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.