Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Ginger.

I peered at the girl standing in front of me on the train. 9:20am on Monday. She clutched a white leather Coach handbag for dear life, her face flooded with tears. I looked at my own reflection in the train door window - fuzzy only just dried hair, splats of make-up, I Hate Mondays Garfield t-shirt, tattered and torn but way loved Kira Plastinina handbag hanging loosely over my shoulder.

Clearly, 'Coach handbag girl' had spent more than the 40min I did to get ready this morning. On my way out of the train, I handed her the pack of tissues I had in my battered handbag, presuming, that had she had any, she would have used at least one by now, evidently being in rather dire need of one..

Don't get me wrong - I've had worse days myself and I wasn't feeling that great this morning either.. So I wasn't really judging.

I have been feeling a lingering feeling of dull pain and anxiety - teamed with a few memories and some nostalgia and topped with a bundle of dread. All that.. And a lingering fear of being disillusioned.

Yeah, 'disillusioned'. I don't want to go into detail about that before it actually happens though. Albeit I'm somewhat hopeful it won't but more doubtful that it won't.

I think even the word itself is somewhat frightening, because it deems what you've been living and believing true, merely an illusion and thus you get disillusioned.

Anyway. This comes on Tuesday morning now.

That very evening, I felt kind of like the girl looked. At least my thoughts rushed back to the image of her in just a few seconds. I was angry at myself for even being affected by what was said. How dare I be, sort of feeling, as though I haven't been hurt enough by this, instead of developing some sort of immunity to the subject, it continues to cut me deeper.

I found myself peering into the candlelight at dinner until my eyes somewhat hurt from the bright light. And upon being asked if everything is okay, I realized that of course it is, everything is fantastic. Albeit the issue is right there.. Between the candle and sofa - Me.

These are my thoughts, fears, anger.. Sadness. There's nothing to be done by anybody, there's just one thing I've got to do.. Or not do rather, I have to not react. It has got to be sincere apathy and the simple acceptance of the truth: what was..was, and what will be..will be.
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Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Something So Satire

I can't begin to explain this in a way succinct and concise enough, but I can try to talk about it.


You see, at the age of 23, with a child who is 3 and a half, a dozen countries visited, several destinations seen - some of the world's most famous capitals. School and college behind me .. as well as several, as one may want to call them 'serious', exclusive, long-term relationships.


What am I getting at? Something simple, I have been in countless situations, countless times and thus, now I tread knowingly and carefully.

As of last year, it took just one decision - that I wanted to be the only one, in someone's life - in return for someone in particular, being the only one in mine. Maybe years ago, I would have never chosen, that what I willingly launched into, as I have had to face fears in this relationship - fears of loss and one-sided love, that I had not yet been able to fathom. Perhaps, if it were a slightly different time and/or place, I wouldn't be where I am today nor would I have, that, what I cherish so much these days. I want nothing else - this is what I had decided within the first days.

Yes, I see it through a prism of that - 'what I had decided', 'what I want(ed)' - striking forth, knowingly, that I am placing myself as an obstacle, in another person's path - their path of happiness, I had decided to become a thorn. A bitch? Yes, I've been called that, but I have always said, that it is indeed my own clothing, that's closest to my body, I will wear and care for only it.

Regardless of the number. Every person in this world is a number. Someone is the first. Someone is the second, some are third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth ... 100th. One shouldn't care, which 'number label' received, upon entering a person's life - what should matter most, is being the only one and the very last - I must remember just that. I must not hurt at this.

Some time. Just a little more, will show a lot. I wait, a part of me dreads. I can sense something cruel coming my way, because my present and my future is being looked at, from a prism, of someone else's past, but when we love a person, we love them for who they are, which must have stemmed from who they used to be - but the line is drawn so boldly, when due to the celebrations past, you no longer celebrate your present and in return, there shan't be anything to celebrate in the future, will there? 

My biggest fear, is that.


A little more time. A little more patience. A little less hurt, a little more silence - a lot more understanding, a lot more love.

It's a little difficult, because I remember so well, all the ways I've been hurt and exactly how, as well as by whom and the reasons why. I'd wanted to burn those memories for a long time. Only instead, the wanting to burn them, turned into something that was burning me inside-out from inside, just a little bit more every day, until I stopped wanting to feel anything altogether.

Then: a new day, another time - different years.

Other choices, mistakes deemed experience, lessons well learned.

I know how to love, and I know how to very well - I know how to keep loving, even if I feel hurt.

I don't know how to lie; in lieu, I know how to remain silent.

I know how to stomp my foot loudly; I know how and when to say what I want in par, I don't know what I need.

I know how not to hurt and I know how to forgive;  I know just as well, how to be venomous and even better, I know how to hurt.

I know how to bite back in a flash yet I know it's best to forgive.

I know when to hold hands and when to push away.

I know how to make evident in the best of light, that what I have. I know not to run. I know how to turn a page and I know how to adapt my signature.

I don't know if what I know will be enough.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Shrimp and Zucchini yellow curry

So, one dinner party, my boyfriend improvised and created this fantastic recipe, that has since become somewhat a necessity in my weekly regime.. otherwise I feel groggy, lethargic and lose the willingness to live ^-^Anyone who sees photos -always- asks for the recipe.. so, here's "Talisker's Shrimp&Zucchini Yellow Curry"


  • 3 shallot onions
  • Handful of basil
  • Yellow curry paste
  • Shrimp
  • Zucchini
  • Coconut milk

Serve with Jasmin rice.

Fry the onion until transparent, throw in the curry - mix (there is no exact measurement to the curry, it's according to taste, I think my boyfriend usually uses about 75g).

(me making it for the first time)

Once a more or less even paste, throw in the coconut milk - let simmer.

The zucchini should be sliced into inch long rectangles. He uses a mandolin (which I wouldn't because that thing scares me >.>)

Throw that in, amount of zucchini is also according to taste, I think he often uses one big one.

Let simmer again, finally throw in peeled, medium sized shrimp (ideally, that had been butterflied prior to cooking) .. simmer until shrimp and zucchini are cooked (shrimp that hasn't been pre-cooked tastes better). Serve with Jasmin rice!

My interpretation of the end result (his is usually prettier!)


Other interpretations of his have included adding diced tomato, also a win.



His:



























Nika's take on the recipe:
"Wazzat?"






















"Uhm?"
























"SPICY!"








Loves it!




Thursday, July 7, 2011

White Nights

I sat in the train, peering into the eye of the person that had insulted me twice by that point. Coyly, to a point of where I was certain, that my boyfriend might have not caught it. Even if he had though, I knew this would have been my argument to fight out if need be, as for lack of better expression - I was the only person out of three, who had beef with the man across the table.

I forced myself to let the two incidents pass. The third time however..

I sat silent for three seconds, contemplating whether or not I'm a bigger person. All the time, staring him straight in the eye, at the resemblance I had grown to feel utter disdain for and in lieu of turning the other cheek..

'There are two of us talking, only one is an idiot, and it isn't me, so don't talk to me as though I am one.' I spat back at him, not shifting my gaze. I watched in satisfaction, him sinking into his seat, eyes now fixed into his iPad, ultimate recoil.

A few days later we made ammends, the train ride back to Moscow was neither awkward, nor did his behaviour repeat throughout the trip, which in turn justified my remark.

More importantly.. The trip.

It wasn't so much about the city, that stayed brightly lit as though it was early evening even at midnight; or the daytime activities of browsing through galleries at museums; or the fanastic restaurants - it would all mean next to nothing if it hadn't been for him.. For being with him. If I didn't have him..

One evening, we shocked the waitress by ordering four desserts.. This was at Terrassa.

Another evening, we showed up practically unannounced (having called and asked about an available table got turned down, we chanced it), dressy casual, we marched in at 10pm.. Getting tended to by possibly the manager herself - an ironic twist of events. 4 appetizers, a grilled seafood platter and gorgeous desserts later, Mansarda was deemed a success story!

Albeit the trip had indeed been fun, I was relieved to get away from endless traffic and hordes of tourists.

As for the people.. Gssh, that's a whole other story. The bigger fraction of women there dresses so badly that really, it's a charity case.

So there you have it..

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