mrsronweasley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrsronweasley) wrote2003-08-16 12:00 am
mrsronweasley) wrote2003-08-16 12:00 am
One day - two very important anniversaries...
Cut, for long-windedness. Why today is so strange and important.
Today is a strange day for me. Today is August 16th, which means that exactly 10 years ago, with eight big bags filled mostly with clothing and books, my family picked up and left Russia. I remember that day better than most others in my life, and with reason. I remember my closest friend crying on the steps of our building, and I remember her pale face, bright red hair and inability to pronounce the letter ‘R’. I remember it was dusty outside, because it was mid-August, and the summer heat was in full swing. I remember the small bus we had asked a friend of ours to drive so we could all – closest friends and relatives – get to the airport in Moscow. I remember the way the light lace curtains moved in the window of our living room, the carpet rolled up and the floor looking abandoned. I stood there, looking at it, chewing on my nail, and my great aunt made some remark to cheer me up and led me out of the room. It was chaos and emptiness at the same time – so many people, so little…stuff. We were leaving our apartment in the hands of a friend to take care of and, later, sell. It was almost like we were coming back, with a lot of the furniture still in place. I don’t think I really believed we’d left forever until we didn’t come back.
I remember how we sat on the bus and suddenly I remembered that my sister and I had forgotten to say goodbye to our old art teacher. Without blinking an eye, she said: ‘We’ll say goodbye when we come back,’ and it didn’t hit us until a few seconds later. People laughed, to lighten the atmosphere, and I looked out the window, trying to remember every detail of my town, every street, as we drove out. I didn’t have to – I would have remembered it, anyway. I still do, almost to the last crack of each pavement. I used to miss it horribly, and when I had become a Trekkie, I dreamed of living on the Enterprise, just so I could go into a holodeck and it would show me my town.
The most difficult memories are the first ones. The first few days were so tough, it’s a wonder we didn’t break down. However, we did have an advantage over a lot of other people – my dad had a job lined up, and we knew where we would end up. But before we moved there, we spent 12 days in New York – days that seemed like an eternity, first because they were so terrible, later – because they were so full of new life and adventure. That’s when I first fell in love with New York. It was so huge, it was so full of life – it was where IT was, though I wasn’t really sure what IT meant. We lived on the 12th floor of a rather run-down hotel, and on the elevator somebody had written ‘dick’ in Russian. And here we thought we’d come to a foreign country.
We landed in JFK and were supposed to have been met by a representative of NYANA – the organization of NY that helped immigrants settle in, mostly Russian immigrants. He did meet us, and immediately we were showered with filth – we were told how we’d made the biggest mistake of our lives moving here, how most people can’t make it, how we shouldn’t expect anything good, and how much our lives will suck. He made my mom cried – and she was always the pillar of strength, in a way, she never broke down. And there, on a blisteringly hot New York day, on the dusty pavement, outside of JFK airport, with all the bags around her, her two children scared and upset, she cried. At least my dad was there, and Sasha and I surrounded her and tried to make her feel better. Then, a very old and very beat up van picked us and two other families up and we were driven to a hotel. This time, the driver was nice, and even put up with the absolutely asanine questions that one of the people kept asking. (‘Why do they need a river?’)
That night, I woke up at 3am and walked to the open window. I stared at the sky above the skyscrapers – I’d never seen anything like it, it was glowing from the bottom up. It looked mysterious and strange, and the buildings were outlined in black. Something about the lights and cars below made me feel better, and then my sister woke up and came up to me, also to look out the window. We crept into our parents’ room and they woke up and we sat on their bed and talked. And that I actually remember as one of the happiest nights of my life. We were all in this together, there were no factions, there were just the four of us, fighting for the same thing. ‘It’s all right, girls,’ my mom said. ‘We’ll make it.’
And we did.
I know that my mom thinks that she doesn’t have much to show for ten years of being in America. We don’t own a house, live in a small apartment in Boston that’s eating away at our wallets, and we’re not in Ithaca anymore, which she loved as much as I love England. But I think we’ll be fine. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. And, after all, we’re home now. It isn’t a strange country anymore. Nothing new to discover, it’s all been seen and heard. My mom has a good job, as does my dad. Yeah, they don’t make much money, but they’re doing what they like, love, even. My sister’s married, happily, and is doing well. And I think that I got the best deal out of this whole thing, in a way. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I’m happy.
Despite everything bad that’s happened, or will happen when I go back to school, a place I truly hate, I am happy. I have amazing friends. I have a future to live for. I love what I have become – something I am not sure I would have had the courage to become had we stayed back in Russia. I don’t know what it’s like there now, but I know what it was like before, and the way I have been able to open up to myself and others would not have happened there. I got Carrie because of this. I got Tali because of this. I got Sam because of this. I got you all out of this, I got Ireland, I got everything that means anything to me out of this. I used to want to go back home, I used to long for it, dream of moving back once I was old enough. Not so anymore, and it’s better this way. My past will always, always be connected to Russia, and I am proud of that. I love Russia. But it isn’t for me anymore. My future doesn’t lie there. Someday, I might come back, but I don’t know anymore. Whenever I think back on my childhood, I think of sunshine and my town, but if I try to think of Russia as I see it now, all I see is grey and rain. Russia will always be in me. I will always remember where I came from, and why that’s important to me. But I don’t have that same burning wish to go back anymore. And, like I said, that’s the best way. I have other places to make my own now.
My family won’t see this, but still – pozdravliayu vas, dorogie moi. My vyzhili I dazhe rascveli. Za sleduyuschie desiat’ let!
And this is another anniversary, rather worth mentioning. Just bear with the preemptive stuff, if you’re still with me.
It suddenly hit me today – rather appropriately – that I have a cause that I believe in on my hands, and I am willing to go to the ends of the earth for it. Isn’t that strange? I used to watch all these biographies of people, and hear about how they believed in something and never backed down, or how they felt that this ‘something’ was so important, everybody had to know about it. And I have realized that I have absolutely no qualms where ‘At Swim’ is concerned. If I was asked tomorrow to go and advertise for it, I would. If I was asked to set up a reading, ANYWHERE, I would. If I was asked to sell it to a million people in a month, I would. And I would do it all for free. I would do it all at my own expense. It’s so strange, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this assurance, this belief in anything before, not in my entire life. Sure, I have ‘causes’ and beliefs, but this – this is something I’d be willing to dedicate my life to. How strange is that? Isn’t that odd? I mean, all things considered, it’s just a book, right? But it’s true. I am willing to embarrass myself for it – as I frequently do whenever anybody buys it, and I slobber all over myself in my own enthusiasm – and make a fool of myself, just so another person out there will see this beautiful book, and share in it, and KNOW about it. I have ambitions about it as if it were my baby. I have hope that one day it will be ranked alongside the timeless classics that everybody has to read and loves afterwards, despite school and the hoopla.
I am either extremely deranged or psychotic, or just a wee bit overenthusiastic. I think I may be insane. But it feels good to know that at least I’ve got a drive to do SOMETHING, seeing as how my lack of proper ambition has made me feel like total shit before. So, psychotic or not, I think this may be a good thing.
And, so, exactly a year ago, I received a Private Message from a then-new acquaintance named ‘Arborealis’ of The Sugar Quill, who seemed to share my love of all things R/S and Alan Rickman. And he recommended me this book.
And, to put an old cliché to good and appropriate use, my life has not been the same since. Thank you, darling, for making my world more amazing than I ever thought it could be. And thank you for understanding it all, and being just as bewildered and awed by it, and for putting ‘Cheer’ into the subject lines of our emails for at least two months afterwards. And even though you’re thousands of miles away right now, singing your wonderful heart out in South Africa, I hope this cheer reaches you. And I can’t believe you’re away again, at such a critical moment. Shall I expect this every August? ;)
I can't believe how much has happened in the past year, and how much of it due to this book. I don't think I could ever really truly express it, but I think that you just might understand...
Happy Anniversary.
Today is a strange day for me. Today is August 16th, which means that exactly 10 years ago, with eight big bags filled mostly with clothing and books, my family picked up and left Russia. I remember that day better than most others in my life, and with reason. I remember my closest friend crying on the steps of our building, and I remember her pale face, bright red hair and inability to pronounce the letter ‘R’. I remember it was dusty outside, because it was mid-August, and the summer heat was in full swing. I remember the small bus we had asked a friend of ours to drive so we could all – closest friends and relatives – get to the airport in Moscow. I remember the way the light lace curtains moved in the window of our living room, the carpet rolled up and the floor looking abandoned. I stood there, looking at it, chewing on my nail, and my great aunt made some remark to cheer me up and led me out of the room. It was chaos and emptiness at the same time – so many people, so little…stuff. We were leaving our apartment in the hands of a friend to take care of and, later, sell. It was almost like we were coming back, with a lot of the furniture still in place. I don’t think I really believed we’d left forever until we didn’t come back.
I remember how we sat on the bus and suddenly I remembered that my sister and I had forgotten to say goodbye to our old art teacher. Without blinking an eye, she said: ‘We’ll say goodbye when we come back,’ and it didn’t hit us until a few seconds later. People laughed, to lighten the atmosphere, and I looked out the window, trying to remember every detail of my town, every street, as we drove out. I didn’t have to – I would have remembered it, anyway. I still do, almost to the last crack of each pavement. I used to miss it horribly, and when I had become a Trekkie, I dreamed of living on the Enterprise, just so I could go into a holodeck and it would show me my town.
The most difficult memories are the first ones. The first few days were so tough, it’s a wonder we didn’t break down. However, we did have an advantage over a lot of other people – my dad had a job lined up, and we knew where we would end up. But before we moved there, we spent 12 days in New York – days that seemed like an eternity, first because they were so terrible, later – because they were so full of new life and adventure. That’s when I first fell in love with New York. It was so huge, it was so full of life – it was where IT was, though I wasn’t really sure what IT meant. We lived on the 12th floor of a rather run-down hotel, and on the elevator somebody had written ‘dick’ in Russian. And here we thought we’d come to a foreign country.
We landed in JFK and were supposed to have been met by a representative of NYANA – the organization of NY that helped immigrants settle in, mostly Russian immigrants. He did meet us, and immediately we were showered with filth – we were told how we’d made the biggest mistake of our lives moving here, how most people can’t make it, how we shouldn’t expect anything good, and how much our lives will suck. He made my mom cried – and she was always the pillar of strength, in a way, she never broke down. And there, on a blisteringly hot New York day, on the dusty pavement, outside of JFK airport, with all the bags around her, her two children scared and upset, she cried. At least my dad was there, and Sasha and I surrounded her and tried to make her feel better. Then, a very old and very beat up van picked us and two other families up and we were driven to a hotel. This time, the driver was nice, and even put up with the absolutely asanine questions that one of the people kept asking. (‘Why do they need a river?’)
That night, I woke up at 3am and walked to the open window. I stared at the sky above the skyscrapers – I’d never seen anything like it, it was glowing from the bottom up. It looked mysterious and strange, and the buildings were outlined in black. Something about the lights and cars below made me feel better, and then my sister woke up and came up to me, also to look out the window. We crept into our parents’ room and they woke up and we sat on their bed and talked. And that I actually remember as one of the happiest nights of my life. We were all in this together, there were no factions, there were just the four of us, fighting for the same thing. ‘It’s all right, girls,’ my mom said. ‘We’ll make it.’
And we did.
I know that my mom thinks that she doesn’t have much to show for ten years of being in America. We don’t own a house, live in a small apartment in Boston that’s eating away at our wallets, and we’re not in Ithaca anymore, which she loved as much as I love England. But I think we’ll be fine. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. And, after all, we’re home now. It isn’t a strange country anymore. Nothing new to discover, it’s all been seen and heard. My mom has a good job, as does my dad. Yeah, they don’t make much money, but they’re doing what they like, love, even. My sister’s married, happily, and is doing well. And I think that I got the best deal out of this whole thing, in a way. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I’m happy.
Despite everything bad that’s happened, or will happen when I go back to school, a place I truly hate, I am happy. I have amazing friends. I have a future to live for. I love what I have become – something I am not sure I would have had the courage to become had we stayed back in Russia. I don’t know what it’s like there now, but I know what it was like before, and the way I have been able to open up to myself and others would not have happened there. I got Carrie because of this. I got Tali because of this. I got Sam because of this. I got you all out of this, I got Ireland, I got everything that means anything to me out of this. I used to want to go back home, I used to long for it, dream of moving back once I was old enough. Not so anymore, and it’s better this way. My past will always, always be connected to Russia, and I am proud of that. I love Russia. But it isn’t for me anymore. My future doesn’t lie there. Someday, I might come back, but I don’t know anymore. Whenever I think back on my childhood, I think of sunshine and my town, but if I try to think of Russia as I see it now, all I see is grey and rain. Russia will always be in me. I will always remember where I came from, and why that’s important to me. But I don’t have that same burning wish to go back anymore. And, like I said, that’s the best way. I have other places to make my own now.
My family won’t see this, but still – pozdravliayu vas, dorogie moi. My vyzhili I dazhe rascveli. Za sleduyuschie desiat’ let!
And this is another anniversary, rather worth mentioning. Just bear with the preemptive stuff, if you’re still with me.
It suddenly hit me today – rather appropriately – that I have a cause that I believe in on my hands, and I am willing to go to the ends of the earth for it. Isn’t that strange? I used to watch all these biographies of people, and hear about how they believed in something and never backed down, or how they felt that this ‘something’ was so important, everybody had to know about it. And I have realized that I have absolutely no qualms where ‘At Swim’ is concerned. If I was asked tomorrow to go and advertise for it, I would. If I was asked to set up a reading, ANYWHERE, I would. If I was asked to sell it to a million people in a month, I would. And I would do it all for free. I would do it all at my own expense. It’s so strange, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this assurance, this belief in anything before, not in my entire life. Sure, I have ‘causes’ and beliefs, but this – this is something I’d be willing to dedicate my life to. How strange is that? Isn’t that odd? I mean, all things considered, it’s just a book, right? But it’s true. I am willing to embarrass myself for it – as I frequently do whenever anybody buys it, and I slobber all over myself in my own enthusiasm – and make a fool of myself, just so another person out there will see this beautiful book, and share in it, and KNOW about it. I have ambitions about it as if it were my baby. I have hope that one day it will be ranked alongside the timeless classics that everybody has to read and loves afterwards, despite school and the hoopla.
I am either extremely deranged or psychotic, or just a wee bit overenthusiastic. I think I may be insane. But it feels good to know that at least I’ve got a drive to do SOMETHING, seeing as how my lack of proper ambition has made me feel like total shit before. So, psychotic or not, I think this may be a good thing.
And, so, exactly a year ago, I received a Private Message from a then-new acquaintance named ‘Arborealis’ of The Sugar Quill, who seemed to share my love of all things R/S and Alan Rickman. And he recommended me this book.
And, to put an old cliché to good and appropriate use, my life has not been the same since. Thank you, darling, for making my world more amazing than I ever thought it could be. And thank you for understanding it all, and being just as bewildered and awed by it, and for putting ‘Cheer’ into the subject lines of our emails for at least two months afterwards. And even though you’re thousands of miles away right now, singing your wonderful heart out in South Africa, I hope this cheer reaches you. And I can’t believe you’re away again, at such a critical moment. Shall I expect this every August? ;)
I can't believe how much has happened in the past year, and how much of it due to this book. I don't think I could ever really truly express it, but I think that you just might understand...
Happy Anniversary.
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Did you notice when you posted, right on the cusp of a new day.
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Darling, I can't even begin to tell you my thoughts right now, but I just need to thank you for posting that. It was absolutely beautiful.
You are not deranged, or psychotic. You are one of the most wonderful and honest people I've met, and the way you write about such things is entirely too real. I guess it sort of strikes a chord with me, maybe, but that aside, this really must be one of the most amazing things I've ever read.
I esli eto kakto pomagayet, to ya vam tozhe zhilayu shast'ya i radost' na sleduyuschie desiet' let.
... Except without the spelling mistakes I'm sure I've made above... ;)
Thank you, so much, for that.
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WTF??? Вот же козёл. Надо было его сразу послать подальше.
У нас, к счастью, всё было благополучно и без приключений (и даже кульминировало в покупке недавно своего собственного дома - осталось туда переехать grrrrr). Даже как-то неинтересно. Осталось только понять, что мне дальше с собой делать. Но зато я теперь знаю, что могу поехать в очень много мест на земном шаре, быстро там оклематься, обосноваться, и иметь за спиной настоящую поддержку сразу в двух концах света :)
В общем - поздравляю!
(Loving At Swim, though I'm a bit slow at reading it. It's long!)
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Oh, and I'd say that no one can understand exactly what you're feeling, but I can definitely empathize with that sudden realization that your life has just completed a change in course, that all the big and small changes have clicked together to produce something for the better and that there's now a different you. A redefined you, better, if only by virtue of having this experience, and stronger, if only because you now know better what you will always stand and fight for.
Needless to say, that freshness of direction is the best motivator I've ever encountered. It's what shapes my deepest, most desperate dreams :)
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You are a TREKKIE? O_o
Ok, just kidding with you and trying to lighten up the mood. It was nice and somewhat bittersweet to read about the time you first came to America. Your memories and the way you described them are priceless, Liz.
I'm glad that everything worked out for you and your family.
And you talk so much about this book I think I will just have to go look for it and buy it. :P
Debora ***HUGS***
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Ahem, but Trek? Come on, you've got to see some Tom Baker. When you come back to England, I'm going to make it a personal mission.
"Of course we should interfere! Always do what you're best at!"
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And I hope you will keep being happy wherever you are.
::hugs::
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Moving from the city we lived in to the country-side when I was five felt a lot like this, and that was only 15-minutes away from my old town. I can't imagine how it would have felt if we had moved to another country with another language so far away. (Still, at five, my old town seemed far far far away.)
*hugs*
Lea
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xx
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Thanks Liz.
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You are truly a wonderful person and I'm glad that I've met you. I wish you and your family only the best for the future.
"At Swim" - You talked so much about the book that I tried to read it a while ago. But it is not easy to read and because I was very impatient at this time I gave it back to Bettina. But, someway, I couldn't get it out of my thoughts - now it's back here and Wednesday I started the second try. It's still difficult to read and some passages I've to read twice but I think it's worth "to work" for it and I've to stop thoughts like "how it will go on?" :)
*Hugs*
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And as for selling 'At Swim' to a million people in a month? Any day now, darling, any day. ;)
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:)
you don't know me, but I'm a frequent visitor at your glorious, glorious site Howl Kingdom and thanks to your recommendations at SQ At Swim thread I've been able to read that extraordinary book, though I'm still processing it and trying to understand characters' motivations.
I just wanted to say I completely understand your willingness to advertise the book, to spread knowledge of it, because I've got this sort of book of my own- "Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Some books seem to be scores, which sound in perfect harmony when rendered on our heartstrings, never letting out a discord. Tuned to our soul's key. You simply found yours, nothing more normal than to feel the urge to sing it from the rooftops.
All cheers to you and all the best!
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*hugs*