1054/1517

If eastern orthodoxy is about community, then why do I feel so uncomfortable in its presence, and why would I rather light my candles alone? Perhaps I really am a catholic, or worse yet - a protestant.

The horror.

Cities

"Do you love her?"

"I miss the people..."

"But do you love her?"

"You realize that everyone outside of Warsaw calls it a whore, because it's been invaded multiple times?"

"A typical example of provincial envy towards all things metropolitan. So?"

"Yeah, in a way I do."

"Funny how I called it a "she". I..."

"Of course, this city IS a woman! Its symbol is a bare-breasted sword-carrying mermaid, for fuck's sakes! Haven't you seen my dad's car?"

"I am fully aware of that, but nonetheless..."

"You know its legend..."

"Yeah, I've heard it from you many times; I'm too tired to hear it again.... I can't even recall Moscow's respective legend right now....myself. Fucking embarrassing! I mean, I know it rests on seven hills, that it was founded by prince Dolgorukij, and that its first written mention dates back to 1147. Hails to Soviet-styled 5th grade history education! I even remember Tbilisi's myth better: a prince on a falcon hunt was impressed with hot springs in the area..."

"So you've told me."

"And what about the myth of Georgia's birth itself? About God...and, hahah, wine? When people..."

"Not again. Why are we talking about this?"

"I....miss...Moscow. A lot. A-fucking-lot. After my trip I didn't feel it until recently. I decided to give myself a break the other night and allowed myself two chapters of vanity reading - Mamleev's new novel, to be exact. Every time he mentioned locations I recently visited, I, all of a sudden, felt....not a lump in my throat, but more like....restless nostalgia...towards the city. Not culture, not childhood, but the city. I was even motivated enough to stay up beyond 2 am writing a postcard to a friend of mine, because Katerina is a "silly dumb-dumb" and refuses to use the internet."

"Weird. That only happens to me when I watch videos."

"Anyway, "Moskva" is a feminine pronoun in Russian, but I don't know if I'd call this city a "she". My love is not directed at a maternal figure: it's giant, wild, and, damn it - hectic as hell! All three of these I really dislike, yet I feel entirely comfortable there......Have you ever felt like you had to prove yourself to a city?"

"?"

"Almost four years, and it still seems like I need to prove myself to Toronto on a daily basis. My mother always talks of her three lives - Tbilisi, Moscow, Winnipeg. It occurred to me that I have three lives as well - Moscow, Winnipeg, and now - Toronto. This Babylon shares many standard metropolitan qualities with Moscow, yet it is only Moscow I can forgive. I don't feel like I need to prove myself to her...to it."

"Please don't get that "made in Moscow" tattoo..."

"Haha, the only one I'd ever consider if I were to desecrate my body in that way? That, or a large realistic back-piece portrait of my great-grandfather, huh?"

"Not "huh", but "ugh"!"

"You know, that popular higher-end crime novelist I always mention to you - Akunin? One of his series occurs in a contemporary setting and features...uhm, how should I put this, a descendant of his earlier personage, who happens to be my embodiment of (literary) male perfection..."

"Bleh..."

"...and who apparently moved to England around the time of the revolution. So this young Brit - Nicholas is quite in touch with his Russian roots and travels to Moscow only to find himself in various types of trouble. The first couple of novels contain lengthy descriptions of Nicholas' need to prove himself to the new city, which is not always welcoming in the least. Akunin just about personifies it, actually, but not quite. That'd be too simple."

"The Georgian dude, right?"

"Yeah, Akunin is his Japanese pseudonym. Hah, I just realized: he keeps referring to his character as "Magistr", because the guy has a Master's degree. As a felow "Magistr", I guess I view Toronto the way Nicholas does Moscow. But, in the back of his mind, Nicholas knows Moscow will accept him. It has to."

SpyWear Burka [or] Stupid White Bitches Are All the Same

Midnight. One of the busiest streets in the downtown area. People are just heading out - it's a Friday night after all. My friend and I are walking towards a subway station. I'm glad the night is about to end early, and I could finally catch up on some of the sleep lost this busy week.

Suddenly we get approached by a black male seemingly in his early thirties, no taller than 5'8-5'9, clad in copper-colored loose clothing and a ball cap.

"Yo, yo, pretty girl", he heads directly towards me.

I don't even look in his direction.

"Want some drugs?", he continues bluntly.

"Please, don't say anything", I hope my friend is telepathic. "Or at least pretend you don't speak English".

"We don't do drugs, heh!", she boldly responds instead.

Genius.

"Yo, pretty girl, want some drugs?", he insists, yet his demeanor immediately changes from friendly to caustic.

"Pretty white girls get drugs from me every night!!", he continues.

"Why would "pretty white girls" get drugs from you every night?", I want him to humor me.

"BECAUSE I FUCK 'EM!", he almost yells.

"YOU THINK DRUGS ARE FREE?!?! I FUCK PRETTY WHITE GIRLS EVERY NIGHT FOR DRUGS!!!"

I shrug and keep walking, leaving him yelling in the background.

We reach the subway station, stop, chat for a few minutes. Mandatory girly hugs ensue.

My friend politely wonders, "should I walk you home, or are you going to be okay?"

"No need, I walk here every night, I'll be fine!"

She finally leaves, and I head home.

I always walk fast.

In fact, I get rather irritated when I am forced to maneuver around a certain class of people I refer to as "sleeping beauties".

I also whip out my phone. Immediately.

I call a trusted person, because the incident amused me to no end. After all, maybe he isn't aware of the fact that "pretty white girls like me get fucked for drugs. Every day."

Does he think it was a threat?

He thinks there was not much I could do.

I hang up the phone. The drug dealer dives out on my left. Immediately.

"It's you again", he sneers.

"Are you following me?"

We are several blocks away from the initial meeting point.

"STUPID WHITE BITCH! I AM NOT FUCKING FOLLOWING YOU!"

I walk faster.

"ALL STUPID WHITE BITCHES ARE THE SAME!"

People raise eyebrows.

"If you don't leave me alone, I will call the police".

Originality didn't seem like the correct choice of words.

"YOU STUPID WHITE BITCH!!!!!!! ALL STUPID WHITE BITCHES ARE THE SAME!!!!!!! YOU HATE BLACKS!!!!!!!! MICHAEL JACKSON, KOBE BRYANT!!!!!!!"

We are getting further away from the heavily populated part of town.

"STUPID WHITE BITCH, YOU SHOULD BE SCARED!!!!!!!!"

This area, usually busy with police cars at all hours of the day and night, is deserted.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SAFE??????!!!!!!"

I really doubt those hookers on the corner will be of much help.

He suddenly crosses the street, but walks parallel to me. He continues yelling.

"STUPID WHITE BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!", he approaches random passers-by and points in my direction.

He yells unintelligibly and disappears in the shadows of a park, avoided by every local after sunset. He seems to be quite familiar with the neighborhood.

Am I shaking?

I am home.

I feel uncomfortable.

I ask a security guard to join me as I walk my dog.

After hearing my story, this guard jokingly advises me to wear a burka for disguise.

Maybe I should.

Must Cry over Broken Heels?

Last week my mother e-mailed me a link to an article in Moskovsky Komsomolets regarding the pitiful condition of current positioning of the sexes. Nope! No post-Foucauldian gender theory here. Thank God. That type of publication would have been even more suspicious than my mother’s current kick of bombarding me with various relationship commentaries to both my work and home addresses.

The article was written by a 24-year old Russian female journalist who linked the fact that she is not married - no, not single, but rather - not married, to the masculinized self-representation of modern career-oriented women. Typical? Not quite.

Aesthetics were not an issue – the author herself and her case studies appeared to be the canon of femininity – form-fitting clothing, heels, makeup, hair. Instead, it is their actions this 24-year old defined as problematic. She listed her love for soccer, healthy food by choice, not by diet, her mechanical expertise, and most of all - her ability to stay clear-headed and rational in most stressful and upsetting situations, rather than breaking down and crying, as masculine and therefore unappealing to men.

The conversational tone of her article considered, this journalist failed to determine how non-excessive projection of these qualities amounts to becoming solely “one of the boys” and therefore romantically repulsive. Additionally, I must mention that she entirely avoided the subject of masculine feminization, granted it mainly applied to North America and exceeded the scope of her article, but would have been somewhat referentially useful.

Adequately grounded or not, this journalist’s principal conclusion stated that men not only understandably prefer women who posses classic “housewife” culinary, cleaning, and caring skills, but less understandably - those who are weak and evidently irrational, as a rule. This conclusion seemed to exceed a basic psychological presumption regarding males’ need to feel more intelligent and physically stronger than their female companions. After all, the author listed females’ love for chocolate and occasional public breakdowns, even if over a broken heel, as average female characteristics.

She went on to attend a class, in which she learned more about such standard behavior and faced the test of attracting a number of random men, specifically trained for this purpose. As a result, she discovered that cars and sports should not be the subject of conversation, and that mystery is preferred over honesty and candor.

Are marriage proposals soon to follow this “feminized” personality adjustment?

I found this article silly. Of course.

I kept the social context in mind: after all, Slavic women were never faced with not one, but two waves of feminist movements, as did those in North America. As a result, they’ve become a curious mixture by retaining all the necessary traits of a domestic goddess and femme fatale and gaining a cutthroat career woman status almost a century ago. But, but. Despite the lighthearted, yet nonetheless somewhat naïve premise, this article bothered me. I started with scoffing, but ended with a raised eyebrow and a hum.

Perhaps there is some, no - quite a bit of truth to the author’s assumption. The fact that men may prefer women who are fragile, if not weak, is not far-fetched. But why, why would they feel turned off by a woman who shares their interest in sports and understands technical terminology when they discuss cars? How can a sincere common interest exhibited moderately – no baggy clothing or butchy beer-guzzling here – possibly be interpreted negatively? Do men dislike the idea of being able to watch every single soccer game during a tournament, sans constant nagging, and then discuss the result gushing spit with someone who understands their reason for idiotic joy or blinding rage?

One man I asked told me that occasional nagging is healthy. It makes him feel needed. Another man I did not ask is dating the most irrational, exceptionally dramatic, brittle in every sense of the word, and therefore nauseating creature I’ve ever encountered. He must enjoy rollercoaster rides at least a tiny bit!

Because of its inconclusiveness, I cannot get this mistakenly primitive article out of my head. Perhaps I will even poll more men in order to reach a strictly defined explanation, although I doubt that it would help. Or maybe I should sign up for a certain class too...