Of being polite and how the appearances might be deceiving.
I went to the grocery store today. There is this really narrow aisle there, and an elderly couple was ahead of me, so I had to walk really slow behind them. From the opposite direction approached a woman. Good-looking, well dressed, holding a phone to her ear. Talking loudly, which in itself isn’t very nice when you’re in a crowded public space. But okay.
She said “excuse me” to the elderly couple. And then when I was passing, and she had to wait a second longer, I heard her muttering to herself: “kurwa”, eyeing me with an annoyed face.
It’s basically the worst word you can say in Polish, there’s no bigger curse word than that.
I passed, she went on and got lost out of my sight, but it left me shocked. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even touch her. I was just passing through the aisle, following that elderly couple. How was that deserving such rudeness? How a person can even be rude like that to a perfect stranger?
And I’m not talking about some drunk in a train station, or a drug addict, or something like that. That, I could understand. But she looked really, well, refined. Trim. Really good black coat, high heels, makeup, smartphone.
How appearances can be deceiving. I’ve met drunks and drug addicts who behaved ten times better.
Is it really that much to ask? To be polite to one another when we meet in public spaces? I know everyone is entitled to have a bad day, but hey, I’ve been feeling like crap since Monday, running a fever of 38 degrees Celsius, and I’m still being polite to others. And it’s not like the woman is incapable of being polite – she said “excuse me” to the elderly couple. How am I different in this case? I don’t know the woman, seen her for the first time in my life. I was doing exactly what that couple did. And yet she felt they deserved a polite “excuse me” and I deserve a “bitch”? And let me assure you, she wasn’t saying THAT to her phone. It was clearly meant for me. Like I was in some way worse than her. Or than that couple, for that matter.
And I know our society teaches us to be polite towards the elders, and I think it’s great, and I always give up my place to them in trams and buses, and all. But I think we shouldn’t stop at being polite to elder people.
I think we should be polite to everyone. Or at least not be rude, which isn’t necessarily the same thing.
I blame the society.
I was reading this powerful story, written by a soldier who for the first time could tell it without hiding his name and face (thank God DADT ended, good job, America), and comparing it to what happened to me just this weekend. And I’ve come to a conclusion that it’s a terrible society we live in.
Society that forces us to live in fear and shame even though our parents always taught us to be proud of ourselves and be strong, and be who we are. Me and the mentioned soldier have that it common: we’ve had this awesome role model in our life, someone to measure up to. And everything that person ever did was love us no matter what. My mom is my best friend, my biggest support, my lifeline. She’s the best person I met. All my life my main fear was to fail her – not because she would punish me or something. It was ME who didn’t want to cause her any pain, any worry.
And we both were for some reason afraid to tell that person who we were. Why? All my mom ever did was love me. Unconditionally. I screwed up more than once, and she was always forgiving and understanding. And I was still afraid to tell her. I knew in my heart she wouldn’t do anything dramatic, like you hear some people do to their children confessing they’re not straight, like throw out of the house or tell them they have a disease or something. But I was afraid. Why?
I blame the society. This society that shapes us all, and tells me I am wrong to be different, even though I can’t help it and I didn’t choose this. This society that only views the world in black and white and refuses the existence of anything that is gray, or colorful. This society that only ever sets the limits and punishes those who breach the frontier. This society that lives in extrema, and condemns everything that is in between, or God forbids outside of the scale. This society that calls me sick, abnormal, a sinner, an abomination, because I dare to love differently. This society that makes me fear the reaction of the closest person I have when I admit the truth about myself. This society that forces their opinion on me so much that I start to assign it to everyone else, even those I love and who I know love me. This society that makes me presume everyone will be against me, even those who have been there for me my entire life. Who have never let me down. Who have been my greatest support throughout all the crap I’ve experienced.
I blame the society for the pressure. And I never want my close ones – my children, perhaps, in the future? – to feel that pressure. I blame the society and I’m going to do something about this. I’m not going to stand and watch the world go by. I am going to act and I am going to change the world. One person a time, if needs be.
There’s nothing but clothes in my closet. Except for occasionally a cat.
This past few weeks have been really crazy for me. Starting with Christmas that hasn’t been as bad as I thought it might be, all the way through New Year’s party we had in the mountains, in my friend’s parents’ house, and “Saltimbanco”, the Cirque Du Soleil show we attended in Gdansk, northern Poland, to an exam that I blew and had to retake. There have been meetings with friends, emotions, much tv shows watching, learning, revising, nervousness, drinking, sheesha smoking, working, translating… Stuff happening. You know, living.
But nothing compares to what happened this weekend. You know, I bought a dress – first one since my prom, and that was some four years ago – and went to church, just to please my mom. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I talked to my mom and came out of the closet.
Recently I’ve been involved in creating a group of volunteers, a group that strives to work for the good of the lgbt community. This is happening quickly, we’re in the middle of creating a foundation, because we need to be legally registered to be able to try out for grants from the state, the EU and some NGOs. And I am to be a member of the board of said foundation. This means my name will be officially displayed in the court legal register. I am also to be the treasurer of the foundation. So I could really use my mom’s expertise when it comes to taxes, bookkeeping and stuff, since my mom is an accountant.
The problem was that she didn’t know I am bisexual. She does now.
We went to a shopping centre yesterday, me and my mom. I needed new jeans (I ended up buying a jeans, a top end a dress). I knew I needed to tell my mom, but I didn’t want my dad to be around for this. If I ever get a girlfriend and want to present her to my family, that’s when my dad and my brother will know. I don’t feel the same internal urge to be absolutely honest with them as I do with my mom. They were never really interested in my social life anyway.
So I told my mom I needed to talk to her alone. We went to a coffee shop, got a tea (I know, taking tea in a coffee shop must be some kind of a blasphemy) and talked.
It was one of the hardest things in my life, to just start speaking about this. If not the hardest. I love my mom so much, she’s been my major and sometimes only support throughout all the crap I’ve been through. I would never want to hurt her. And even though I knew my mom is tolerant, I also knew she’s Catholic. It made me unsure of how she might react. I was afraid she wouldn’t take me seriously, she would say it’s just a phase, that I couldn’t possibly know what I want in life. I was partly right.
I don’t remember what words exactly I used. I know I started with the foundation and that I really wanted her to know this. I said I was identifying myself as a bisexual, that is, that I like both boys and girls. And that I might create a relationship with a boy, someday, but it might happen that it will be a girl. I told her I used to be in love with a boy and with a girl, and that if she thought carefully, she’d know with whom. I said that it wasn’t long since I’ve admitted that to myself. She didn’t say a word, and when I stopped talking, she remained silent. She haven’t said anything for so long that the stress almost ate me up from the inside. But I felt like I had to give her time to process this. “Say something, please”, I said at last, when I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve never been so tense in my life. Finally she started talking; her words were slow and careful, I saw her struggle to shape them just right. She didn’t want to hurt me. I was dropping a bomb on her, and she didn’t want to hurt me. I feel like crying when I think about that.
But she said she felt like I didn’t know what I was saying. How could I know what I liked if I had no experience? (She was spot on, I don’t have any; does it make me lame?) I asked how straight kids know they’re straight? They don’t need to experiment to be sure. And I was in love in someone of the opposite sex, but I was in live with a person of the same sex as well. I know who I am. She said she just didn’t want me to close any doors for myself. Our world is so not prepared for this. It would take years before people could accept this. But I insisted this is the time to act. Now. It’s a historic moment, and I don’t like learning history, I want to make it. That is why I am getting involved, I believe we can change the world. It starts small. It starts now.
And then something incredible happened. She said she didn’t care. She just wants me to be happy, no matter with whom. I could barely contain myself, I told her how much I loved her and hugged her closely. She said she still didn’t believe I am inclined towards both girls and boys (she avoided the word “bisexual”), but she thought I just wanted to stay open. I agreed. The important thing is that if I ever do come home with a girlfriend, she won’t mind. She told me she would prefer me being with a man, but whatever makes me happy. Also she wants grandchildren. I reminded her I’m sick, so there’s a possibility I won’t be ever able to have children of my own, or that I will have to use In Vitro. But adoption seems like the most probable solution. If ever. But I would want to have children one day; adopted or mine, that’s secondary.
So now my mom knows. She knows I think of myself as a bisexual, even if she doesn’t exactly believe that it’s true. She knows I’m in that lgbt group, and that we’re getting involved, and that we’re creating a foundation. She knows, and I feel three times lighter. Like I’ve been liberated. It felt similar when I told my friends.
I also feel like I don’t deserve all this. All this… acceptance. People liking me the way I am. I never believed it could be possible, not for me. I was such a lonely, sad child. I missed out on a lot, but it’s only now that I realize that in order to get others to accept you, you have to first accept yourself. For me, the process of being freed has been long – started in high school already, but it picked up speed only when I moved to Kraków and started my studies. I have now three sets of friends I love insanely, and they like me and support me even though I am far from flawless. But who is? Before I talked to my mom, I knew I would have to do it, and I was nervous, and though my decision was already taken, I needed an emotional support. And I got it. I got it from Ola and her boyfriend when I went to visit them, I got it from my Sabbath when they came over, I got it from my friends from far away through Twitter. It calmed me and made me stronger. And I am infinitely grateful for this.
And I want to be a support to them too. To other people. I want to give back the good I’ve received.
I am so blessed.
Christmas is coming.
I’m in a very bad place right now and it seems to me that it’s gonna be the saddest Christmas since the one we spent in total silence, because my father chose to give us the silent treatment. For a year. That was when I was in primary school.
My kitty is very, very sick. We don’t know if she’s gonna make it. And I know that you think, it’s just a cat, but she’s so much more to us. She’s been with us for almost ten years and she is a member of the family. I almost lost her once, when she got lost when we were in the mountains, in our friends’ house. But this is so much worse. To see her slowly passing, getting weaker and weaker and having all those lashes of hope that arise only to be shut down by bigger uncertainties… She’s not doing well. I don’t want to loose a friend, and my kitty is just as much a friend and a part of the family as any human would be. I don’t want to loose her and she’s not doing well.
My mom was taken into the ER yesterday. She has pancreatic problems, she has had an operation some time ago and she’s better now than before, but still there are times when it attacks and yesterday was one of those days. She told me only today. She doesn’t want to worry me, but it only makes things worse. I love her beyond reason, more than anything or anyone else, we have the connection that not many mothers and daughters have. We have our differences and I can’t exactly tell her everything – not yet, anyway, but someday I will – but she’s been always my biggest support in life and my best friend. We have never had an argument. We disagree sometimes, we don’t have the same priorities, we upset each other sometimes, but we have never ever had a real fight, even when I was a teenager. Teenage girls are supposed to have fight with their mothers. I didn’t have even one.
Of course I worry. She does all the time too. It’s probably genetic, my grandma is a worrying-too-much type too. And yet with all the worrying my mom never banned me from doing what I wanted, to reasonable extent, of course. She always had faith in me and my sense of responsibility. Sometimes I didn’t deserve that.
My uncle lost a suit against his old co-worker who cheated on him for millions of zlotys. Apparently she bribed every judge on her way. My unlce is gonna be forced to sell his beautiful house and his awesome car and he already has alimony to pay for his two previous wives and three kids from those marriages. He has his third wife, who is a PE teacher in high school (or maybe it’s a middle school? Anyway, her salary is minuscule) and two children, boys of 7 and 9 years, from that third marriage, to provide for. So we made a general consensus that there will be no presents this year, except for the boys. Kids deserve to have some kind of normal Christmas, they don’t need to understand how bad things are.
And we won’t have presents either. I couldn’t care less. We payed around 600 zlotys for my kitty’s treatment and we’re gonna pay more if it’s necessary. I just want my kitty to be okay.
But all in all, it’s gonna be a very sad Christmas. And right now I’m in such mindset that I can’t look past that. I know I’m set for awesome New Year’s party and then to go to Gdańsk to see Cirque du Soleil’s Saltimbanco, and to go to Glee Live in London in June, and to get a traineeship in European Parliament for July and August, if I can. But it all seems so distant now. Like how can I ever be happy again if my kitty’s not gonna be here? I still hope she’ll get better, but it’s starting to be very difficult to stay positive. And I know it doesn’t work like that, grief is not perpetual. But I know this with my mind, my heart says otherwise. And I just can’t get over what my heart is saying right now, no matter how I try.
I’m sad.
I’m lost.
My mother and I are best friends. But we do have our issues too. I am writing this on my phone, to publish it as soon as I get back home. Right now I am on the train (it’s already half an hour late and we haven’t moved from the station in Katowice yet, welcome to National Railways of Poland)(*EDIT after getting home: It was an hour late when we departed…). I left home with a nail stuck in my heart, because I know my mom is mad at me and worried. We had a talk about my not going to church anymore.
I told her I didn’t like the Church anymore as an institution. I am not saying I don’t believe in God, because I do. I just can’t pretend like I am a good Catholic if I disagree with the Church on some very important – at least to me – issues. And if I don’t trust it anymore. I used to think that all those years of history made the Church somehow more right. Now I know they don’t mean anything. On the contrary, what happened in the past only proves they were wrong before. What makes them think they aren’t now?
How can the Church assume moral superiority over anyone and anything if they were the ones making so munch evil in the world? I’m not just talking about the most obvious Crusades and Inquisition, but also keeping the science development back for ages. How can they claim there is no doubt as to the righteousness of their teachings if they themselves changed it over the course of the years? How can they justify that they came from basing their dogmas on St. Augustin to basing then on St. Thomas? How would they explain the celibacy? It was introduced as a canonic law in XI century. 1000 years, there was no priest celibacy in Catholic Church! How can they expect me to believe that the pope is infallible if the history tells the story of their promiscuity, cruelty, luxury and sins all over? How am I supposed to have faith if I witness the Church, led by the pope, covering up their priests’ pedophilia?
And most of all, how am I supposed to be a good Catholic and not be a hypocrite if I disagree with the Church on things like contraception and in vitro and homosexuality? I can’t tell that to my mom just yet, but I am bisexual (or more like pansexual, if we really want all those etiquettes), so how can I adhere to the religion that says I’m against nature and I shouldn’t love my way and that my love is wrong, that it’s a sin and I am ‘called’ to a life of chastity. God created me like that. And now He doesn’t want me to act on it? He doesn’t want me to love and be loved? I just can’t agree with that. I just can’t accept that. And I never will.
But the truth is, I am scared. I am scared because I was brought up to believe that going to the Mass on Sunday is important. Because it’s a direct link with God. Because it’s a sacrament and it should be observed. And I really want to belong. I have this longing in me, longing for a community of people. Putting the institutional side of the Church aside, it’s also a community of people who believe. And I want to be a part of that community. But I can’t. Because I don’t want to be a hypocrite.
I am not saying here that the Church it’s necessarily wrong. Maybe it’s not. But I doubt, and that doubt is what keeps me from saying “I am a Catholic”. I am not. With religion you have to go va banque. All or nothing. And I can’t just decide “from now on I believe in everything the Church says”. It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just chose to change my opinions, my views. They have to convince me. And they’re not doing a great job at that right now…
I’m lost. But I won’t lie or pretend like I am someone I’m not. Even for my mom, whom I love dearly. She will just have to accept that. I don’t like worrying her, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m sorry, mom. I love you. But I can’t just get unlost with a flick of a wand. I wish I could. But I can’t.
I’m lost.
This is a deeply personal post with a therapeutic goal.
I’ve had a very bad week.
My Group Dynamics professor keeps telling us that when we talk about our feelings, it helps us to canalize them, and therefore resolve the tension, calm emotions. If this is true, that’d be the first useful thing she said during that class. I’m not convinced, but I can’t just sit there anymore and be silent, and I have no one to talk to about it. I mean, I guess I could… but then I think that I don’t want to burden anyone with my bad mood. It’s enough that they have to put up with me in a state like this.
So my blog is an ersatz of this therapeutic conversation that I need. I could write in my own personal diary, but here there’s at least a potential that someone sometime might actually read it. I probably should be freaked out about it, but the thought is surprisingly soothing.
So let’s start with this: I am beyond exhausted.
There was a complaint from one of our clients, and the fault for it was pinned down on me. Let’s not dwell on the fact that I have NO decisive power in my job, so basically I do what I’m told, thus it couldn’t be my fault. Let’s not. Let’s just say that due to that client complaint I was instructed to do something very boring, very time and effort-consuming and I had to finish it before 6 pm today.
So basically I’ve been doing it at work all week, and then I realized there was no way I was going to make it on time if I leave it for office hours. So yesterday, after work and classes at Uni, I came back home and started working on that stupid thing. It was around 10 pm. At 7 am my spine gave in and I had to lie down for a while. Woke up three hours later. Didn’t go to classes. Sat on my butt in front of my computer and worked instead. Finished at 5 pm.
16 hours of working, contorted on my not-so-comfortable chair, with spine killing me and brain slowly shutting down. I drank a sea of Yerba Mate to stay awake and got through it.
The worse in it?
I probably won’t get paid for it at all, because it’s due to a client complaint.
So yeah, I’m really exhausted, but I overdosed Yerba Mate and can’t sleep yet. Welcome to my personal brand of hell. And, oh yeah, my spine is still hurting.
But it’s not the end of the story. Or rather, it is the end, but I wand to take a step back. Because the whole week was like that: I slept for 3 hours tops, went to the office and for classes at Uni and basically worked my ass off. (Or arse, as my British friends would say.) (You know that stereotype about British English being the elegant and sophisticated one? SO NOT TRUE. At least judging by what I learn from Eleri and Lou.) (Eleri and Lou, and Bri, are my new friends. Together we are KLOT4. I shall add the appropriate note in my “The Cast” sub page.)
And before that, there was Falkon. Falkon is an annual fantasy fan convention held in Lublin, which is 5 hours away by train. It lasts four days and is pretty awesome. But you don’t get to sleep that much during it. I mean, there are all those distractions… like my friends whom I see roughly once a year, exactly then, during Falkon. And a night before that I’ve been preparing questions for our pop quiz on the Witcher Saga (we, that is me and Jod, held it on Friday and it was a success). So all in all, during that five days, I’ve slept around 12 hours. Which is 3 hours per night. Well.
So you can see why I am so damn tired.
But of course there is more than physical exhaustion.
(You didn’t think this post would be short, did you? Well. It won’t be. It will be, however, rather personal, so you can ignore it. Ooops. Maybe I should have said it on the beginning. Welp.)
So I met someone during Falkon. Not that it’s strange, I met a lot of new people. But that person was pretty special. Mainly because it was the first girl I got interested in that wasn’t helplessly straight.
You know, I have a long record of failed loves and crushes. I’ve been in love with my best friend for ten years before I found out he’s gay. Then I’ve been in love with my other best friend who was straight and I still thought I was straight too, so I pretty much pushed it out of my conscious brain. There have been moments, though, when I wondered. I remember one time in particular, when we were lying on a huge bed in a hostel in Wrocław, me, M. (the gay friend I’ve been in love with; it was after he came out to me and after I managed to get over him) and our friend A. (we were all classmates). I’m trying to remember whether I talked with them about it and I think I did, but I’m not sure. But I certainly thought about it. “What if…?”, I thought. “What if I’m not just very close to her? What if that’s love? After all, I don’t know much about love.” I never admitted to that friend that I was in love with her. Mainly because I was never sure until recently, because only recently I came out to myself as bisexual or pansexual, or whatever you want to call it. (I really don’t like etiquettes. They’re good for clothes, not people.) And we don’t speak anymore. I mean the contact just faded away, died naturally. Which is very sad, because I really liked… well, loved her. Even if we could never be together, I still grieve the lost friendship. People grow apart and I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
After that, there have been a long list of guys and – recently – girls that caught my attention. I suppose I could call them my crushes. The problem is – all the boys were either gay or taken and all the girls were straight (and sometimes taken too, ugh). Well.
The story of my life. I think I should preside over a club for Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys. Also Girls Who Like Girls Who Like Boys. Oh, fuck it.
Anyway, Falkon. First time in my life when I met a fellow bisexual girl that I actually got interested in. (I’ve met bi and les before, of course, but it doesn’t mean I was immediately drawn to them.) And for a moment there it seemed she was interested in me too. Or maybe I just misinterpreted the signals. Did I make it all up in my mind?
“She’s weird”, this was what my friend said about her. I agreed. Yes, she was weird. But apparently I like weird. I thought she was cute. And pretty. And, omg, when she put on that shirt with a low neckline… well, let’s just say my IQ dropped significantly for a while, before I could pull myself together. I never knew it could be so… animal. The infatuation.
Yeah, I kinda developed a crush on her.
Only to see her getting together with our mutual friend. A boy.
So…
Yeah.
I’m a tad disappointed.
Not that it’s a big thing anyway. My world didn’t collapse and shatter into little pieces like it was with M. I’ve known her for a day before the situation was made very clear. It’s not like I was ready to jump into a relationship with her just because I thought she was cute and my heart rate raised sligthly when she was close. I’m far too picky for that. I also have high standards. Probably too high. But there, right there, I saw a glimpse of hope, an opportunity that doesn’t happen a lot to me. Or maybe I was only interested because she seemed to be drawn to me. I’ve been single my entire life and I long for a grain of… something. An emotion. A feeling of being close with someone. Absolute acceptance. Confirmation of my purposefulness in this world. I don’t know.
I’ve been single my entire life but it’s only after something like that happens when I really feel lonely. And sad. This isn’t something frequent, I’m usually a very happy person and I embrace life with full positivity and openness. But at times like this I go back to that time in my life when everything was dark and there was literally no one who could be my sparkle of light. When I felt so lonely and worthless and unimportant that stupid thoughts got into my head. Sometimes, in some very rare moments of absolute self-doubt and self-pity, those thoughts come back. They’re just glimpses, but they’re there. I’m an overly emotional person, my mood swings are rare but very deep. (Unless I’m on pills. Then mood swings happen every ten minutes or so.) (That’s why I’m usually not on pills, though I should be.) (I’m a bad patient.) I had a moment like this today. Coming down the stairs, barely alive after those 16 hours of working, painfully aware of my every flaw, forgetting all the amazing things in my life. Feeling like I’m only a burden to all those awesome people in my life, feeling like I’m worthless, like I don’t matter. If I had a gun in my hand in that short moment… I don’t know. I don’t know.
But that lasted only few seconds, a minute at most. I went out, felt the freezing air biting my cheeks, put on my headphones, took a deep breath and everything returned to normal. I’m still exhausted, I’m still sad and disappointed. But it’s manageable.
Also, if not for three bright spots in the darkness of this week, I’d go totally nuts. I mean like take-a-sharp-knife-go-on-streets-and-attack-innocent-passers-by-and-then-cut-your-own-veins kinda nuts. (Exaggerating only a little.)
And those three bright spots were: my Morpions, whom I barely saw this week, but even this little of them could push me into a tad better mood; new episode of Glee, because that’s my obsession and I love it and I totally invest in fictional characters of this show as well as the actual cast, and I do so way too much; and my KLOT4, that is Bri, Eleri and Lou, who all three have inadvertently kept me sane throughout the week by just being themselves and putting up with me.
Thank you, guise.
There, I said it all. (Well, almost. But that’s far too private to share with anyone. I guess I’m gonna have to canalize it with my mirror or something.) I don’t know if I feel better. Maybe a little. I’m still very tired and not sleepy at all, damn you, Yerba Mate. I love you too much, I shouldn’t have overdosed you. Ech. I’ll try to take a bath and maybe then the sleep will come.
Goodnight, I guess.
Music is poetry too.
It’s Thursday, so it’s my day to showcase a little of poetry. Today it’s gonna be a song. Not even from the genre that in Poland is called “sang poetry”, just so beautiful that I can’t stop listening to it.
This is a song performed by a Polish group called Bajm, with Beata Kozidrak as a lead singer. The song is probably the most beautiful thing about motherhood that I have ever heard.
Bajm
“Dwa serca, dwa smutki” / “Two hearts, two sorrows”
Rośniesz jak młody buk na moich ramionach /You’re growing like a young beech* on my arms
Jak drzewo, którego nikt, nikt nie pokona / Like a tree that no one, no one can defeat
Dałam ci wolę istnienia / I gave you the will of existence
Dałam ci siłę tworzenia / I gave you the power of creation
Nowy nieznany szlak nad twoją głową / The new, unknown path over your head
Może jest tylko snem, a może koroną / Maybe it’s just a dream or maybe a crown
Zostań więc Bogiem i drzewem / So become God and a tree
Między mną, ziemią, a niebem / Between me, the Earth and the Heavens**
Ref.: / Chorus:
Więc teraz serca mam dwa, smutki dwa / So now I have two hearts, two sorrows
I miłość po kres, i radość do łez / And love to the end, and joy to the tears
Wieczory długie i złe / Evenings long and bad
Krótkie dnie, więc całuj mnie częściej, / Short days, so kiss me more often
Bo nie wiem jak będzie / Because I don’t know what is going to be
Ojciec Twój pędzi-wiatr, uwieść mnie zdołał / Your father, road runner, has managed to seduce me
Tulił jak cenny skarb w swoich ramionach / He held me in his arms like a treasured gold
Dałam mu wolę istnienia / I gave him the will of existence
Dałam mu siłę tworzenia / I gave him the power of creation
Ref.: / Chorus: x3
*In Polish “buk” and “bóg” are pronounced the same way; “buk” is beech and “bóg” means god.
** In Polish “ziemia” can mean either the floor or the Earth, as well as “niebo” can mean the sky or the Heaven.
Wordless Wednesday #3
Going to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Polish premiere, on July 14/15, at midnight :)
The worst part its of course the fact that apparently you have to choose between 3D with subtitles or 2D with dubbing. I’d like 2D with subtitles, but that’s not an option :/ all in all we’ve decided for the subtitles, we’re just gonna have to endure the 3D. (Most of us don’t like it, because it gives headache and is not all that fancy.)
(And once again my wordless wednesday is pretty wordy xD)
I am back!
I was gone way too long. So many things have happened in that time! In my life, in the world, in myself. This post will be only an update on my recent doings, but I promise I’ll be back with my pointless babble in no time. After all, I’m doing it mostly for myself. Though I appreciate HUGELY every comment and every visit to this blog. Sometimes it’s nice to know you’re not talking only to the mirror.
Anyway, last time I wrote I was saying that my exam session was going well. And it did – with one little exception. I flunked the oral Italian exam. It was entirely my fault (though I really wanted to blame Glee for that, I can’t, it was me who preferred watching it and reading Dalton instead of actually learning). But the consequences are just not fair. Usually when you fail an exam, you get to retake it in September and all is fine. I get to retake it too, but because I need to pass all my exams before my BA exam, I couldn’t get BA now, as everybody else, I have to take it in September too. And that means I can’t apply for the studies of secondary level, the MA studies. Everyone will get in before I even get my BA. My only hope is that there will be the second enrollment in September and I’ll get in then, but it’s not certain and I might be facing the possibility of loosing an entire year. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself in that case. Of course I’ll apply for MA studies next year, but in the meantime… I’ll have to find a job. And what if I can’t? What if I have to go back to my parents’ home and leave everything I have here behind FOR A FREAKING YEAR?! Not mentioning that my roommate would be in extremely difficult situation, having to find a new roommate very, very fast and all.
Or maybe I’ll just go to Warsaw, get a visa and come living in USA for that gap year. I’m not joking – I’m seriously considering a year in USA as an au-pair or a nanny. I’ve been in France twice for summer vacations exactly to do this – be an au-pair, so I have some experience. I speak decent English. The family would provide me with accommodation and some pocket-money. I’d have to use all my savings from France just to get the plane ticket, but one day I’ll have to use it anyway, so why not for this? I really want to visit USA – and not only travel as a tourist, I want to feel this country, live there for a while, just like I did with France.
But all this is a consideration, in case I don’t get in to my MA studies. I really really really hope I will.
I had a serious breakdown when I found out about this. A darkest day of my life since high school, or maybe even since middle school. I was hysterical, crying all the time, wanting to curl up on my bed and never ever get up. But I got over it and next day I was fine. And I am fine.
Surprisingly fine. Better than I ever was, actually.
And I don’t know if this is because of that flunked exam, or because of my new internship, or because of Glee, but I am feeling better in my skin than I ever felt. Like I’ve been reborn. Everything is new. I’m looking at the world with wide eyes and feeling it more intensely than ever. I’m not afraid anymore.
And that’s probably the biggest change: the one in me. And I guess I have Glee to thank for that. But this is a topic for another post. Because you probably raise your eyebrows right now, thinking how silly I am saying that a simple show (and not the best quality one, as I’m sure some of you might think) could make that big of a difference. Well, it did. It showed me something very important; more than that: it made me believe it. Something no one could do until now. But as I said, it’s a topic for another time.
There’s another thing that happened while I was gone from here: the History of French Language Exam. I got a decend grade from it, but two of my best friends weren’t that lucky. The teacher had done something unforgivable and frankly just criminal – opened our private e-mail even though the girls were protesting. It’s against the Constitution of Republic of Poland, let alone the penal code. Moreover, in one of the e-mails he found a silly name that someone made up for him. I can’t stress that enough: it was our private correspondence. He had no right to read it. But he did and then abused the girls for it verbally to the point they left the room crying. We are trying now to file an official complaint agaist that guy. I am just disappointed in our colleagues: the whole year that teacher was mean to all of us and with what he did to those girls… it’s unforgivable. But the whole class, with a few exceptions, says they won’t even sign that complaint because it’s not their business. Really, I thought we were more of a group than that. But okay, they don’t want to, we’re not going to force them. I just think it’s opportunistic and cowardly from their part. I wasn’t in the room when it was happening either and I am going to do everything I can to make that guy pay for what he did. Not just because it’s my friends we’re talking about, but because it’s the right thing to do. My blood pressure is still raising every time I think about it.
Another thing is more cheerful (sort of): I started my second internship. I work at the office with some pretty jolly gals doing mostly what I do for that first internship: spell checking and proofreading the translations, fixing the formatting and stuff. Recently I also did some other things, like filling forms concerning freelancer translators who work with us. Very, very annoying stuff – boring as hell. But I’m an intern, so I do what I’m told to do. I gain experience. And when I’m done, it’s gonna be a huge advantage in any attempts to get a real job in the future. I hope.
Also? I got totally addicted to Tumblr. And I’m translating “Dalton”, a Glee AU!Klaine fanfiction, into Polish. It’s all fluffy and not at all realistic, but I love it anyway. Huh.
And yesterday, for the first time in my life, I got a little drunk. I have a very strong head and usually I get just a little buzz in my ears at most, I honestly don’t know why yesterday was so different. T’was a strange experience. Not at all unpleasant (I was just slightly out of control, singing, dancing and saying silly stuff, but nothing more disorderly), but also not sky-high cool. I mean, it was fun when it lasted, but right now I’m a little embarrassed for myself. I can’t think how I would feel if I did something really stupid. Or if I couldn’t remember what I did.
(I know I’m 22 and I should have this kind of experience long behind me (legal age in Poland is 18), but what can I say? I am usually a good girl. And I really have a strong head.)
Oh, and I have totally rainbow nail polish on right now, Darren Criss style. Also his pink sunglasses. That is a real obsession, ya know :D
(I also want a sea monkey wrist aquarium, just like Chris Colfer’s, but I guess finding it would be a little problematic, since that sorts of things are not popular in my corner of the world.)
And that’s pretty much all for now. Thanks for putting up with me and see you soon ;)
Update
So I’m halfway through my exam session. I’ve had 5 exams already, another 5 before. I know I passed written French, both parts, I just don’t know the grade. Italian was today and I won’t know the results till Monday, probably. What I know is that I got 4,5 (roughly equivalent of your B+ I guess) from General Lingustics and 5+ (A+) from Merlin (it was an optional class about a character of Merlin appearing in various medieval versions of Arthurian legends. I am kinda nuts about Arthurian legends, no wonder I passed that one without any problems at all, I didn’t even need to study, just read all the texts – and dare I say, it’s an accomplishment, since some of them were in Old French…). This is good, so far.
What is very not good is that Asia, one of my best friends, didn’t pass that Lingustics exam. This sucks, because now she wants to bail out the other exams because she doesn’t believe she can get to Masters Degree studies in the second enrolment, in September, after the repeat exam. I tried to tell her she should be strong and fight. There aren’t that many people who even try to get in on this degree and it’s entirely possible that there won’t be enough people to even open the faculty. So she should get in without problems in September. Still… pretty depressing. I just can’t be glad about my result when my friend didn’t succeed.
Also? I watched entire Glee show in 6 days and fell in love with Kurt. Or, more precisely, with the couple Kurt/Blaine. They are just so adorable together <3 I can’t express it. Or actually… I haven’t written any fanfiction in years, I’m more of my own creation kinda gal now, but right now I really feel like writing Kurt/Blaine slash. Me! I have nothing against slash if it’s well written, but I usually don’t search for that kind of texts myself. And here – I am just so tempted! Maybe it’s because they are so cute, maybe because this couple is actually canonic – something I can’t say about all the Drarrys, Snarrys etc. (Aevenien should kill me now. Though with a little luck, she won’t read this :D) Anyway, I shouldn’t even think about it and just go back to learning. But after the session ends – I am DEFINITELY writing a Kurt/Blaine fanfiction.
