Misplaced

Though loneliness is something we were born with, it’s no joke to experience it stronger as years go by. Leo Tolstoy once said that after a certain age death is the only real thing a man can think about. We get ourselves happily occupied with everything we can, but as time goes by it gets harder and harder to do so.

I never considered myself a pessimist, nor was I ever diagnosed with depression, SAD or any neurosis. Yet I keep noticing that with each new month I find it somewhat disturbing that I succumb into a state which I can describe as indifference. It feels as if I slip under the water where everything happening above the surface doesn’t matter much. I’m sitting under this calm water, listening to burbling and dim sounds realizing that I’m not that interested in diving out. I can explain this with hormones and all other things but it’s one of those sudden realizations “hey, this has never happened to me before”. Or has it?

Did it happen in the past but it was so subtle, and my brain was so busy growing up and being excited about every single day full of myriads of impressions that I simply didn’t give it a second thought?

Also, I don’t quite understand why I’m writing this in English. English is my second language and thus, how is that I don’t reach out for my familiar and all-knowing Russian?

I was wondering about Nabokov. Given his encyclopaedic knowledge of merely everything and brilliant fluency in English, he had never given up on translating his works into Russian. He had this urge to convey everything into Russian himself not trusting any other translator (and why would he, indeed).
I’m wondering, why is that after living few years abroad we start reaching out for the foreign language we’re surrounded with in the first place? Is this a great power of habit, do we get lazy to constantly refresh our native language database? Or is it that the new language gives us some new way of thinking?
Linguists and neuroscientists would certainly know more about this phenomenon yet it keeps me wondering.
A writer has this obsessive compulsive need to capture every single moment that matters. Everything remotely not trivial is a possible subject for a new note, a new essay or a chapter in the book. And yet, even though it would be easier and obviously faster to capture the thought in your native language, we don’t. We do that in English, hoping (well, not Nabokov, but me for sure) that it will do the job right.

I’m still writing this in English and didn’t even consider switch to Russian. And more to that, I don’t even want to translate this into Russian.

I typed “I have a fear” and deleted it. Why’s that? Is it not a fear? The truth is that I do have a fear that with years to come I will merge in English which will never be perfect, which will always be a slightly “Russian English” yet at the same time my Russian will mutate into an “English Russian”. I was always proud of my capacities to deliver every idea in a witty and smart way, playing with my Russian as much as I pleased. I have a Bachelor degree in Literature and after 5 years of Literary institute bootcamp I feel scared and a little ashamed as to what’s happened to my Russian after 2 years abroad.

To say “I don’t care much about my punctuation and grammatical perfection” would be to say the truth. But with me being a slacker in this department I put myself into further danger of forgetting the whole grammatical kingdom on Russian language which was no joke to learn.
I was looking at all my dictionaries on the shelf wondering and worrying if I ever get to use them as much. I treasured my dictionaries and took so much pride in being a “grammar nazi” of some sort.
Oh, things have changed so much.

I’m contemplating whether the whole Russian language struggle is simply a part of a bigger struggle. Namely the restructuring of the values catalogue. I’ve witnessed a collection of culture clashes and adapted to blend in for my own sanity.

Coming from the Slavic culture, or geographically speaking, Easter European landscapes, I learned that oddly enough your family is your fortress, that you give gifts when you come and visit, that you are generous as much as your wallet can handle, and (most important) that other’s happiness is just as important as your own, hence seriously treat others as you want to be treated yourself.

Now, these things were not direct products of Communism or any other ideology Russia’s had.

The communal over the personal is not a unique Communist concept. We as Homo sapiens would have never survived without that. And other social animals from murders of crows to families of meerkats are bound to respect certain communal rules in order to survive.

Russia hasn’t really had a chance to step away from the 90% of its population being peasants and hence holding to very traditional and tribal values until the 20^th century. And one century is not enough to overwrite many preceding ones. Now with new times and new opportunities the values shift, and the very own selfish pursue of happiness is a mainstream ideology just like anywhere else. That being said, the happiness of your friends is just as important as your own, and Russians are willing to disadvantage themselves trying to help someone else.

This is the baggage I carry. Naturally I put it down and took a closer look at it, as it was getting heavy. I went through it and decided that some changes are needed.

Firstly I decided that it’s okay to express that you are happy in public. The general interface here is uplifted, it’s smiley and if you’re feeling good on this gloomy rainy morning, it’s okay, nobody will frown upon you. Well, someone always will, but not everybody.

The change of plans was another one to accept. It’s okay, it’s common sense, let’s be flexible. After all, it gives myself some freedom to change plans and I know that other people will have to be flexible with it too.

Social expectations were the hard one. The “I’m good with whatevs” attitude came later and felt like a big compromise. I don’t think I’ve fully accepted it. I put it on as any polite person here does. But just like everybody else I do crave some good time with some good people, yet good people are busy, not interested, have other good people they crave spending time with. The list continues, and this list is common for thousands of people around.

We’re all the same after all. Yet we all put the light-hearted façade because we don’t want to impose this on anyone else. Which is a good thing in a way – don’t be in everyone’s face. And a bad thing in a way because how can you cope with these feelings of loneliness or utter worthlessness (surely, if other people don’t spend much time with you, there must be something wrong with you?) if you can’t even acknowledge them or express them coherently?

You are seemingly easy-going with everything that is happening from plans changing to people not caring, not being there because why would they if they are busy with their own lives. Now that being said, people here do form friendships which last a lifetime, people are there for their friends when they need them, people are capable of empathy and care and genuine emotional generosity despite many stereotypes about North America as a continent of selfishness with a big hypocritical smile. 

The paradox is that people are not keen on exposing this genuine willingness and helpfulness as a general interface. It weirds other people out like a door-to-door marketing of the word of Jesus Christ. The personal freedom and one’s very independent and selfish pursue of happiness are so important. Yet, this leaves us alone with endless freedom of any obligations.

I’m not convinced though. After all who’s going to be happy for me when I am happy? And isn’t it the greatest feeling ever to know that we made someone else happy?

The tea is steeping and I can smell it even through the tea-cosy.

It is about time to fill my cup and let the tea do the magic with my brain and trick me into believing that it’s springtime soon and this lonely funk will pass as everything else will.