April, 29 - Second time around

I'm ashamed. I'm really ashamed.
But it's been such a mental month, that... oh, well, here I am.

Tell us about a book you can read again and again without getting bored — what is it that speaks to you?

I'm an English Language and Literature Department graduate, and that means that I once had to read at least half of all books that make those popular "Books you should read before you die" lists. That still causes me problems as it is enormously difficult at times for me to find a great book that would keep me glued to its pages from the beginning till the very end.

However, when I come to think of the books that somehow shifted my conscience, made me think in the full sense of the word, there's one that springs to my mind at once.

It is "Fight Club" by Chuck Palaniuk.

I don't really feel like giving a summary here, for one reason, I'm not good at it, for another, it hardly makes sense. What is more, I don't support the philosophy of the so-called "self-destruction", I'm a rather "self-creation" type.

And still...

There are those moments in life when you would like to see everything around you burning, crashing, disappearing, falling into pieces because you feel so much the same inside.

There are those moments you wish you had your own Tyler who would teach you how to live, maybe not the right way, but the only possible one in everything that surrounds you.

There are those moments indeed when you realize the beauty in some things and characters who, under other circumstances, you would call disgusting.

So far that is one of the few books from my reading list that I've truly never regretted reading.

March, 21 - Bedtime stories

What was your favorite book as a child? Did it influence the person you are now?

When I was young, I used to read a lot. And when I say "a lot", I really mean it. Sometimes I could pick up any book lying anywhere and just browse, look it through, smelling the yellow pages, and that was the time I discovered all books smell differently.

Not all of my discoveries were made at the proper time. For some reason, I liked a book about children, I mean, how to take care of and how to bring up a child. When I was about six or seven, I already knew what to do if you have two kids who are jealous of each other, and stuff like that.

But let's rewind a couple of years back.

When I think of a book that used to be the most precious to me, I remember "The Wizard of Oz". Actually, that's not exactly true. What I and other kids read, was more like "The Wizard of the Emerald City". Still, the plot was ridiculously alike. The main character Dorothy was Ellie, and all the other characters were pretty much the same.

I liked the book. I simply adored it. I draw pictures, played games with myself (I was Ellie, of course), and what is more, once my parents bought some kind of a radio version of the story (by the modern standards it could be called an audiobook). I knew all the songs by heart and I was never shy to sing them at any time.

Somehow I wonder if a small part of Ellie still lives in me.

After all, I once used to be a girl who didn't have any friends, let alone having a dog.

Nobody knows when exactly this little girl stepped on her yellow brick road full of dangers as well as adventures, and it is clear there's no one of these things without the other. She found her friends, one after another, and she was much happier than Ellie, because she now had more. Sometimes friends come and go, but she knows that even letting a friend be there where he needs it doesn't mean letting him go forever.

She still fights some evil witches, and sometimes things do not get smoothly, because not all of them are people. The main evil lives inside us, and it is the most difficult thing to overcome.

When I come to think of it, I know my yellow brick road is far from over, and strangely it's something that makes me glad.

And something else - I'm happy to know I have the best company in the world to make it through and the best place in the world I can always come back to. 

March, 1st - Back to the future

A service has been invented through which you can send messages to people in the future. To whom would you send something, and what would you write?

A.S. I've always been interested in the topic of a person meeting a version of his older or younger self.

And no, I wouldn't want to make something great or prevent something from happening on a global level. Everything in its time.

***

I closed the door and started descending down the ladder.
Feeling the heavy bag on my shoulder (somehow I felt I'd be sitting alone at school today, because my mate often fell ill, and now it was spring which only increased her chances), I reached the ground floor and, as usual, slipped my hand through the hole in the letterbox.

My fingers suddenly touched something, obviously, some kind of paper.

Might be some bills, I thought to myself.

Taking out and then staring at the blank envelope, I at once forgot about the fact I was actually almost late for the first class.

There was no address. Neither the sender, nor the receiver. In fact, there were even no lines where people usually write the name of the street or the city.

"Maybe it's a love letter", I couldn't help thinking. I wasn't really one of the popular girls at school, but, on the other hand, had a great deal of fantasy. And the fact that St.Valentine's had already passed didn't disturb me in the slightest.

It was actually an occasional look at the watch that suddenly disturbed me and returned back to reality. Without thinking, I put the mysterious envelope into the bag and hurried to school.

***

This day didn't bring me anything special, and I was still deep in my thoughts on the way home when I suddenly remembered about the strange letter.

The way home lay through a park, not exactly straight, but in a very convenient manner. Paying no attention to quite a chilly wind and the fact I wasn't wearing my hat, not even a cape, I sat on the edge of the bench and put out the thing.

The letter, or whatever there was, clearly wasn't long - the envelope was quite thin. But there was something that I didn't notice in the morning - it was opened. Not in the way that someone had already torn the rim, but it looked like the person who wrote the letter simply forgot to water a slightly sweet edge and close the envelope. Or maybe he or she just wasn't sure until the end that the paper was complete.

In the end, who said it was for me?

Somehow I knew it for sure. I took a deep breath, exhaled a string of steam and took out a carefully folded piece of paper.

Hi there, 

I'm still really not sure if I should do it, but the task demands, and I really want to complete it. 

You don't know me. Well, this might not be true, in fact, we know each other maybe even better than anyone else does. Let's put it this way, we'll surely meet in ten years or so. And when we meet, you won't even remember it was me who sent this letter. Cool, right? 

And if you haven't given up reading this, and somehow I'm sure you haven't, I have some things to tell you. 

I know you're at school now, and you're actually not bad, even rather good. I wish you didn't give a shit about Biology, it won't change anything. But rather pay more attention to Maths, it will do you a great job very soon, believe me. 

I also know you're much into writing. Great job, man! It's something that really gives you pleasure, right? Listen now very carefully - don't give it up. Under no curcumstances. Anyway, even if you do, don't think it will let you go so easily. It is something you can really do, and there are very few things any person can do well. 

A funny fact - they say, when a person writes something, there's usually someone in his work who he secretly wants to be like. It's the same with you, admit it. You want to be like the girl you're writing about - strong, self-confident and smart. With a good sense of humour, of course. And you know, you will someday. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but you will be even better. Everything will be allright. They will hear you and see how cool you were all the way. I believe in you and I know you will show what you're made of one day. 

And, of course, a piece of advice - take care of your hair. It's a nice thing you gave up on ponytails, but set it straight, for God's sake. And don't use that eyeliner if you don't want to look like a creepy panda. But I bet you'll ignore it. Who would listen to a letter from a stranger? 

I have a lot more to tell you, but I'm not sure you'd love to know that NOW. Let's leave some things secret, shall we? You'll know what to do anyway. 

Take care, 
Me 

February, 16 - The clock

Write about anything you’d like. Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, “I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”


***

I wonder if anyone ever gave much thought to a simple idea of someone very important to you being in the same city with you. I bet for most of you it is a piece of your daily routine. "Why," you say. "we live in the same house and share a bed, why should it be something extraordinary?" Others will say that it is pure delight, and even if this is possible for only a short amount of time, it will never prove that long-distance relationships are doomed. And in this case all of you will be right.

But what if you could feel these two emotions at the same time? What if once you realise how truly weird this is - being in the same city with someone who means such a lot to you?

Although this idea was sounding in my head like leitmotif since the very morning the plane landed in this city, I still couldn't get used to it - and the moment I started realising it from time to time, very occasionally, while drinking coffee in one of the parks near the hotel, or walking in the streets in the evening, I couldn't help feeling dizzy. It seemed like the world suddenly broadened, as if they introduced one more dimension, and all the people, the buildings and streets, all the shining signboards - they all made their contribution to this, without even realising it.

I could endlessly walk around and breathe this unknown air if it wasn't for one thing - I came here with a definite purpose. Or I thought so in the morning, on that very day I decided to make it reality. After all, there wasn't much time left - even if they say a dream doesn't have an expiration date, and there's no ideal moment, sometimes you have to take a moment and make it ideal.

Oh, yes, you do, and you do exactly the same if you're some kind of a superhero who is bound to have a happy ending. Which I surely wasn't, I understood it the very second I got out of the taxi that brought me to a distant part of the city. With wet palms and trembling knees I started the last part of my journey, along a row of two-storeyed houses.

Luckily, there's only one I need.

***

I've never felt so much of a criminal, standing behind the corner of a small but neat mini-market and raising the collar of my coat, as if it could hide me in case of something unexpected. It's 8 PM, and I feel that I'm getting cold and that at the same time I could stand here forever. The absence of any action at this part of the street, and, which is more interesting to me, near that very house, seems strangely soothing. Somewhere deep in my heart I start feeling that it would probably be even better if nothing happened this evening, and...

I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock. A strange thing to do. People do strange things when their nerves let them down.

8.30 PM.

And there he was, checking his car for the locked windows or something else.
There he was, walking to the front door of his house.
As alive as anything else.


To be continued. 

P.S. I still suck at writing every single day, and the only thing that I keep justifying myself with is that quality should prevail over quantity no matter what. 
And one more - I really hope that someday all these pieces will turn into a kind of a proper literary work. 

February, 14 - Cupid's arrow

It’s Valentine’s Day, so write an ode to someone or something you love. Bonus points for poetry!

She tore off one more leaf of the calender and could hardly hold a sigh of disappointment.

This day couldn't help coming. St.Valentine's Day.

It meant several things at once.

Firstly, the newspread would be filled with posts of two kinds - Valentine cards and fresh jokes about the Mental Patient Day in Germany; secondly, the streets and shops would be full of people, men and boys mainly, breaking their heads, whether it should be flowers or chocolates, or flowers AND chocolates; the last but not the least, she should have come across the fact - she had no one to spend this day with.

I should really buy a cat, she thought.

There was one more variant, though.

***

- I've been waiting for you, - she said hoping her voice wasn't trembling too much.

- You look like you haven't.

Stern but seemingly not offended.

- I wonder if you ever looked at yourself into the mirror... not the way you do when you get up in the morning or stuff... but you don't realise what other people think when they see an appearance like yours.

- And what do they think? What do you think?

- I think ... I'd call it "out-of-this-world" type.

- Judging by the tone of your voice, I'm not really sure if it's good or bad, - he smirks.

- I don't know. At least, your future wife will have to put up with the fact she's not the cute one in your pair.

His self-satisfied smile suddenly blazed in the darkness brighter than several candles standing on the table, not to give some real light, but to maintain the atmosphere.

-  OK, enough about me. Let's talk about you. Why am I here?

- Frankly, I wanted to ask you the same question. Or ask myself.

This dialogue obviously wasn't heading anywhere. At this very moment she was closer to understanding why she was alone this day, closer than anytime before. But, as usual, she preferred to ignore it.

- I may blame alcohol for that, - she finally said, pounding every word more carefully than ever, - but I really wanted to say something to you.

- I...

- Don't. Just let me say. I'm not sure if I can say this any other time, so just don't interrupt.

He was surely more used to the idea of him being the one to talk. Obviously, being the one to listen wasn't that easy.

- This day is meant to say things to the one you love, right? But I guess I'm just not that case. And now you coming here, into my life... if I said I could easily ignore you, I would be lying. To myself, in the first place. The point is... you give me something. And I guess the most exact word is...

Inspiration.

- Right. If it wasn't for you, I would live my life like everyone else. Like a machine, you know... Getting up, getting things done, being happy. But it's not this simple. As long as I imagine you doing the same, basic things, on the other end of the world, but in your own way, so graceful, so elegant, so ... you, I ... somehow my own way of things seems sweeter to me.

Silence was the answer. All this time he was looking into some blank spot on the wall, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

- Why am I telling all this? I don't know. And I still doubt whether I should do so. But there's this one thing... there's probably only one person to fall in true love with. But there's hardly more than five people in this world who inspire you. Who add this strange sophistication to your routine. I'm glad you're here, in my life. And that without knowing that, you make me so happy at times. I'm done. Thank you.

***

She woke up from a strange dream. In fact, it was rather like an illusion. All the words still tasted strangely in her mouth. And even so, she would hardly change any single one if she had a chance.

February, 15th has just stepped into his rights. 

Somewhere in this world he has probably finished his business for today and was ready to welcome the end of the previous day. Oh, those weird time differences.

And right here, at this very moment, it meant everything in the world.

February, 11 - Whoa!

What’s the most surreal experience you’ve ever had?

(feat. Led Zeppelin - Stairway to heaven.mp3) 

A heavy wooden door closed with a silent bump.

The stranger raised his head and looked around before making a step into the mud. Obviously it had rained the night before, and that was the sole reason he had to stay night at this godforsaken place; but now the road lay in front of him again, and there was no time to waste.

Everything breathed with fog. It seemed like in all directions were only curtains of thick white clouds, and it made the whole picture look like a strange sort of heaven. The only thing to be seen was the peaks of grayish-brown oaks and maples, and their remaining leaves awaiting for the last breath of the autumn wind.

She - for it was a girl, despite the numerous layers of clothes leaving little chance of revealing her gender, - straightened up, set the bag with quite a few belongings right and started her way.

***

As time passed, the morning fog started to lift, and still everything around remained still and unclear. Although she was quite certain of her intention which was known to a rather narrow circle of people, every sound seemed to startle her. After looking at a number of acorns having fallen beside her, she smirked to herself and suddenly stopped again.

This sound had definitely nothing in common with leaves shaking in the wind or twigs broken by her own steps. Horses walking - and, judging by the rhythm, there were several of them. No matter what the exact number it was, or if the animals had people or any other living creatures on their backs or beside them, it could hardly bring any good, and she hurried to hide herself beside a mighty oak. The colour of her rags and the autumn leaves around would cover her perfectly, if the unknown visitors had no intention to search through the forest.

What she saw after that, would be none of her guesses, if she had any at all.

A number of people riding horses of all colours entered the path which she had only a couple of hours ago stepped on. It was hard to say what made them extraordinary in the first place - their thin clothes which seemed inappropriate at this season, or the fact that none of them shivered even for a second, or the serenity on their faces as they were ascending the uneven road. The first four horsemen looked as if they had already been to this place, but their looks were constantly moving from one tree to another. They were obviously ready to react in case something unexpected came in their solemn way. Despite this fact, they didn't make an impression of someone who was in a great hurry.

They were followed by a single horse carrying a lady on its back. Anyone who could see them would surely understand that the whole procession, no matter what their destination was, was for her own sake only. Her white gaze apparel barely touched the ground, and although her dress would make any girl die of envy, it wasn't the thing that attracted the most attention. It was rather the crown on her hair - quite a thin but clearly visible hoop of silver or some other unknown metal shining dimly, although hardly any rays broke through heavy autumn clouds. Her eyes were lowered to her own hands grasping the rein, and it seemed her thoughts were far away and higher than any of the trees in this forest.

Two more horsemen closed the file, their eyes locked on the lady and once in a while searching through the surroundings.

The whole sight, no matter how beautiful and mysterious it looked, beared a great air of solemness and, together with that, sorrow. At moments they seemed to be floating above the ground getting closer to the thoughts that probably troubled the lady in the middle so much. Now the stranger wasn't that much afraid; for even if she stepped out right in front of the procession, there was little chance they would notice her or anyone at all.

However mournful it appeared, it could hardly be an omen of bad luck after all.

After the last horsemen disappeared in the horizon, she stood up, threw off some leaves from her shoulders and continued the way.

There was yet much to walk and little time to waste.

***

She readjusted the headphones and walked out of the shop.

The evening sky was gradually being filled with stars - a clear sign of upcoming frosts.

It was already dark, and the silhouettes of high-rise buildings looked like some mysterious shapes against the dark blue background. The lantern hanging from the side of a shop signboard gave little light which threw weird shadows on the snowy path.

About five minutes to get home.

And even less to get back to reality.

January, 20 - Breaking the law

Think about the last time you broke a rule (a big one, not just ripping the tags off your pillows). Were you burned, or did things turn out for the best?

Everything was silent.
It was bound to go smoothly. No chance of being caught, not a single witness.
It made things even trickier. Spicier. It was surely worth it, and the confidence grew in her with every minute.

However, it was no good in tempting fate. No time to waste. It's now or never.
And still, it would be a mistake to say she didn't have a slightest doubt. For a moment she thought it was too much. In the end, did he really deserve it? What was so terrible in what he'd done before?

Nothing.
It was his very essence which disturbed her more that anything in the world. His seemingly innocent eyes that let everything off his hands. The fact that he was always somewhere near. Maybe if he didn't exist at all...

But no, she hadn't thought that. Not so harsh. Instead, she only grasped her weapon of revenge even tighter and headed for her goal.

It was now or never.

***

Looking at the kindergarten teacher who was desperately trying to wipe off the first letters of a word written on one of the cupboards, the little girl could hardly hold her tears.

No doubt, the word was a curse one, and the marker she accidentally found in the yard was really hard to remove.

Moreover, she had even less doubt that her parents would give her a hard time at home, having listened a detailed report about their angel-like daughter and her little unexpected revenge.

Now she didn't really know though what she was going to revenge for. The spite that reigned in her small heart just a couple of hours ago was already giving way to the guilty conscience.

And only after some years when the girl grew up she knew what another teacher told her parents as they were leading their rebellious kid out of the kindergarten yard:

- Oh, that boy... Nevermind. I would beat the crap out of him if I were her.

January, 16 - Toot your horn

Most of us are excellent at being self-deprecating, and are not so good at the opposite. Tell us your favorite thing about yourself.

In a couple of weeks I'm turning 24.
This number, though dividable into 4, 6 and 12, and thus one of my favourite ones, frightens me.
When you come to think of it, it's quite a lot. It's a load of events, different things, happy and miserable moments, rows of people who came and stayed or walked away with the flow of time.

And, what is more important, through all these years I pull someone very peculiar which is myself.

You see, I didn't publish this straightaway and I didn't have any plausible excuse except for one thing: I didn't really know what to write. I can find a dozen of positive things about me which other people might like and appreciate - and I cannot say I'm elated with them at the same extent. It's just me being me without any visible efforts.

But suddenly I found something I like about myself; something I simply adore and admire in myself.
The very thing I hated in myself once.

I'm a geek.

It has hardly anything to do with the most exact definition of this word. Or maybe it has everything to do with it. Sometimes you just have to see or feel something to understand its true sense.

What I like about it?

I like it that there is a whole lot of stories which take a special place in my heart. I'm not one of those guys who prefer reading books than talking to real people, but some characters are like dear people to me. I like it that I can hardly remember my going out of the movie hall without tears in my eyes - on the contrary, I find it really creepy when there's nothing that can move a person AT ALL, especially in the world offering so many wonderful books, films and songs. I like it that sometimes I sing at home pretending that I'm in some kind of a music video or I talk about something just to myself imagining that there is someone who's taking my interview. Or sometimes I imagine taking an interview, and I swear, I could ask a lot of the most curious questions in the world. I like drawing, or rather, copying pictures because when I do, I get great satisfaction, and I wanna look through them some day and remember all the funny stuff that happened to me and that I once liked so much. And though I have a musical ear and long fingers, I suck at playing the piano, but wait for it - when I do, I feel happiest of all, because what I play is shitty and thus unique at the same time; and in my head I play perfectly.

I like it that I have finally accepted a simple fact - I'm nice AND weird.
And all these imaginable moments make me who I really am.
And no matter if all people I know will someday start getting married and having kids and I won't (at the given moment, I mean) - I still hope there's someone for me who will accept all this in me the way I do. 

January, 15 - Polite company

“It’s never a good idea to discuss religion or politics with people you don’t really know.” Agree or disagree?

This post is going to be the shortest but I want to keep here the idea that has existed in my mind for quite a long time.

I'm sure there are two things which are better not to be discussed AT ALL - religion and salary.
Do not misunderstand me, but I guess these are two topics which always leave at least one participant of the conversation disappointed and unsatisfied; moreover, the truth is never born in course of such discussions. Then why do it at all?

There are so many other brilliant topics.
Discuss cats. Everybody loves cats. Only awful people don't.
Then why talk to them? : )) 

January, 13 - Clean slate

Explore the room you’re in as if you’re seeing it for the first time. Pretend you know nothing. What do you see? Who is the person who lives there?

- Well, let's see what we have.

The doorknob, so ordinary as it could be, felt a little chilly in his hand. Although he knew, or at least he thought he knew why he was here, he still didn't know what he expected to see behind this door. However, the chipped white paint of the door hardly suggested anything grand.

What he saw, however, puzzled him a little more than he was ready for.

Despite the fact all the furniture was covered with white gauze which was quite mysterious itself - the room didn't belong to any old mansion but to a typical five-storeyed house - some details gave away... what? He had it yet to be discovered.

- She had lived here for about twenty years. Then... nobody knows what happened. Everybody just disappeared one day. And you know what... as if she never existed. No documents, cheques, phone numbers... just nothing.

Which makes everything even more interesting, he thought. That was strange, but he suddenly had a feeling that the room used to be quite nice once. He couldn't tell whether it was due to the light but quite warm shade of the carpet, or the seemingly rich dark red curtains which hardly matched the latter; he was oddly sure that the sofa and the table were also quite ... warm.

- Why didn't they remove the ... these things? - he waved vaguely in the direction of a number of things hanging on the walls.

- Who? Nobody cares about that stuff as long as there's a person who just vanished into thin air. When new residents come... I mean, IF they come, you'll agree with me if I say it's quite a delicate matter...

He didn't listen but just stared at the walls instead. If the three of them (excluding the one with the window) were shown to him on different shots, he would never guess they belonged to the same room and, therefore, to the same person. The very one who decorated them.

- It's... German, isn't it? - he asked, knowing the answer already. The giant flag was carelessly pinned to the wall; that kind of carelessness, however, demands some time to be achieved. He couldn't help touching the smooth folds of three-coloured silk; there were bits of dust between them.

The light-brown wall unit on the right was no less interesting object; it reminded him of a teenage girl and of a hard-working college student at once. The numerous and nevertheless disconnected souvenirs, statues and boxes and rows of various books and copybooks, however, gave a strange mixture, not actually that repulsive. His attention was riveted on a number of perfume bottles - they were all purple. He supressed a sudden desire to smell them all.

A postcard, a child's painting and a "Queen" poster of an unusual size, all hanging under the row of shelves, didn't clear the picture at all.

He sighed and lowered himself on the floor.

A strange image of a girl who could be anything in the world didn't leave him.
Moreover, he couldn't get rid of a weird idea that this room was nothing similar to anything he had seen before.
He hasn't seen a place which was so obscure and so finite at the same time.
He has never seen the owner of the room but he was somehow sure she was absolutely sure in the seeming chaos around her.
All of a sudden he wished he could just for once have a look at her.

January, 11 - This is your life

If you could read a book containing all that has happened and will ever happen in your life, would you? If you choose to read it, you must read it cover to cover.

Under the cover of night you stunned the last watchman and entered the old building.
Walking through a long hall framed with mighty carved columns, you were watching nowhere but ahead, your eyes wandering from one niche to another. You fought, deceived and starved for this moment, and there it was, somewhere in the deep of the house, hidden from strangers' eyes - the very thing you came for.

And there it was, lying on the stone floor, as if carelessly thrown during some fight for something more precious, like a forgotten folio bearing no real value; for you were the only one who could appreciate it in full vigour. The only curious thing about it was that you had no clue about what you were going to find there.

Bending on one knee, you touched the cover; it was cold and dusty, but you didn't shake it from your fingers as if the very dust was as important as the thing hidden under it. Carefully taking the web from the book - for it was nothing else but a book to a common stranger - you looked at the cover attentively, as though the letters were some kind of a code you were first supposed to decipher. The title, however, didn't contain anything but two simple words.

Your life

Two words carrying a great amount of weight under them. A whole chain of events, days and moments of a common twenty-something, each of them, no matter sad or happy, ordinary or amusing, printed into every page with no chance to be wiped away.

You turned the book in your hands hoping for any kind of bookmark, but it would be too easy. You could not make out the page you were standing at the moment; what is more, opening the book would determine your fate finally and inevitably. Having finished the book, you would get the ultimate knowledge of your life path, all the ups and downs, lucks and failures. There would be nothing left to fear or to hope for, no secrets to discover and nothing to be surprised at. You would know your every step before even thinking of making it, like a complicated mechanism programmed to do an exact sequence of operations.

You weighed the book in your hand and suddenly thought that it was the hardest thing you ever held.

Your index finger touched the corner of the cover.

***

The first rays of sun lit the chamber through one of the narrow windows.

Shivering from the morning chill, you put your coat straight. Looking at a piece of parchment being swallowed by a deeming flame, you felt your last doubts evaporating with the last burning page.

Was it a cowardly thing to do? Was all this way worth letting the book of your life burn in the fire made by your own hands?

Anyway, you hardly felt any fear as you walked out of the building without turning back.

It was time to write the next pages yourself. 

January, 9 - 1984

You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.

The title of this post is the same as one of my favourite books which touches upon the topic of fear. The fear that finally conquered and broke a man.

We may endlessly talk about what our fears do to us and how they sometimes even help us to grow and change. Still that's simple - we all are afraid of something, and sometimes the nature of our fears is absolutely unexplainable.

When I'm asked about what I'm afraid of, the first thing that comes to my mind is snakes. But that in no way means that I would be locked in a room with them.

Rather...

If I were left in a room with my darkest fear, I would be... left alone.

That's true.

In fact, my biggest fear is being left alone. Or rather let myself stay alone. I'm absolutely sure that every lonely man has to blame himself for that and no one else.

When I hear my closest people talking about their death or something connected with this, my guts shiver inside, I wanna shut my ears and run to the end of the earth. When I quarrel with someone or I don't hear a single word from a distant friend, I'm terrified at the very thought that some words may be the last we ever told each other.

That's why I sometimes cry thinking that there is no man for me in the whole world. It's not the matter of that everybody wants to be loved; on the contrary, sometimes I feel pathetic when I think there is no one who I could give my love to, who could receive it.

At the same time I realise I won't die if I were alone. But I guess such life can make anyone want to kill himself. People need people, and you cannot do anything about it. People need people and people have to be with people. Not with animals, computers or books, We need us in the first place.

Paraphrasing one of my favourite characters, if people valued other people more than gold and all that stuff, it would be a merrier world.

And I'll try to make it merrier, at least for myself, so that my biggest fear will never become reality. 

January, 7 - Helpless

Helplessness: that dull, sick feeling of not being the one at the reins. When did you last feel like that - and what did you do about it?

We are not heroes. No one is. The range of human emotions is so unbelievably wide that sometimes it's shocking to realise how many different feelings a human heart (or soul) can bear.

Sometimes our feelings are so complex that even we ourselves, let alone the most experienced psychiatrist, can analyse, understand and, what is more, get over them.

Right now I have a whole row of situations where I could possibly call myself helpless, but I am not sure about it.

Failing an English contest? That was a lesson - not to think you're the only one who can get all the honours.

Being left with a broken heart? Well, at least, you know there's fewer people to check out.

Losing a friend? One person less not to waste your time and to learn to appreciate the ones who deserve it.

Being unsatisfied with the way the things run? DO SOMETHING FOR F**K'S SAKE. But don't whine.

I'm not trying to sound like a hero and I don't have a slightest idea how long it will take before I'll be lying curled on the bed and crying myself to sleep. It happens to everyone.

But I'll surely know I'll always stand up stronger than ever and I will never be helpless.
Because there is always a way.
You just have to search a little harder. 

January, 6 - My favourite

What’s the most time you’ve ever spent apart from your favorite person? Tell us about it.

If you ask me, being apart from someone is one of the most dully-painful feelings one can experience. It starts suddenly - with some hint, a song or even a sound, something like a distant memory - and then you feel like you could give up so much for seeing someone you miss. And no matter how often you keep reminding yourself that awaiting makes the moment of meeting even sweeter, there's nothing you can do right here and right now. It sucks, man. It just sucks.

There were times people were far from me, and there were times when I was far from the people. The latter reminds me of my trip to the US when I had to spend almost four months an ocean away from my family, and even though I had my friends with me, and at first I didn't feel homesick at all, at some moments it became almost unbearable. I'm attached to my family, even if I can spend evenings without entering my parents' room, I often lack their presence while travelling, without having them by my side and sharing everything I see with them.

However, there was one moment when I realised, what is it - to miss someone so dear to you - for the first time. My closest friend at the time, Marie, had to spend a year on an exchange programme, in the USA, and I had to wait her for this whole year in our hometown. This was the first time I understood how it is - to have NO appetite at all. (And let's make it clear - I never lose appetite, even when I'm depressed or in love.) This was also the first time I understood that it's important to talk to people who are not your best friends because it could be of great use when your friend is away. I also realised that written messages can never replace a person of flesh and blood sitting next to you, his/her words and intonations, emotions and feelings. It is just not the same, no matter how hard you try.

Looking back, I guess it is a true miracle that when we met after a year (by the way, I was scared out of my mind before meeting her), we started talking like nothing had happened, and we never grew apart. She talked English because it was not easy for her to switch over to Russian after such a long time, and I was walking beside her, shocked and happy at the same time. We've been this way ever since - and now I see that meeting a friend after a long break mustn't be a shock if friendship is true. If this person is dear to you, and you're dear to him just the same, you'll start talking like you said "Bye" just yesterday. That's what I really feel about it.

P.S. Honestly?
If you ask me, the longest time I'm apart from a dear person began when I was born and it is still going on. Because I'm still waiting for him. And God only knows, what takes us so long to finally meet each other. 

January, 4 - Quote me

Do you have a favorite quote that you return to again and again? What is it, and why does it move you?

Oh, yes. I surely have a favourite quote which I don't use so much concerning myself as concerning other people, and I won't write about it. I'll write something different instead, a quote that must become the most inspiring for me for many years.

Я не думаю, я фантазирую. Я живу в мире Питера Пэна. Если ты не умеешь фантазировать, то ты не умеешь летать. А в мире Питера Пэна если ты не умеешь летать, то ты чмо.(c)

It's a pity I don't know the author, but I guess he had realised something important even if these words may seem absolutely stupid to someone. 

When you come to think of it, it seems like having your own world and your own fantasies is an unaffordable luxury for some. Most of the people are brought up in a way that it is considered as something pretty shameful to dream of something unreal, believe in stuff which is hardly ever going to happen and think of things that never were and never will be. As if people are born with wings carrying them anywhere in their minds, but when, say, one comes of age, special services cut these wings off and instead they give you new dreams - being serious and respected, thinking what everybody else thinks, believing only in material things and setting the dates of getting married, buying your first car and planning annual holidays to one and the same country which is of course boring, but popular and cheap. 

I'm 23, I have a job, a salary which is not bad, I'm not married, and you know what? I don't want to live THAT way. 

I want to dream and to make my dreams come true. I want to believe in fairy-tales and respect people who create them because I want to make one myself someday. I want to find a person who can also dream on the same scale or even bigger, and I want to have his kids who will also learn how to dream. I will teach them that it's the coolest thing ever - to have your own private world, with dragons, white rabbits and superheroes, and it's very important to keep and carry this world with you through your whole life, Because it's surely something that makes you happier and inspires you, and only a person who has inspiration inside, can inspire other people. 

And I think now I know why Peter Pan never grew up and, consequently, old. Because he never stopped dreaming. 

January, 3 - Kick it

What’s the 11th item on your bucket list?

Frankly saying, I don't have a bucket list.
I never even had one.
Moreover, once I told my friend that I don't see any point in making such things because they inevitably set borders to you and your life. Following a plan sometimes deprives you of such a simple joy of living, just living, appreciating every moment and not basing your life on rules and steps.

But this year something changed.
I suddenly realised that such things as scrapbooks, bucket lists and boxes with memories can sometimes add something new to your way of living. I don't know yet what is it about that stuff but I guess it makes you a little peculiar. Besides, it's nice to try something you have never done before, isn't it?

Thus, this year I have something that is similar to a bucket list - it's a plan for 2015. I intended to make 50 things I'm going to do before the end of the year. but a good half is still missing. Long story short, number 11 is "Learn to cook".

Don't misunderstand me, I can cook some things. I won't stay hungry if I have to spend some time on my own. But as I see it, such level of cooking skills will hardly make a good wife. And personally, I don't believe that it's a delight to a grown-up man having a wife who sucks at cooking.

Besides, Marie gave me a pretty cookery book with lots of fine cuisine recipes, so this is a "must-do"!

So I hope that by the end of the year I'll be capable of making

• a cake
• a meat course
• a proper soup
• something funky : ))

Not that big of a list, but, believe me, it's tricky.
I'll try my best. 

January, 1 - The Stroke of Midnight

Where were you last night when 2013 turned into 2014? Is that where you’d wanted to be?

Yep, right. Holidays.

To start with, as I grow up, I try to never celebrate any holiday the way I don't want to. As I grow up, I have almost no restrictions to how to do it or how NOT to do it. As I grow up, I surely realise that having holidays is much more fun when you're of age. I also realise something else, but let's save it for a little later.

Alright, the memories of the New Year-2014 bring me back to our party with bros. I first had some time with my parents and at about 8 PM I left for Tanya's. That was the place everything was going to happen. The first memory I have is of us three (plus Julie) sitting around the New Year table, absolutely... exhausted. And here's gonna be one more "as you grow up" - you realise that people really need at least a week before the holiday to finish the shopping and cooking, to have some rest from work and to get some energy for the celebrations. It's our sort of world where you have to do everything in between the business, your back sweaty and hands full of stuff you even forget you need for.

But if you think it was oh-so-miserable, then you're so wrong. That's what great friends, plenty of alcohole and loads of salads are for - to keep you so alive through the night. I remember us listening to the President's speech on TV, singing the anthem (sometimes completely out of key, but who cares anyway?) and dancing to lots of marvellous songs which made the coming year. One more thing there was is a long-awaited message from one special person (and not everyone there liked that fact, that's for sure). The morning after I became Frodo Baggins, and I guess this will stay with me for a very long time. Do I mind? I guess, not much.

Thus, it was a very homely and a very lovely party which we rocked. As you can see, we didn't have any fashionable gathering with loads of strangers in some posh place where guys ask you to dance every five minutes, we didn't wear any masks or costumes, and our party didn't have any style, I mean, gangsta or Hawaiian. It had our, "bros" style, and that's the only thing that matters. So, it pretty much answers the question about whether it was the place where I'd wanted to be. That was the place.

Why?

The first message of this diary (I hate the word "blog") is supposed to somehow explain what it is for, I mean, for everyone who will eventually read it and for me as well.

I found this challenge in summer but I decided to start it in the new year because it is really nice to promise something to yourself and then try to do it. Personally, I was never a fan of all those bucket lists and resolutions, but maybe it's worth doing something that you've never done before. Thus, one of the goals for the 2015 says: "Do the 365 days writing challenge", that's what I'm up to now.

Besides, I already have an online-diary which is mainly about me, and I sometimes have to keep myself from writing there every day because it would be all about my working days, my self-deprecations and all that stuff. As for this challenge, I guess, the idea of having some new topic for every day is just awesome, and it's not only about yourself.

One more thing - I can improve my writing skills that just have to be improved because I gave it up so long ago, and moreover, I can and I will do it in English because... well, that's not that embarrassing as reading yourself in your own language. Have you ever had that feeling? I do. Everytime,

So, it's time to start away. And before I do that, I'm going to set up some rules for myself.

1. Generally, I will try to write a passage or more to the given topic every day. I'm not going to choose topics or change them because they are too tricky.

2. Hangovers, parties and emergencies ARE excuses for omitting some days. I don't want to turn that into an unpleasant duty. Though if I have time, I can write in advance or after the day missed.

3. More fantasy!

OK, let's go.