Weather Changes Moods
No wonder the people here are so darn temperamental. I assume it's something to do with adapting to the environment, and over the years, the Siberians have become as changeable as the weather. My phenomenology is thus; the unpredictableness of the temperature reflects the equally unpredictable nature on the people, and the extremes of the nature that surrounds them has instilled in them a similar condition mentally. They either love or hate there is no space in between.
And I had a friend, my only friend here, but now she has gone completely crazy and I have somehow offended her with my British ways or my lack of understanding and tolerance for these see-saw mood swings that seem to inflict all of the people who I come into contact with. The only exception to this; and the only people who have shown me true kindness and generosity and hospitality is the family that I live with. But with them only minimal conversation is possible. So, my old friend has gone crazy and is not speaking to me. Coincidentally it tied in with the snow melting, a kind of revealing of something previously unknown in her character, a muddy underlay to what had previously been gleaming white. If I spend much longer here I fear the weather will take control of me as well. For now I can observe the madness through the distant eye of a tourist and be untouched by it's obvious magnitude. I am hoping for the monotonous grey skies of Manchester and the ever-predictable short summer on my return.
It's not all bad though, there was another dinner party on Saturday night in the flat which I was again kindly invited to. We ate lots of nice food (cooked by a Ruaaian y'see) and drank wine and I plucked up the courage to try some strange Ukranian vodka type drink which you drink in shots and then afterwards eat fish. I can't remember the name of it. I managed to communicate with people despite our lack of proper understanding; the universal language of food and alcohol works every time.
I am revelling in my new-found feeling of isolation. A lone wolf tackling the adventure of travelling to a foreign land, I have my mp3 player, Joyce and Sartre to keep me company.
'she lives for the written word, and people come second or possibly third'
And I had a friend, my only friend here, but now she has gone completely crazy and I have somehow offended her with my British ways or my lack of understanding and tolerance for these see-saw mood swings that seem to inflict all of the people who I come into contact with. The only exception to this; and the only people who have shown me true kindness and generosity and hospitality is the family that I live with. But with them only minimal conversation is possible. So, my old friend has gone crazy and is not speaking to me. Coincidentally it tied in with the snow melting, a kind of revealing of something previously unknown in her character, a muddy underlay to what had previously been gleaming white. If I spend much longer here I fear the weather will take control of me as well. For now I can observe the madness through the distant eye of a tourist and be untouched by it's obvious magnitude. I am hoping for the monotonous grey skies of Manchester and the ever-predictable short summer on my return.
It's not all bad though, there was another dinner party on Saturday night in the flat which I was again kindly invited to. We ate lots of nice food (cooked by a Ruaaian y'see) and drank wine and I plucked up the courage to try some strange Ukranian vodka type drink which you drink in shots and then afterwards eat fish. I can't remember the name of it. I managed to communicate with people despite our lack of proper understanding; the universal language of food and alcohol works every time.
I am revelling in my new-found feeling of isolation. A lone wolf tackling the adventure of travelling to a foreign land, I have my mp3 player, Joyce and Sartre to keep me company.
'she lives for the written word, and people come second or possibly third'
posted by Girl Least Likely To at Monday, March 13, 2006
2 Comments:
I would never before have thought you as a phenomenologist, is it cos you have been reading Sartre?
Well, keep having fun!
Anyone can be a phenomenologist if they just know what it means.
Is Chicco still number one?
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