More Than Deserved

2012-02-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

Liberty

There is liberty in being honest, when we face the world without the pretense. Most of the time our culture and experiences teach us the tricks and we lose our true selves, in a race of competing with others, in longing to be accepted.

We cant always afford ourselves to be just what we are, and we often get stingy to offer grace to others. There is that place for the change, when we have to learn new things, when we have to improve the things we already learnt, and always we have to strive for the better - but honesty should not be our price.

Honesty is not only to tell the truth about our feelings and matters of life - it is also a defining position from where I stand equal without demeaning the other and say that she had failed me but there is another chance, it is not finished, there is always hope, there is always spring after the cold winter. It is also ability to accept my own failure, to mend the broken trust and bare the consequences.

Life waived in with honesty is liberating, I don't have to be frightened that I might loose my step and get confounded by the puzzle I have created. I walk and breath freely, when I remember the three core-values: love, honesty and forgiveness.

2012-01-10T06:18:00.000-08:00

Ears That Hear

We all need someone in our life who can listen to our story, some days we are ready to tell our story to a wall. The deep desire is more than just narrating to a person; we look for compassion, understanding and acceptance. We also look for a companion on our journey, and some lucky of us find it in our spouse, who is both a friend and a partner, who can hear our heart, who is strong and able to stand with us when we are weak and fearful.

May we never find ourselves so lonely that we have to talk to a wall.

2012-01-06T06:06:00.000-08:00

Me and My Spiders

I have spider webs in my kitchen, on the window grid, between the rice-cooker and a cup, in the dish rack and near the stove. Take a wild guess:

a) I don't go to my kitchen too often.

b) Spiders build their webs over night.

c) I breed spiders and sell them during the festive seasons to raise money for my further education.

2011-12-31T09:54:00.000-08:00

New Year

May it open up the unexpected mercies and goodness,
May wisdom guide us in the decisions we come to make,
May joy and laughter fill our hearts and mouth,
May health be an extra gift,
May compassion and grace flow from us,
May God be our focus,
May we trust in Him.

As we add up one more year to our lives, may we count the favors of God and may our hearts remain thankful.

Let the New Year come!

2011-12-01T03:11:00.000-08:00

Eucalyptus Walk or Surviving Among the Ten Million

Our family discovered an eucalyptus grove not very far from our neighborhood. It takes us quick twenty minutes to reach the place in a car along a well paved road.

I love the surrounding area - it has vast areas of vineyards, fields with carrots, cucumbers, pumpkins, wheat and ragi, and some flower fields. A small beaten up road curves and leads into a small hill, going further through the village and the chicken farm. It was quiet a surprise to discover this place - a treat- being in such proximity to the stuffy and overcrowded city.

We walked along the road, admired the pink and yellow flowery bushes and the chameleons hiding on the branches, little lizards sneaking out and jumping on the grass and away from our looks. I could hear the birds twittering and my sons' happy voice and singing. I think even this little child of mine finds it refreshing to run through the mud, find a centipede, splash the rain puddle and rush away into the grove between the lean trunks of the eucalyptus trees, chasing after the dinosaurs.

I am enchanted and disarmed. I think my heart grows cold in the city, I build up the walls to protect my inner city, that feels like a little town, shanty house, a tent, and I am scared that the mega buildings will crush me, squeeze me and ask me to vacate, and once again I will have to pick up my suitcases and move to search for a place to settle. I like the word 'sedentary' because at this point in my life it gives me a sense of security, rest, stability and comfort. At the same time - it seems I am on a move to reach that state - in my five years of marriage we changed four houses, shifted between USA, Kyrgyzstan and India. It was all fine and now I need that rest and peace. I want to settle, even if it is for just a short time.

On the left side of the road, close to the orange temple, I saw two graves, probably that of the priests who attended to the temple. Nearby was another fresh grave covered with garlands of flowers. Usually I am not 'encouraged' or inspired by the death markers but today it also brought some sense of peace, in the landscape of all that surrounded me and I was not troubled or disturbed, on the contrary, it gave me some food for my thoughts.

We reached and as I walked through the grove I breathed in the tang of the soil mixed with the pungent eucalyptus scent. I lifted my eyes to the grey evening sky and felt my cup was full to the brim, I stood in that quiet moment, to connect with myself and strengthen the poles of that little tent of my inner self. After a short time, as it was getting dark, I could leave to go home to continue in a crowded city.

I am glad I found my hiding place, a sacred place where my cup can be filled, a sanctuary where my soul can rest and recoup.

2011-09-10T07:00:00.001-07:00

It is proven I am not a party type – I get giddy from the loud music, shimmering lights and many faces. Moreover, I am not a crowd type either, even if it is in a slow motion. I love different faces, the expressions, even the opinions and worldview, but rather in a different setting – in a movie or a book, in a story well told, in a picture, in ethnography.

My personal preference has always been one individual at a time – and usually I am a sticky type – like I don’t like to change my dresses too often, I prefer to eat at the same restaurant and order the same meal, so I also like to stick to people: to get to know her, to spend time sitting on a beach or in a park on a bench, to take a long bike ride along the water canal, to take a casual hiking to the waterfall and have homemade sandwiches. I like to take time to listen to the person’s music and try and hear what she likes to hear in the composition. So I am a sticky type. I like to stick through the years, through the misunderstandings and through the birthday celebrations, through the divorce and re-marriage, through the laughter along the way and through the years we have to stay apart, through the long distance and fewer phone calls, through the gossip and through the dew.

I still think friends can’t be many and a friend is a blessing from God.

Hopeful for a friend.

2011-07-24T06:05:00.000-07:00

If I Ever Could I Would

I fell in love with this world - its brilliant and vibrant sounds, resounding in the life around, so vivid, so colorful, so precise and yet full of mystery, filled with surprises, at times predictable and yet with unforeseen turns, that can break my heart, make the head spin, loose my breath...

If I ever had a chance again to go back to the many instances of moments lost in my indecisiveness, if I ever could redeem the opportunities I deemed far of my reach, if I could ever get a chance to once again walk in that field - then I would- walk as if it was the sacred soil, would fill my lungs with the air of that moment and I would soak up the every little bit of sound that surrounded me that beautiful summer evening, right before the sun kissed the sky its last goodbye for the night, spilling its red and orange and purple over the green hills.

If I ever could I would, talk over that last conversation that we had unfinished; not because I want to prove that I had a point and it was best, but because you matter to me;

If I ever could I would...

2011-03-29T02:05:00.000-07:00

Loss

We lost so much when we could have had it all.

2011-03-19T14:58:00.000-07:00

YOU HAVE GOT MAIL

There are few memories that make me feel butterflies in my stomach - a postman and letter mail era memories are one of it.

I remember the lady but not her name, who carried newspapers, journals and letters for us. I remember her huge brown leather bag hanging over her neck down the shoulder. Some days she came by the bicycle. Sometimes our neighborhood dogs chased her and other times they did not bother.

I ran to her each time it was around the time to bring "Murzilka" for me. It first was published in May 1924 and Soviet children around the Soviet Union could enjoy its illustrations, stories and poems. I loved to read the stories about nature and cultural practices of other regions. I also enjoyed the puzzles and other entertaining tasks."Kolokolchik" was also one of my favorites. Later when I was a little older I educated myself on "Sem'a" magazine and laughed at "Krokodil".

I loved to receive letters from my extended family in Belarus, cards for the New Year, the 8th of March, the 1st and 9th of May ,and the 7th of November and the 23rd of February. I liked to collect the postcards and in summer with my friends we sat on the grass and looked at each other's collection, sometimes we exchanged it.

I also was very expectant to hear from my brother who was in the soviet army in Hungary and managed to send me chewing gums along with the letter! Sometimes we had only the letter inside with the smell of the chewing gum - someone on the way -in the post office- took the gum. That was a tragedy for me!

I loved to take a 30 minute walk with my mom to the post office, in the snow with the slide, to pick up the parcel from my aunt and uncle and cousins. They would send us dried blueberries and dry pork and few Belorussian dresses for me. I still can remember the smell of the parcel on my dress. I loved it!

I remember one summer when I went to a pioneer camp for three weeks six hours away from home, and I received at least two letters from my mom saying that she missed me a lot and hoped that I had a good time and updating me on the neighborhood kids. I cried as I read and kept the letters for the longest time.

I also remember that when I grew a little older and was around 9 or 10 years old I had a correspondence with a girl whom I met in Issyk -kol resort. She lived in Bishkek, the same city, but those days we did not have a phone and so we wrote to each other and it was also special. Near our house we had a big blue postbox, where our boys through the rocks and stick too and I felt so bad! I even had a fight once, trying to protect the safety of the letters.

My mom also was a post-woman. I heard some of her stories. It was not an easy job and one had to walk for many kilometers. One day mom told, another post-woman was discovered to dump the letters into the canal because she was too tired to carry the huge bag. So not everyone got their letters.

I feel nostalgic of the post-man era. These days communication is so much faster, so much easier and so much casual that sometimes one does not bother to open the letters because there are just too many to read.

Do you think we still have the hearty letters these days? And what are your memories of the post-man era?

2011-02-27T04:04:00.000-08:00

YOU

You satisfy me.
Let us take day at a time.

I think I started to get to know you better.
You opened up your world to me.

I do not feel lonely because your presence fills me in.
You make me laugh, the important part of my day.

I love you.

2011-02-01T22:18:00.000-08:00

20 years.....

I still remember it so well the day I felt very lonely knowing you wont be there for the tomorrow and the rest of my life.

Many times through these years I thought of you. I wondered how it would be and what you would say when you knew I graduated from the university, went to CO and other places, got married and gave birth to my son, I think you would like my husband and would spoil my son. Many times I thought you would smile and would be proud of me.

Even though some of my memories are fading away, I still remember the warmth of the relationship and love we shared.

I so miss you, Dad.

2010-12-20T22:33:00.000-08:00

Character, Tastes and Colors

I am convinced that Indian exquisite garment -sari- is not for me, such a foreigner. It proves that one has to possess a patient, non-resisting character, which the Indian garment requires for its care. It is a piece of cake to wash it, but it is tricky to dry it on a line (unless one just drops it down from a wall to hang) and it certainly time consuming to iron it. I love watching Indian women wearing this fine piece of clothe, but for now, I personally reserve to wearing pants and shirts, and western style dresses.

2010-11-19T05:43:00.000-08:00

2010-11-19T05:12:00.000-08:00

2010-11-19T04:52:00.000-08:00

2010-08-31T04:29:00.000-07:00

Imprisoned

In anger we slam the doors so loud that it echoes many years down the road;
we put a lock that no one can find a key to it, we remain the captives of our own offense and hurt.

2010-08-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

On the wings of the wind

I could feel the wind catch my heart cry and carry it away, as if towards God. I stood there, under the old weeping-willow, and sensed I was not alone any longer.

The rain drops fell on the ground and I had to run off, but with my heart expectant this time.

2010-08-15T04:27:00.000-07:00

Indulging

Eating plenty of water melons and strawberries is not a sin.

2010-08-07T07:12:00.000-07:00

I miss you two

Even today as I think about both of you, a sad sigh comes out from the depth of my heart.

2010-07-12T08:03:00.000-07:00

2010-07-12T04:34:00.000-07:00

May PEACE rest on your mountains, Kyrgyzstan! May the joy flood in the valley! May God keep you, my land!

2010-06-20T05:15:00.000-07:00

Life is good when there are no power cuts.

2010-04-26T13:11:00.000-07:00

titles

My husband calls me a grandma when I start 'micro-managing'.

2010-03-14T13:28:00.001-07:00

Sweets

Even Raffaello cannot compare with the lovingly tender touch of a mother.

2010-03-08T04:38:00.000-08:00

Celebrate

The orange fire ball of sun is rolling behind the cloud curtain and I love the smell of the purple chrysanthemum in my kitchen! It is a good day today!

2010-03-07T23:40:00.000-08:00

It is the Spring, the Life, the holiday itself.

Happy Women's Day ladies!

2010-02-28T13:38:00.000-08:00

Leave it

Let's keep it as it is. Now.

Like the river that froze under the layer of ice, let us leave all that we had and built through the years, in trust.

Let us not make things what they have not been, no need to colour leafs once they have fallen.

Let me keep the memory of those good old days, where it all was simple and true.

Let us not give life to words that might hurt of things that no longer matter, we each have our way to go, our life to live.

Nothing will take away thankfulness for the things that you have given, for the things you have taught, for the time you have invested, for the faith you had and shared, for the kindness you showed, for the patience ...

I don't hold you or anything against you. You are free. I know you are in good hands and it makes me happy.

2010-02-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

Stolen Cherries

One of my favorite months of the year has always been May. I loved it in childhood because in mid May we finished school year and the long awaited summer holidays started. I loved May because of its still fresh pleasant weather with the warm rain, with the green grass and trees in white and pink bloom. I loved May because of the first home grown roses and strawberries for my birthday. I loved May because it was the start of my mischievous summer adventures.

Denis, Sasha and I planned our night raids. We associated for a season because we trusted each other – we trusted the secret, the fast feet and ability to run, and finally ,that we would cover for each other.

Ten houses down the road, our neighbors had a cherry garden with few other fruit trees. We invaded their garden because the cherry tree was fast to ripe, before the market was flooded with the fruit, their apricots were sweetest in the whole of the neighborhood and we knew that if caught they would forgive us, because after all – we were neighbors. And so we went, two boys and me – under the moon light we climb the trees and pluck the cherries, stuffing our pockets and filling our plastic bags. I still remember my dress pockets wet and colored. Soon the dog starts barking as we giggle and whisper to each other. Of course, the neighbor has to come out to check on the dog and the garden.

The lights come up and my heart beats fast as I consider whether to run or stay and hold my breath and cherries. In a moment I decide that I can jump off the tree, and I do. I ran as fast as I can, catching up with the boys and hear the swearing of our neighbor and the dog chasing after me. We make it safe and hide in the lilac bush and sit there for a while, trying to catch on our breath and giggling like crazy. I get overwhelmed with shame; my cheeks turn red and burning. As everything becomes calm and the lights go off we go to the water pump and wash the cherry to later enjoy it on the bench. It is way late after nine, and I know it is my time to return home; in a hurry I eat a bunch of cherries and the rest I give to Denis, because I liked him and he was rather a brother to me.

Certainly no one knew about the event but three of us, a couple dogs and our neighbor.

It was later that I confessed to my mother that I had been robbing the cherries. She was kind enough not to punish me, but she was also honest and carrying enough to instruct me. And I – I was committed to mischief. I only dreaded the dogs chasing after me.

2010-02-05T03:20:00.001-08:00

2010-02-02T03:22:00.000-08:00

Not everything is my business

In some matters of life I choose to be ignorant.

2010-01-12T11:46:00.000-08:00

It's a pity

It was not easy to give up the relationship, because it took years to build it,
but given the state of affairs, it seemed better not to hold to it tight.

2010-01-07T04:09:00.000-08:00

There is no wisdom without humility, and humility comes with brokenness, if we allow.

2010-01-06T02:24:00.000-08:00

The Last Flower Walk

The road was blocked with the people - most were the guests and relatives with the sullen faces, who threw the flowers on the ground and directed the traffic. Others were people from the street, strangers, gapers, shopkeepers and residents like me, who came up close to the road to say the farewell to a stranger. I even don't know if it was a man, a youth, or a mother.

India is a very colorfull, many-sided, a country of contrasts, cheer, sounds and smells.
If it is not a Hindu festival, a marked Muslim holiday or a wedding, or a religious procession, most likely it is a funeral with the firecrackers, shouts, drums and a trumpet.
In the noise of the street full of buses, honking auto-rickshaws, bikes and cars, shouting man and drums - my heart found a very short moment of silence, where I pondered on the life and death.

We, as a human race, may represent different political views, religious beliefs and practices, may have very opposite perspectives on life and how things should work - but these two- life and death - are the two constants that will always keep us so similar, and so human.
This diseased stranger was carried on a truck, completely covered with hundreds of flowers, with a toll flower frame over the body, that touched the electric wires on the streets and became the cause of the traffic jam.

I don't know the story of the stranger, nor the cause of his death, but I said good-bye for his last walk on this earth.

I turned back to return to the yard of our Petra Park residence. Life kept going. The gardener worked on his lawns. The guard watched the gate. Kids were running. I was sure that very moment a new child was born into the world. I prayed and walked with my baby, holding him tight to my chest. I will long remember the strong aroma of the flowers that surrounded the 'dead life' and I wished that my life was marked with goodness; goodness towards others, understanding and forgiveness.

2009-11-30T06:41:00.000-08:00

From the Things I never will get used to…..

A visitor from home commented how she was surprised that I would get used to all the noise on the streets. The truth is, I never did and question whether I ever will.

It took me two and a half years to be able to hear my thoughts, while I am outside. I try to shut into the depth and under my skin, only to find the loud voices, road honking and banging. For the last three and a half years I came to the point of appreciation and realized that quietness and stillness can be a luxury.

I understand that it is not easy for ten million people to live in one ‘not-so-big’ city – we get very ‘neighborly’ to each other. It gets so close that from my window I can see neighbor’s bedroom, when reversing the car we enter next door’s yard.

But it is because of the contrast and comparison that I can better appreciate things once very natural and always available.

I am a late night person, though I can enjoy greatly the morning mist and rising sun. When all go to bed, pressure cookers put their whistles off, and finally all the noise says ‘good-bye’ for the night, I like that tranquil moment, of almost ‘nothingness’, where I can hear the wall clock tick, the owl flying over the balcony and the little snore of my sweet baby. Those moments of quiet warm my heart, and I start hearing my thoughts.

2009-10-26T14:44:00.000-07:00

Wishful

I wish I could sit under the tree dressed in autumn colors, with the rainbow falling my way and sip a cup of a hot lemon tea and chat with a friend with no hurry and run.

2009-10-23T03:19:00.000-07:00

The Dates that Fade Away

The old list of birthdays fades away in my memory, and I mark new dates to celebrate.
People in life change: the new come, the old disappear.

There are certain marks that we all leave behind on each other hearts, some are beautiful and others - hurtful.

As the time erases faces and dates may we leave more beautiful marks and those that hurt be less.

2009-10-04T02:45:00.000-07:00

Thinking of you

I don’t know how necessary is the time of this suspense, except that I know it all remains the same; You have made a difference in my life, have been a friend, taught me life lessons, encouraged me to look beyond my little world, to see things deeper, to forgive.

You are always in my heart and I miss you. Miss you a lot.

2009-10-04T02:22:00.000-07:00

One autumn morning
It was an autumn early morning, wet outside with heavy clouds. I ran soon after you left, in attempt to find you, but you disappeared that day, without leaving any trace. I walked on the streets in vain, I missed my classes, I became very cold.

And even now, many years after, I still feel a little bit of that cold.
May your heart be warm these days.

2009-09-20T04:08:00.000-07:00

Thinking For Others

One rude mistake we should try to escape: to assume for others that we know what and how they feel, without letting them feel and speak for themselves.

2009-09-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

fairy tales

We get to hear and read the fairy tales twice in our lives - once when we are small, and later, when we have our own children. If we don't let our imagination and hope turned faith prevail, we loose the perspective to life as such, which has a spell of magic beauty to it, a secret to unfold, the glory and a sense of justice.

2009-09-15T05:19:00.000-07:00

Letter

It is easier to forgive you because you don't know my heart.

2009-09-10T12:29:00.000-07:00

Our Walk

We got off the crowded bus as soon after the turn and we walked toward the canal with the little water frozen in it. The wind that day was fiery and bit our faces. It was white all around and the snow was falling. My mother and I wore warm jackets and winter shoes, the day promised to be cold. We decided for a walk on a long forgotten route, a place once we were well familiar with.
Not any longer because it’s been good ten years and life changed, even as we grew older. Now instead of open fields tall buildings and houses were lining with the still beautiful scenery of the mountains. It seemed only mountains never changed. The same breath taking beauty -any time of the year.
It was my idea to take mom out and see the place where we once lived. I often took her places, especially lately, I think in anxiety of near departure. I treasure the memories and my past enriches me. I also think that I was a little bit troubled by the rapid change that was happening all over - people leaving for abroad, elderly neighbors dying, my own birthdays coming too soon, old buildings being destroyed and new, with no character, being built.
And so I asked mom to come along, to share the memories of the olden days - when the wind was free to hover over the fields, when the little creeks ran watering the fields with onions, carrots and watermelons. I heard of rose fields but we never made it close. And yes, the vineyard, those grapes we collected for home-made wine.
When we moved to our new three-room apartment, I think all of us, that is my mother, myself and my brother, moved half halfheartedly. Not for any reason, personally, but I was already attached to our old house where my mother grew and where I walked since the day I learnt my walking. Every stone was so familiar to me, every tree, every face... And so we were - torn between the two places. I was not attracted even by the warm bathtub and other apartment conveniences - but by the wilderness of the place, it was situated on the footstep of the mountains, with chill breeze, vast fields, fresh air and quietness that only the outskirts provide.
And then we walked along the road, just two of us, appearing strange to others who were peeping out of the buses to see why we had walked in a snowy day. One bus stopped for us but we waived at them, letting them know we did not need a ride.
We walked, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking. I like it that my mother is not afraid of silence. She feels comfortable; she does not ask me if everything is alright. She knows I am. In that silence we listen; listen to the wind, to our hearts; in the silence we reconcile to the change, to the pain, to the loss. And also we celebrate - celebrate the moment, the one that we are able to catch in the business of life, in the complexity of change; the moment that is there only for that precious walk and that moment which will culminate but later bring back the fountain of joy through the years down the road, like today, four years after the walk, in Bangalore, India.

I clung tight to mom’s hand during that walk. I was so glad she came. It was our walk and I will remember it.

At the end of our "remember journey", we went to a small local bazaar to buy some oranges. I like the smell of the peeled oranges in winter- once again, a childhood memory when all was well, mom and dad were at home, the house was warm and I was on winter holidays.

2009-09-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

Lessons

Curiosity is a way of learning; but it also can lead to smelly trashcans.

2009-08-30T23:39:00.000-07:00

Son

He is our firstborn and he uses all of his privileges.

2009-08-08T12:39:00.000-07:00

Голос ребенка
Авторы: О.Фельцман – М.Рябинин

1. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Он смотрит глазами прозрачными
На мир удивленно и весело.
И мать с невесомою нежностью,
Качая ребенка уснувшего,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что в сердце своем сберегла.

Так пусть звучит музыкой звонкой,
На этой земле, населенной людьми,
Голос ребенка, голос ребенка,
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.

2. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Шаги его первые робкие
Началом дороги окажутся.
Отец с неподдельною гордостью,
Подняв малыша к небу синему,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что может отдать человек.

3. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
И все же мы в праве надеяться,
Что жизнь у него будет долгою,
Что будет он добрым и ласковым,
Что будет он честным и преданным,
Что будет он смелым и яростным,
Сражаясь за счастье людей.

2009-08-06T00:16:00.001-07:00

Children

They are the fragrant aroma to life, the laughter of the youth days.

2009-08-05T06:13:00.000-07:00

Motherhood

She met plenty of mothers who complained that they did not have time for their own life and all the life they had was spent on their children, who when they had grown, left the house and went on with their private lives. She met even those mothers who wished they didn't have their children, not because children brought any weight in their life - because they never wanted to be mothers.

This brave one heard a lady share that motherhood was like a spider's web and being a mother was like a spider, who was defined and constrained by its own web.

But she was all expectant, she was full of delight waiting in her anticipation for a new life, which she thought was a gift, that will be unwrapped as life will unfold, year after year. She was planning to invest everything she had, her best, without any reservation, fear and shadowed views of others.

2009-08-04T12:16:00.000-07:00

Son

Every night I have him by my side; he hugs me and leans towards me. I can feel the heat of his body and smell his milky sweat. I want to treasure these days, the nights, our little walks, our little talks.

I love his little hands with his fast fingers that get into my plate, overturn the cup, sweep the floor dust, those hands that hug me just like that, in the middle of a small game that he has with his puzzle mat.

I love his little kisses and the little bites.

I love the excitement in his voice when he just wakes up and his beautiful heart-warming smile.

You are my son, my first born, my treasure and my joy.

2009-08-04T12:02:00.000-07:00

His Heart

I almost could hear his heart break, but he did not show a sign, not even in his eyes. He was strong as ever, loving as ever, as if there was no limit to his kind human nature.

I often wondered if late at night, or early in the morning - when the stars are still bright and every soul deep in sleep - he cries. Ever.

I saw him picking up the cups and going to the kitchen. He moved slowly and it seemed he forgot about his scheduled meeting. He didn't say a word. No, there was no anger, not even a drop. He breathed deeply, left the cups in the sink, washed his hands, gave me a kiss and went.

Went to come back.

2009-07-25T06:07:00.000-07:00

Turtle Shell

Often it is pretty comfortable to get into the turtle shell and let the hurricane of life sweep all around.

2009-07-19T21:56:00.000-07:00

Forgiveness

I believe that when we each made a choice, we did not know we would hurt each other so much.
I forgive you.
Will you forgive me?

2009-07-19T19:58:00.000-07:00

Time vs. Love

I don't believe that time heals, but love. Time erases the memory, wiping it clean, leaving very little to hang on to. It does seem to aid though, especially when hurt, but only because it gives space for some hope. That spam of erased memory that must not stay void but should be filled with love, when left untouched starts hurting, turning into a rotten apple, that shrinks as the days go pass.

And love, like the living fountain, splashes on a soul so thirsty, revives it and gives it one more chance, that life is good and worth living it.

2009-07-19T18:38:00.001-07:00

I Think that Must Be Family

Every time you leave after a short visit I know that you love me. I know that love motivates you to come this long way and you do, because you are a family.
Thank you!
Have a safe return home!

2009-07-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

My Soul

Weighted down with many of sins my soul searched for deliverance. No good deeds could liberate it from the weight. Searched in different places, under hard circumstances, crashed into a thousand of pieces; Put hope in many people, approached the faces, jumped over the fences - with no senses left alone in despair...My soul cried. My soul cried for the mercy, not deserved, to the Maker...

2009-07-14T23:51:00.000-07:00

Through the Story

My story telling ends very quickly with my 14 month old son. After "Once upon a time..." we jump right to the end, "So the chicken laid a simple egg, not a golden one."

Every day of this stage development passes by momentarily; from learning how to dance with the music to turning the pages in a book and putting his own shoes on.

I don"t want to miss any of these!
And you, my baby, are doing a good job!

2009-07-05T06:26:00.000-07:00

Name Change

My first name changed to "baby" and "princess" since I got married.

2009-06-30T03:02:00.000-07:00

2009-06-27T00:32:00.000-07:00

Reminder

I often have to remind myself that somewhere up the hill or down the road people tend to hurt each other and often we carry this "hurt luggage" a long way in our years and we become prone to explode, most often in circumstances and times less desirable for us.

Grace is the only virtue that is able to save both, us and those who are around.

2009-06-25T07:46:00.000-07:00

From Our Heart

Not how much we have, but how we give, that's what counts.

2009-06-15T06:34:00.001-07:00

2009-06-15T06:29:00.000-07:00

Under the Clouds

2009-06-14T01:11:00.000-07:00

Friendship

When we think we are friends we cannot just cut the relationship off because of the pain. We should try to walk it through until we find a place where we rest in trust, love, acceptance and forgiveness.

2009-06-14T00:46:00.000-07:00

Friendship

Friendship might be a universal notion but it definitely has cultural flavor to it.

2009-06-14T00:42:00.000-07:00

Friendship

I always have believed that friendship takes depth, it is able to get through the misunderstandings and certainly, always looks for the interest of the other. Friendship never condemns but always ready to stand up for the truth and protect. Friends are very few, and these days even fewer...

2009-06-07T00:56:00.000-07:00

Things About You I like

I like how you pay attention to the details.

I like to see you wake up in the morning and thrilled about life.

2009-05-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

One

We are celebrating you! It has been one wonderful year with you. You brought a lot of joy into our lives.
Love you, son.

2009-05-14T04:09:00.000-07:00

To be or Not to be?

I might have distorted my anthropological inheritance, blown away all academic expectations and simply hurt a lady while trying to protect my baby.

It has been awhile now but I still cannot get used to and cannot appreciate one "cultural feature" of people touching baby's cheeks. I guess I would not protest so much but I have a baby! And similar to this I have conversations:

Before the lady ready to stretch her hand to my precious baby I say, with a smile,
"Would you please, not touch baby's face?"

A little taken aback, "We also wash our hands!".

"Yes, I know, - pushing my way, "but coming from the outside and touching baby's face is not good." - I am trying to smile while my baby frowns at the lady.

"What, you don't touch anything?" - persists the stranger.

"I do, but I don't touch baby's face or I wash my hands before I do it." ("After all he is my baby", I think to myself) "Please, don't feel bad," I ask, in a hope that the stranger wont become our enemy.

"Okay." And she turns away with no smile, no bye.

And we walk back home. A little bit sad because we did not want to fight and we like when people smile.

But it becomes tiring to explain to a waitress that she cannot put her finger into my baby's mouth, tell the auto driver to mind his business driving, and not wipe his hands on baby's cheeks and give explanations to tens of other intrinsically good strangers that cheeks also get irritated and baby gets scared of their touch.

We don't bite but we will appreciate your smile and simple inquiry about the name and how we are doing.

2009-04-25T22:08:00.000-07:00

Mom

As you left this city you also left the warmth in my heart.
Thank you for being a good mother. Thank you for being a wonderful and loving grandmother. Thank you for taking care of my son as of your own.
Thank you!

2009-04-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

Analysis

My husband asked me not to anthropologize him. It was after I asked him what were the reasons that he watched some kinds of movies, like "boy" type movies where they shoot and smash each other faces and sometimes use rough words.

We all see this world through the only eyes we got.

2009-04-11T10:27:00.000-07:00

Something Was Special

That particular Sunday morning had always been sunny and later closer to the noon it would rain. Those were happy spring days when the snow melted and the trees became green. Neighborhood was alive and children ran on the street, popping to each other homes and breaking painted eggs and eating baked sweet breads.

As I look back at it, I find it interesting that we had Easter during the Soviet time. Well, it is a different story if I or any of my friends for that matter knew the reason of the celebration.

I remember I felt shy to respond to "Jesus has risen!" with "Risen indeed!" because I did not understand who or what they were talking about. The word Jesus in Russian was so alien to me. I had no clue of the "risen" part of it either.

Nevertheless, there was something special about that day every year. I was not interested too much in eggs though I liked the sweet bread my mother and later my sister baked.

Couple years later I heard something about Son of God dying and then becoming alive again for the humanity. I did not grasp it too much but something was divine about it, something sacred. And I loved to look in the rainy sky and think of God who, like somebody said, was crying for us.

And now, many years later I say a prayer of thanks to God who brings peace into my life. I do miss the rain and even if God does not cry now, I know He loves us, the humanity.

Jesus has risen indeed!

2009-04-07T10:33:00.000-07:00

Fame

It was a lovely enjoyable evening with my family. At Fame.

2009-04-04T22:43:00.000-07:00

2009-04-04T22:42:00.001-07:00

2009-04-04T04:59:00.000-07:00

My Own

Through the dusting off and cleaning I make it my own. I guess that's how the house becomes my home.

2009-03-28T05:38:00.000-07:00

Until You Get Used To It

Moving out from one place to another can be like eating rats.
For some - it is a very normal process in life; for others - quite disorienting, to the point of wanting to throw up.

Now after these many 'movements' here and there I started feeling like I am doing it pretty well. It's only that I still have a hard time saying good-bye.

2009-03-28T04:21:00.000-07:00

Never Sedentary

One more time we clean the shelves, empty the cupboards, sweep the floors... pluck out the roots ... and pack our bags to move to our 'new' home.
We had a good time here and we will miss the walks in 'our' park.
Good-bye Ananda Bairavi

2009-03-22T17:02:00.000-07:00

Not For Sale

Friends are not for sale, for if they were, I would use all of my savings to acquire one.

2009-03-16T12:52:00.000-07:00

2009-03-16T00:50:00.000-07:00

Few Words in My Opinion

I heard conflicting reviews and judgments about Slumdog Millionaire but I was interested to see it, regardless. I wanted to see the movie not because it was nominated for the Oscar, because I know nothing about the measuring bar of the Oscar, nor really am interested in the movie business, competitions and politics.
I like movies, for the stories they tell, for the lessons they teach, for the moments they catch where otherwise I miss. I like movies for the beauty, for the truth, for the options they offer, for the imagination, for the inspiration.

I don't spend much time on movies, but I like good movies.

I wanted to see Slumdog Millionaire because it is about India, about love and really, about sorrows and matters of life.

What I liked in the movie? I liked the children. I liked how in the movie they showed these kids from the slum community who are smart (street smart? who cares!), fast, strong. They don’t have to be liars how some may expect them to be. They are also talented.

I guess, the word slum does not sound that bad when heard, but once seen can haunt one in her dreams. But, these slums have its soul, its heart beat, its love stories, its devotion and passion and victory. Some of slums' battles are won and some are lost.

Once seeing it one almost draws a line of "another" world, different from "own".

Considering that the movie is not a documentary, in my opinion, it depicts very closely the scenarios of life of the slum dwellers. They are not consumed or horrified by the poverty - they live life as it comes - they go to school and get scolded by the teacher (little rascals!), fall in love (yes, that very first love), loose mother in the religious and ethnic riots (face death), get hurt by a betrayal, are being blessed and rewarded, they also get tired and burdened but they also have their joys… and how different are these worlds after all?

I also liked the love line in the movie. Jamal loves Latika! It is beautiful how he "fights" for her; how they find each other and the last dance they dance!

I am amazed and keep pondering at the complexity of Indian character or nature, if I may simplify it that way. I noticed that Indian people are very patient, long suffering, sacrificial... but impatience can be expressed in a very unexpected way...in a horrible bike or car honking, the absence of lines.....

I also thought that the music composition gives a taste of what one hears on the streets or in the rickshaw or a taxi in modern India.

I was touched when the lady on the street who spotted Jamal blessed him, she did not beg for money.

And it brings a knot to my throat and also I smile when I see "all" India keeping their breath, praying, crossing fingers...when one of them wins, or has an accident, or runs a cricket game!

In general, I liked the movie.
But I like the movie Guru the best and it is one of my favorites along with Kannathil Muthamital (A peck on a cheek), Salaam Bombay and Umrao Jaan.

2009-03-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

Last Night

I smelled a village last night.
I smelled the very morning kissing the night.
I smelled my childhood.

It is a summer smell of the dry leafs, of the soil and the rain.

2009-03-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Mother To Me

What a blessing it is to have a motherly mother.

She wakes up at night to help.
She cares through the day.
She forgives everything.
She comforts.
She understands.
She takes loads upon herself.
She sacrifices.
She defends her own.
She tells the truth.
Ultimately, she loves.

2009-03-15T11:48:00.000-07:00

2009-03-15T11:37:00.000-07:00

10

crawling
standing
3 teeth
playing hide-and-seek
eating kasha
Papa fan
ladushki and soroka
_________________
sweet 9 turning 10

2009-03-15T04:34:00.000-07:00

My Flowers

астры - меня волнуют, как школьницу перед первым цвонком;
тульпаны - приносят весеннюю радость и нежность;
пионы- напоминают гром, первый летний дождь, начало летних каникул.

2009-03-08T06:43:00.000-07:00

2009-03-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

2009-03-07T21:57:00.000-08:00

About the Beauty

Beauty is behind patience, kindness, compassion, love and forgiveness. It does not hide though, it is very obvious.

2009-03-05T04:21:00.000-08:00

Observations

Majority of people like talking. People get intimidated by silence, they feel uncomfortable and create conversations that often have no need of a place, but to ease the silence discomfort people get engaged into verbal exchange.

Try to observe and you will notice that when having a conversation, most people want to talk about themselves, about their problems or success, about their experience, their pain or their happiness.
There is so little room for others.

2009-03-05T01:35:00.001-08:00

2009-03-05T01:31:00.000-08:00

2009-03-02T12:19:00.000-08:00

I am not a morning person.

It is late in the night when I can hear. I can hear my soul and my heart. All the noise of the day, all the troubles of the day give way to this very moment when I can connect with myself, with who I am, where I can better see my fears and doubts, where I can reflect on my choices and values.

It is this early morning, yet deep into the night, when the world on this side of the planet is covered with the dream blanket, I can sit in the room and make some plans, I can dream the future and aspire.

It is this very moment in time, on the verge of a new day, which can bring tears to my eyes. No, I am not a cry-baby, far from it - I am strong- but there is something very tender and sacred and at the same time very home-like feeling, the familiarity of childhood and a gulp of air of the future, not known but to the point of predictable.

These times with myself and the silence as my witness, I can hear a tender voice that is also very familiar to me from my early adolescence, whispering deep into me of my value, of my purpose, of my destiny.

And later in the morning, when the birds start waking up, when the cool of the morning beacons me to bed I leave – starting this new day with a hope, even through the dreams from which I awake later when the prayers are prayed from the mosques, when the chants are chanted from the temples, when the cars make their way to destinations, when the fruit seller shouts – everything announcing the reality, and the necessity of LIFE that rushes through …swiping and absorbing everything on its way, squeezing all liveliness and energy, twisting like a tornado, banging on the walls and as if challenging and testing whether my solitude times and refreshment can stand the pressures of the day’s demand.

2009-02-25T01:09:00.000-08:00

Things about me.

I think when I sleep.

2009-02-21T22:47:00.000-08:00

Things to Live out

There are a lot of good and great things to write about with plenty posh words , but it is harder to live them out.

2009-02-07T22:55:00.000-08:00

Likes

I like strawberry but I don't like neither strawberry yogurt nor strawberry tea.

2009-02-01T13:36:00.000-08:00

Two

Like the two banks of a river, ever so close and ever so distant- they can never be together- separated by the waters;

They journey like the train tracks, staying close and yet apart;

Like the sun and the moon, like a day and a night...
Like that mountain that tries to reach the sky...

Like that fish without the ocean...
Like the winter without the snow...
Like the tree without it's leafs...
Like a pond without a frog...
Like a field without its flower...
Like a mother without her child...
Like the desert without the sand...

Like a nomad without his horse,
Like a wanderer without his staff,
Like a poet without his words,

Their worlds...

2009-01-17T00:42:00.000-08:00

Of The Past

She could not think but of the days that have passed and hid behind the curtains, where memories seem to be so vague, not clear who was right, whose fault it was of the broken world, pieces of which she still holds dear to her heart.

It did not matter then - because what made sense were the days she could relate, belonged and felt secure. In those memories was her unshaken world where many dreams looked possible, her aspirations achievable and heart in love, it was so simple, so tangible, so real.

She believed she could shelter a thousand after the war, could feed dozens of hungry, comfort orphaned and make smile an outcast.

2009-01-14T06:02:00.000-08:00

The End of the Celebrations

2009-01-06T04:37:00.000-08:00

Seasonal Reading

I guess The Dancer from Khiva is not a book for this season for me, so I put it aside on the shelf.
Looking for some good reading.

2008-12-31T17:34:00.000-08:00

NY

Let the New Year begin!

2008-12-28T06:25:00.000-08:00

About Responsibility

Responsibility is not only the matter of duty of the consequences but also very much a subject of a preventative act; it is responsible people who can help their environment to be safe and have the future.