Kyiv has many faces and many moods, always changing. Not all of them are pleasant, but all of them are unforgettable.
A few of my favorite moods of Kyiv:
“How do you tell if a Ukrainian boy likes you? I don’t understand the boys here at all,” I whined to one of my roommates, Anna.
I was about three weeks into my trip, and stressing about relationships, obviously, or the lack of them. America has labored unceasingly to teach me that if you are over 25, single, and childless, there is something wrong with you. Hence I was begging Anna to explain how these things work in Ukraine, as they seemed incomprehensible and I was convinced that Ukrainian guys were not interested in me at all.
Looking back, I don’t know why I wasted brain power on the thought. I didn’t really want a boyfriend, maybe only to feel popular.
Anna gave me a piece of advice that has proved to be one of the most important things anyone has ever said to me.
“Just relax,” she said sagely. “Besides, maybe it was just the magic of the night, a foreign language, being in a different country. You don’t know. Time will tell. If something is going to happen, it will happen. So you don’t need to worry. Just relax and enjoy it. If you’re falling in love, this is the fun part.”
I kept forgetting that she was a few years younger than me. I can still hear her voice like an echo:
If you’re falling in love, this is the fun part.
I didn’t want to spend my time in Ukraine worrying over boys and relationships. I wanted to be happy, fancy-free, to see and do everything, speak Russian, and generally be on holiday and enjoy myself.
She was right after all. I had been beguiled by the night, a pair of pretty eyes, and the music of a beautiful language. Somewhere along the way, without even knowing, I fell in love.
I realized it walking down Tychyny street one day. I was so excited about discovering new words and understanding, and how incredible it was to be in a foreign country with all the language skills of a two-year-old. I almost missed it. I was pondering the process of breaking through the language barrier, chipping away at it little by little, word by word, when suddenly, I knew that I would have no do-overs. I would never pass this way again. Once I broke through the language barrier, I couldn’t go back and do it over again. So right there on a little sidewalk in the left bank in the big city of Kyiv, Ukraine, I made up my mind to enjoy the process as much as I possibly could, while I tried to conquer the city and the Ukrainian/Russian language. Anna’s words came back to me with a crash and the equivalent force of a falling grand piano: “This is the fun part.”
It stopped me dead in my tracks, stunned.
Then I knew. I was in love! I was in love the way you love someone you can’t stand. You fight. You argue. You quarrel. They make you angry. They make you crazy. They make you mad. Until one day you wake up and you realize how angry crazy madly you love them, no matter how bad it gets. And the rest is history, or so they say.
Of course, Anna and I had been talking about a boy. And she had been absolutely right. Only, it wasn’t a boy I fell in love with. It was Ukraine, Kyiv, that place and time. I fell in love with life and the unhindered living of it.
I didn’t have to worry about how to make that “special someone” like me, or if that “special someone” was the “right special someone”. Suddenly, it just didn’t matter. I saw everything clearly. For once, it was simple.
Love is not a real-life game of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey, though a lot of people treat it that way. To pin all of my hopes for happiness on someone else, or hang my dreams on their fragile wings, and then try to make them feel the same, is an unfair exercise in futility and a dangerous one.
It seems to me that people generally believe they must have a significant other in their lives to be happy. But I protest. Hearts are far too precious treasures to leave at just anyone’s mercy. Why had I ever thought I would find happiness by doing just that?
I don’t mean that I stopped wanting someone special in my life; I just stopped thinking that I had to have someone.
I wrote a besotted love letter in my journal, one stormy night not long after that conversation with Anna:
“I got off my bus early and walked home. I like to do this sometimes, because it helps me collect my thoughts. Or if I’m not quite ready to see a flat full of people. But this time, I got off because it was raining gently, I thought, and as I walked it got more and more, until I was laughing up at the Kyiv night sky, for sheer joy, because I realized that now I’ve seen Kyiv in so many moods, not all maybe, but I love her in all of them.
“Kyiv to me is like a woman or a person. You know, the ones you meet [with whom] at first you don’t get along. You fight, you humph, you disagree, you torment. And then one day you wake up and realize how crazy madly you are in love with them and how boring your life would be without them. Kyiv is maybe not the woman you would marry and raise kids with, but she’s the one you judge all other women by, the one you never forget. Kyiv is that affair to remember, the one you never quite get over. I laughed at the rain, because I’ve seen Kyiv sleepy, quiet and still, drunk, hungover, chilly, and warm, depressed, and wild, hurried, and bored, angry, and tender. I laughed because if by some chance this is the only time I ever spend with Kyiv again, I wanted to let her know that I enjoy every minute. That I love Kyiv in all her moods.
“Kyiv is that rare person you meet once in lifetime that you love so much that it doesn’t matter if they love you back. It’s as though after 3 weeks in Kyiv, breathing her air, eating her food, meeting her people, and drinking her beer, has spread Ukraine throughout my system, my cells, my blood. She’s under my skin and in my heart. It’s as though we finally stopped fighting. Maybe we can at least be friends. I can not tell you in any language how alive I felt on this night, sharing Ukraine with people, and walking, feeling her flow all around and through me.
“I can’t imagine, when I write such things with such emotion, admiration, and tenderness, what it will be [like] to go back [to America].
“Ukraine is not for the faint of heart, but she’s worth it. We are alike, she and I.
“Someday I hope someone loves me the way I love Kyiv, Ukraine.”
We recognized each other by our masks
In our mutual assessments as if for war
And we perceived the common traits
And shared respect, for now, no less, no more
Years, thoughts, motives, fears
Blank pages, photographs, ribbons left undone
Memories forgotten, hopes that never were…
But the silence stretches ever long
I ask a word spoken
No matter what kind
So long as the silence is broken
On that day when the masks are fallen
Twin faces false
And underneath we are not the same
Slipping from our hands, they will shatter like glass
And so we walk our separate ways
My true face I will show unasked
I will stand
My Dear Readers,
Writing No More Lies was one of those cases where the words flowed out faster than I could put them on paper. It was easy to write, but so hard to publish. I kept checking the views, thinking, “Oh, good. No one is reading it.” I never actually expected to be Freshly Pressed. I thought, “Oh, maybe someday. That’s a nice goal.”
It was a complete surprise when I got the email just before work on Friday. I went around gasping, “I’m Freshly Pressed!” and clapping and waving non-stop like an excited baby seal. My mother was with me; she can attest to it, though I hope for the sake of my pride that she won’t. (We should have taken pictures, but a photographer I am not.)
I want to give a HUGE thank you to the editors of Freshly Pressed for featuring me and all my new readers and to everyone who liked and commented for all the kind words and support. What an honor! It means a lot. Really. I had no idea what to expect,and my head is still spinning. Thank you to everyone for being a part of my seventh really-truly-deeply-happy moment! I will treasure this forever!
This whole experience got me thinking. I began to reevaluate my goals and plans and my general intentions. After some serious thought, I’ve decided to give the blog a minor make-over to reflect this (just an update or two to the About Me page).
I write as I always have: because I have something to say, because I want to leave something to be remembered by, because I can write things on paper that I can’t say out loud. I write because my silence is over. I’m amazed and delighted that what I had to say resonated with so many people. I hope that this will stay true for the rest of what I have to share (because there is, oh, so much more). I hope I can encourage all of you as much as you have encouraged me!
And also, because I have unexpectedly found myself in need of a new goal, I would like to announce that my first book is in the works! Now, I am not sure how long it takes to write a book — I’m sure it’s different for everyone — but I will post updates as it progresses.
Hold on to your hats, people. The best is yet to come!
Awarding the people who live in the moment,
The noble who write and capture the best in life,
The bold who reminded us what really mattered –
Savoring the experience of quality time.
Winners re-post this with their acceptance speech. This could be written or video recorded.
Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awardees! The re-post should include a NEW set of people/blogs worthy of the award; and winners notify them the great news.
I am excited and happy about this! Why pretend that I’m not? This is a big deal to me, right now, in this moment. I’m humbled and honored. I never expected anyone to care about anything I had to say.
So here is my Acceptance Speech. Believe it or not, this is the short version.
To Mom — for taking me to Ukraine at such an early age, even though it set me back a year in school, for showing me that people are what really matter, for telling me I’m the best daughter in the world followed by, “Are you sure you weren’t adopted?” I strive to make you proud. Even though I can’t keep plants alive…
To Dad — for bragging to all of his friends about my adventures overseas, for always reading my posts and telling me that my writing is good. You know I got the “scribble genes” and attention to detail from you.
To Grandma Inez, My Sunshine and My fellow Wayfaring Stranger — for her prayers, for being like my second mother, for all the times you woke me up with a half cup of black coffee whenever I overslept in the morning, and for being my soul sister – joined at the hip, heart, and soul; separated at birth and by 60 years! Coffee toast!
To Shannon – for teaching me that every moment is precious, and that a life lived to the fullest is a life lived in the moment. You are one of the most inspiring people that I know.
To my best friend, Sarah, Thing 1 to my Thing 2 — Together in Paris. ❤
To Daniel, my other best friend – for being better than a brother.
To those dancers I met ages ago – for teaching me my very first words in Russian.
To everyone who reads my blog — for caring about what I have to say.
To 31daysofawesome — for picking me.
To Judy — for telling me it was okay to shed the mask. Without you I would probably still be locked in my old apartment, afraid to look anyone in the eye. I would not be who I am, if it wasn’t for you. Carpe diem. No regrets.
And finally, to gratitudeequation — for writing with such joy and sweetness. I smile every time I read your blog. By the way, you’re my pick for the next winner of the award.
I love you all. For as long as I live, you will never be forgotten.
The words left unsaid, pouring out as poetry.
The Bipolar Writer and J.E. Skye