слышишь?
Ну, пожалуйста, я же пою...
Закрывая глаза, я увижу те долины,
что во снах прохожу.
Я иду, спотыкаясь и плача,
и неровно шагаю - лечу!
Мое сердце разлуку оплачет,
но вернувшись, поставит свечу.
Я влюбленная, ты это знаешь,
но не сетуй на глупости слов.
Все слова - лишь беззвучные буквы,
очертания смутные из лунных снов.

nothing in my way

Like in Keane's song: Its just another day and nothing in my way...
The past week has been very successful for me: I had to hold two presentations, one in International Marketing Strategies and another one in Company Project. Both presentations went well, very well, actually. I have to admit I was extremely nervous about them and could not sleep a couple of nights. As I have mentioned before, I am the manager in the Company Project, so last week had to make the 1st serious human resourse decision and fire a person who, to my mind, was not properly doing his work.

After the hard part of the week, decided to award myself with a day of full rest and went to Göttingen. Its a university town, very nice and very German in every sense, unlike Kassel. There you can see the tiny streets full of flowers, typical German houses, German pubs and students. There is an immense number of students and therefore bykes, parked everywhere! Göttingen is included in the number of the best universities in the world. And I am proud to say that one of my Economics Professors on Competition Policy is from the University of Göttingen.

As I have mentioned before I go to the gym, called Fitness Company, here. Funny fact, one of my professors (two German courses that I am taking)goes there with me. She also attends Competition Policy with me!

I feel relieved and happy these days! Mostly because I got myself a Christmas present - a Mango dress for the New Years!:) Now even Germans who talk to themselves seem to be funny and not annoying:)

home sick part 2 "depression" act 1

Last night I woke up with a strange fear that I have never had before: the fear of not getting back home, being destined to spend an eternity in Kassel. That was the worst horror dream I have ever had in my life. I started crying. No, actually weeping, like a little helpless baby without a mommy around. I felt so deserted, so unprotected that I couldnt help myself and kept on crying in the pillow, so none of my neighbours would know that I am weak.
Of course, I cant be weak! Not me! There are so many plans and projects. So much to want... and yet I dont want anything from life! Life here emptied me like nothing esle.
Every night I dream about my parents, dream about how I am gonna kiss them and be with them for only 10 f*ing days! I dream about my friends and remember the time that I spent with them, my happy moments of the past life in Russia and the time in America.
Why am I so unhappy here, if I was very happy in America, where I had pretty much the same problems and even worse life conditions. What was the key factor? Why is Germany so "foreign" to me? Is it something thats wrong with me, or..?
Also this damn f*ing bloody project, where I am the manager, which makes me responsible not only for the work being done, but for the people issues as well. Why the hell do I have to "encourage" someone to work? Nonsense! Is that me that I am so hard-working and motivated or others are lazy? Why do I have to make someone work? And I hate that, because it keeps me awake at night, every night until 5 in the morning, when I know that I have to rest, because I have to get up in 2 or 3 hours!
Is that not a prison? Tell me! Is that your dream? Well, then its my nightmare.

Все отнято: и сила, и любовь...

I guess there are no other means of explaining how I feel but Russian poetry. I would like to make a statement: I loved Russia, I love Russia and I always will. Whatever happens my heart will belong to this place. I dont care what people say, I dont care if someone doesnt like it as much as I do, or judges it for the past or for the present.
I miss you, my lovely, my adorable, my greatest in every way country. I miss its kind, honest people. I miss my family.

Все отнято: и сила, и любовь.
В немилый город брошенное тело
Не радо солнцу. Чувствую, что кровь
Во мне уже совсем похолодела.

Веселой Музы нрав не узнаю:
Она глядит и слова не проронит,
А голову в веночке темном клонит,
Изнеможенная, на грудь мою.

И только совесть с каждым днем страшней
Беснуется: великой хочет дани.
Закрыв лицо, я отвечала ей...
Но больше нет ни слез, ни оправданий.

-Anna Achmatova