Hiatus

Good thing my comp remembered password for this blog. I don't remember it.

It's been almost a year.

What happened? Baby happened.

First, I got pregnant (duh) :-) IVF. Then, I had 1st trimester, when all I wanted to do was crawl into the bed and watch stupid reality TV. Then... I don't know pregnancy made me more  introspected and I didn't want to write or share. Finally, she came out and took over our house, our time and our lives.

This week I have been getting more and more sleep, to the point when I am capable of writing more than FB status. I thought I'd resume this blog-writing thing. 

The baby is month-and-a-half old. Sometimes she sleeps, sometimes she poops, sometimes she eats, sometimes she cries. That's all at this point.

Usually I write about things that happen int he world, in Tbilisi...now I am cooped up in my apartment, so god knows what I'll write about. But I want to give it a try and see if anyone reads this post.

I promise it won't be all baby talk. She deserves a post or two, however :-)

See you soon!

Pasumonok

Sexuality Manifesto: Let Us Be!

I just attended a to two-day training about sexuality. It was training, just like any training. We discussed diagnoses and interventions. We role-played (not that, you dirty-minded reader!) as a therapist and a client. We also did several exercises, increasing body awareness.

But most importantly, we were given homework to write our sexual fantasy.

Classical Freud took place, as many of us forgot about the homework, or never found time to do it.

Some of us did. I wrote a little story, that I am carrying in my bag since then. I am carrying it around because I don’t know where to put it, because I am scared that someone might read it. That I may read it. That’s why I am angry.

 I am mad at my school. At my private, Christian school. At my conformity and desire to be liked and since liked meant studying well and behaving like a good Christian, behave well I did. I actually believed in all the crap that came out of our textbooks, along with excellent texts about science, English, social studies…

I am mad that at age 30, gone to one of the most liberal colleges in US, having a blog called NO SEX IN THE CITY, I still feel embarrassed about my sexual fantasies.

I am angry that despite giving public lectures about sexuality, despite directing and acting in “Vagina Monologues”, despite having such understanding partner, I am still feeling embarrassment and fear.

My psyche has been trying to make sense of it all since I graduated from school. And that was a long time ago. I’ve been lucky, I had resources, I still have resources seldom available in Tbilisi. I go to workshops, I hang out with non-judgmental crowd. Not only that, I conduct therapy and I broaden my comfort zone through working with others.

However, step outside these safe sexuality zones and you’ll face my country. My country represses sexuality with Orwellian vigor, creates almost formal junior anti-sex leagues; it marches chastity around like national treasure, like a symbol, like some kind of Golden Fleece or St. George with a dragon.

Love is repressed to violence. Sex is repressed to anger. Celebration of life is repressed to death-festivities. Enough! Enough with endless forty-days of mourning, with joy-killing fasting, with sexless families and sanctified girls! Enough with the repressed energy of life, of creativity, of new beginnings and just plain pleasure!

It’s not good to suffer, pain does not purify, loving means touching and sexuality is not a sin.

Sexuality us our God-given privilege. Sexuality is our natural state of mind. Sexuality, in its vast meaning, is the core of our being.

Until we understand that we will always have political unrest, mass neurosis, we will always fight, we will always condemn “unnatural” acts, we will be generally depressed and dissatisfied with life.

And no party, leader, or president, elected through repressed aggression can ever change that feeling of utter dissatisfaction. Because it all started way too early, in those textbooks.
Enough!

 P.S. Feeling of freedom at Kazantip

My Life on TV

All the sudden, I am on TV.

It’s pretty funny, considering that I don’t own a TV (OK, I have the actual screen, but it does not show anything. We use it for movies). I never thought that I would need to research Georgian TV and watch so much talk shows.

Several times now, I have rushed to the studio with numbers, facts, stories that I hummed under my breath while I sat in make-up room and then I didn’t get to say half of them.  

I have twice talked about gambling addiction, twice – about early marriage, once- homosexuality-is-not-a-disease and tomorrow I am going to talk about suicide.

Last week, as I was about to present live (answering question “are teenagers mentally and emotionally ready to get married?”) I realized why I like this position. I get a bit nervous. I get a bit exited. I boldly walk to the podium and try to control my voice and my posture (futile efforts, since I wore ridiculous-looking flowers on my head and it made me look silly and immature). It reminds me of my debate tournaments!

I have been involved in debate club since when I was young (7^th grade) till when I was too-old-for-this (M.A. years). Together with my perpetual partner and best friend, I have won two championships and multiple calculators that they awarded to the best speakers. Then too, I would feel thrill, walk and stand before the huge audience, inhale, exhale and present my case.

Sometimes I sucked so much, I would analyze my speech for weeks after the tournament. But it all comes with the experience, really. After years of practicing, we won more or less consistently.

TV is the same, only a bit more superficial. Not only do I have to research my topic, but also my outfit.

And just like debates, sometimes I say the stupidest things and then I go around for days thinking about it; unlike debates, where I had a clear audience in mind, the judges, here I find myself divided – do I appeal to my potential clients (which should be the point), my family, friends, or do I just need my hubby to say that I sounded professional?

Honestly, I think this TV mania will be over soon. I showed up as a new face- a live psychotherapist!- but these things go out of fashion so quickly, and I still lack substance. Because for the most part, I am talking based on nights of reading; I am not conducting important research, nor do I have years of work experience so far. I am honest and relaxed (usually) and I really like seating on the couches under bright lamps, but I feel like that is not enough yet. So, sooner or later they will get tired of my cutesy academic bullshit.

Until then, I am enjoying it very much, because we all know that I am attention-seeking, spotlight-loving, look-at-me-I-am-on-TV, superficial person.

And also, deep in my heart, I honestly believe that what I am saying matters.

… Sometime, when I grow older and wiser, I will look at all the mistakes that I am making now (really, those flowers!) and use TV as tribune to talk about things I deem important, complex things, controversial things, and make a little, maybe minuscule, contribution.

P.S. Me proving that homosexuality is not a disease on "Nanuka's Show"

Biopics...Biopics Everywhere

Annual all-night-up watching of the Awards Ceremony in our time zone, complete with inadequate Georgian translation dawned on me last night.

My very own Benedict Cumberbatch, the one that I liked way before he starred in all these big movies, before Sherlock reached Georgian mainstream and before MS Word stopped underlining his last name as an error, was nominated for best male performance. Oh, the time goes by so fast, my boy already nominated for the Academy Awards. Sob, sob, give me a tissue.

Truth be told, I did not expect him to win the nomination. The Imitation Game is a lukewarm biopic about a very interesting person played by a very brilliant actor. And more I think about it, more I get mad, because to have such a good cast, nice production, biography that is so interesting and to make such a mediocre film about it! Alan Turing, inventor of the Turing Machine, so mercilessly punished for his sexual preferences (chemical castration), with such a mysterious suicide (ate a poisoned apple, like in a fairy tale), so many opportunities for deep, meaningful film and what, you just give us simple story and cliché dialogue?! Please.

Thus, Ben did not receive an Oscar (because he kept reciting: “sometimes it’s people that you expect the least that do the most” or shit like that during the film), but I thought they would give it to Michael Keaton because he was brilliant in Birdman. However, they chose Eddie Radmayne for portraying Stephan Hawking and I have not yet seen Theory of Everything so I can’t comment. Reviews tell me that it is yet another biopic. Nothing too exiting.

I really enjoyed Birdman and was rooting for the cinematographer to win, since that’s what really makes the film (and Michael Keaton).  Inarritu won the best director (fine, have your award) and the film won the best pic award. Which means that Boyhood won nil.

Call me snob, call me boring, whatever, but I honestly enjoyed watching Boyhood. A film does not have to be about exploding helicopters, long takes and outrageous actors. A film can sometimes simply depict life, let you watch everyday reality of people you don’t know and as you watch them, you grow to love them and you think of you own life and find similarities. I never felt like those two hours were too long or that film lacked action. Actually, I really did not want to like it (another male coming-of-age story?! Come on!) but it was so warm, subtle, real…and the film got no awards at all.

So, an independent movie director and whole team of dedicated people spend over a decade working on this film and receive nothing. However, shallow biopics get nominated in zillion categories and The Imitation Game even wins best adapted screenplay for lines taken out of Beautiful Mind and Dead Poets Society. Oh, Hollywood.

As for the rest, Julianne Moore received best female performer award but I have not seen the film, so I can’t judge. I didn’t really care for any of female performers this year. As long as it was not Reese Witherspoon (why does this chick get nominated? How come she has an Oscar? Da fuck?!)

The song performance from Selma got standing ovation and people cried while listening, but I guess the biopic section of the Oscars was too full to honor an interesting take on Martin Luther King’s life.

Also…nobody heard of Nightcrawler? Anybody? Great script, superb acting? No?

The Grand Budapest Hotel won some awards (nothing major though), as if the film wasn't the biggest thing this year. I am a bit prejudiced here – I loved it to pieces. The Academy basically told this film “oh, you look pretty with all the make-up and production and whatnot, but nothing serious, really”.

Finally, Georgian-Estonian film Tangerines was nominated for the best foreign film, which is a great honor for us (despite all the complaints I keep writing about the Academy). However, the film was simply not good enough. Both Ida and Leviathan were infinitely better and I for one am happy that this quiet, black-and-white, seemingly simple, neorealistic film took home the award (Ida). Leviathan is great but I wonder if I exaggerate its greatness because I know the context too well.

I need to see Whiplash. Bits they showed- excellent. Also, Theory of Everything just to learn more info about Hawking. Other than that, done for the year.

It seems like last year was more fruitful…
P.S. the pic: taken from the Google search, Ben in his glory portraying Turing

Grand Budapest

I just turned 30 and sad and  Hubby surprised me with this trip. For several days we pretended that we lived in Budapest – we bought cheese at the supermarket, ate at small French restaurants, went to see new Cirque du Soleil show, visited Gellert thermal baths. We went to hubby’s personal places. He bought a shitload of new vinyls. It was very mellow. We did not even walk by the famous parliament building till the last day.

Lot has changed in Budapest – store clerks actually answer in English now. It is slowly turning into youthful party-town, with lots of interesting bars and clubs. Herds of tourists roam places that were quiet and unknown. Locals slowly start migrating away from the bars that used to be unique and underground – Szimpla Gardens for example, this bohemian artsy ruin bar, is now completely in the hands of foreigners.

At the same time, new places are opening all over the place. The party atmosphere of night Budapest creates demand for more celebration. Drunk happy people wander from bar to bar till 2-3 A.M. Local bands provide variety of music; queues form outside 24-hours gyros places (also, Budapest gyros kicks Tbilisi shaurma’s ass).

Budapest this time seemed more like Prague…except no weed dealers approach you at night and no high people smoke in the streets. Of course it is still better than totalitarian Tbilisi regime, but if Budapest wants to establish itself as young and hip and happy, some decriminalization legislation has to take place.

The service has improved markedly. Waiters smile or at least make an effort to smile. Unlike my previous visits, I got no ill-mannered service the whole time.

Budapest also became more interesting in culinary sense, with many little (or not) restaurants that offer staple European food. We visited such a cute French café Bouchon, where I ate pate and it tasted good and I don’t even like liver.

This was a very different trip- usually we run up and down the city with a checklist, seeing this and that, always thinking of the next location to visit. Most of those locations are covered with camera-holding tourists and we have to patiently wait for our 5 seconds to take the picture with the building/monument/clock…but here, we slept in our Ikea-built apartment, walked to our hearts’ content.

And as we did that I realized that goddamnt it, I want to live like this, I want to live like this for an extended period of time, I want to feel European for more than 4 days, I want to take cities like Budapest for granted! I want to just live in those streets, just eat in un-famous local places, I want to have international friends and that I really miss studying. I miss variety in my life, I miss diversity. Recently (especially after the May 17 events) I have woven very special net of friends that include only like-minded people and I cannot force myself to socialize with people whose ideas are too different from  my own. It gives me comforts; but it also limits my world view…I need to get out…I need to hear different (but intelligent) people.

The getting-PhD-in-Europe seed has been planted, let’s see if it blooms.

 p.s. pic of historic Gellert thermal baths where I spent my birthday

Fidelio

Many things prompted me to write this post. First, my hubby decided to take a lone road trip. He took off and I tried not to bother him, not to call him and not even inquire where he went. It is probably a wonderful thing, when you can take off, no responsibilities and just drive, wherever.
Second, while he was away, with drops of Jupiter in his hair, I called girls over to watch "Eyes Wide Shut", talk about female sexuality, male sexuality, fidelity, bla, bla. IMHO the film is a bit long, but it does press the issue of marital relations.
Third, my hubby surprised me with a trip to Budapest for my birthday. I like him more now.
Does marriage work? I personally believe that yes, it does. After 7 years, I came to conclusion that we do some things precisely because we are married. For example, hubby wants to disappear into the mountains of Georgia because he never has alone time. He is either at work or home with me. He does have a study room to hide, but being home in parallel rooms is not the same as being alone. However, since we know each other so well, he can go away and I will find something do with my weekend. It's this balance of staying individual while being a couple that comes only after years of committed relationship. I am confident that he is not running away from me. I am confident that he likes to travel with me. I am actually confident that his escape does not have anything to do with me - for the first time in years he had opportunity to escape without planning, without arrangements. Meanwhile, I gathered girls and we watched naked Tom Cruise.
The second advantage of marriage is feeling of comfort. I know for sure that we will spend good time in Budapest because hubby is my best travelling partner. We know each other well, and not only that, we sync, we wake up at the same time, we both like to walk, we know what bothers us and what makes us happy. Yes, sometimes I complain, and he is usually late, but despite that our vacations are very satisfying. When we return and I go back to work, not only I miss places that we've visited, i miss that wordless communication, almost telepathic connection that I have with my hubby and I am reluctant to talk to others around me, who seem so distant.
Yes, long-term relations lack excitement, flirt, uncertainty.... but that is exactly why we come up with these trips and surprises. Such things are less spontaneous, they don't just occur, commitments, mortgages, work, relatives hinder that pure longing we had when we just dated (sometimes I miss those times), but it does not mean that we can't find excitement despite all that. The approach is different, that's all. It takes more effort, but the result is different qualitatively.
 I'd like to clear up - it does not have to be a conventional marriage. And long-term is an arbitrary word. I am talking about my personal experience. I am talking about any couple who has gone over the initial crazy stage, left most of the guesswork behind and enjoys different kind of intimacy.
I guess that's what marriage is about. Learning how to stay individual and learning how to stay a couple. Enjoying being individual because you know that you're a couple.
(Also, I got bored with life and I cut my hair).
So, there.

Life Taking Over

All the sudden, I have tons of writing to do.
First, this blog. Second, my psychology blog. Third, pretty cool motivation web site that I hope will adopt me.
And I opened my fb page. And I have to put stuff up on it daily. Now I am thinking logo, no logo? Ways to improve?
So of course I have no inspiration to write anything personal.
I am wondering if I started this whole thing just to trick myself into thinking that I am doing something.
Planning conference, translating articles, giving lectures...thinking of a syllabus.
Meanwhile, next week I am turning 30. I am turning 30 and reaching some milestone, or that's what I am told.
But after all, time is arbitrary, age is arbitrary and who said that we have to have something solid by 30?
Who said we have to have a career, kids, house, car, pet? What if I prefer starting from scratch, travelling, having fun?
What if I'd rather write about psychology and provide Georgian subtitles for famous experiments?
What if I just do what I like?
 I think my biggest problem is that I am always looking for outside approval, feedback, acknowledgement.
I think that my biggest problems is false sense of entitlement that successful students get. You think you will graduate and real life will praise you for your efforts, just as those hippy teachers did in the college.
So for now I will do what I do best - get busy, give talks, write posts. And hopefully it will bring some results.
Otherwise, I am just wasting my time.

Grieving for Gyumri

The first time I went to Armenia, we undertook a journey full of fun and unexpected adventures. We toured bars in Yerevan, I almost burned down our host’s neighbors (via Chinese lantern), we got lost and ended up at Azeri-Armenian border with machine guns pointing at us.

We drove through snowy Alpine zones, eating carrots bought from local Molokan village, we listened to Tsoi and read names of towns that did not exist: Leninakan, Kirovakan…

And somewhere on our way back, we stopped at Gyumri. After obtaining interesting directions from the locals (so if you are looking for the fish canyon,  you go right, then left, then you flip the car upside down and then go left; but the fish canyon you are looking for does not exist), we drove by Russian army buildings and came upon fishing farm to eat a fish dinner.

The fish canyon works like this: you order a fish by kg-s, you take a table and they kill it nearby (murdered my desire to eat it). It was interesting new experience for us. The fish farm was located at foothills of old castle. Peaceful sunset was disturbed only by hatchets beheading fishes of different kg constitution.

After forcing fresh fish down my throat, we hurried out of the town before it got dark- we still had to find our way back home. As I have mentioned, that scenario did not work out (apparently all road signs were abducted by the aliens) and that’s how we ended up in a military zone. Needless to say, we quickly moved away from the wrong border and continued our quest for the motherland.

Last week, a horrible tragedy happened in the same Gyumri, quiet and little town, dusty town, with streets growing silent after sunset. A Russian soldier escape from the Russian army base, walked into one of the houses and killed a whole family; only smallest member, an infant survived.

The soldier was caught and is now detained at the army base.

Armenia is in uproar.

They demand to bring this soldier to Armenian court; meanwhile, Russian side wants Russian trial- the guy broke Russian law first, by deserting the army. Russian officials do not make statements, do not apologize, just say general nonsense like “the crime must be investigated”. Nobody addresses heartbroken, angry, grieving people, who stage protest after protest, hoping for justice.

In addition, Russian side made an official statement only on January 18, while events took place on January 12.

I guess nobody in Armenia believes that he will be tried justly if he leaves the country.

I don’t know how the whole affair might end, who blames whom, what were the reasons, is Russian army in Gyumri beneficial or detrimental.

The wounded baby died yesterday.

P.S. self-portrait against gorgeous Armenian background

Remembering 2014

Sometime around New Year I make a small summary of what happened in my life. It helps me close the passing year and leave it all in the past.

It is an egotistical and self-indulgent thing to do and thank you for joining in.

Thus, this 2014 year:

-          I had one In Vitro fertilization and two artificial inseminations to no avail; next one on the horizon this spring

-          War in Ukraine happened and I still feel very sympathetic towards Ukrainians and very angry towards Putin

-          Sherlock 3 happened; it was fine and magnificent, and we had  Sherlock party to celebrate it

-          I got cured of my Cumberbatchism; I don’t know, maybe he’s just too popular for me now

-          I started new job in an NGO working as a disability expert

-          I took part in TV show “What, When, Where” and sat prettily without really contributing anything

-          Orthan Pamuk visited Georgia and we stalked him and obtained his autograph

-          I started second job – am now counselling at the clinic and welcoming anyone who wants to talk in a safe, confidential environment

-          I went to Lviv for training, gained many new friends and toured such a nice, cute, little city

-          Hubby surprised me with a trip to Cappadocia and it was absolutely amazing; I felt like I was walking on moon

-          I generally went to lots of clubs and spent many nights dancing till dawn

-          I directed and performed in Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues

-          I went to the damned and cursed Kazantip and it proved to be lot more moral than I hoped it would be

-          I have finished the first step (it took 1.5 years) in my Gestalt therapy training

-          I translated many, many documents

-          I conducted many, many trainings

All in all, this year brought interesting career developments (I am still trying to navigate in the unknown world of therapy market), it contained a lot of reproductive interventions and when I was not working or getting injected with reproductive shit, I was partying.

Sounds like I just graduated from college.

 The pic: Caucasus mountains in Imereti. The winter is coming.

Digital Death of My Photography

Year ago, I took a photography course.

Pretty famous cinematographer showed us camera tricks. We walked around Old Tbilisi, armed with Soviet Zenit (Leica rip-off) and one film roll (36 shots, sometimes stretched to 40). Zenit settings were manual only.

After great fretting about under-over exposure, when the printed results were too bright or too dim, too lifeless or too cluttered, we just had to live with it.

My teacher used to say: “a good photographer notices and controls everything in the frame”.

I’d get very excited when manual rolling button would move freely – the film was done. I had to roll the film back into the carcass. Sometimes I’d lock myself in the bathroom, lights off, to make sure that the film is safe in its Kodak or Fuji tomb.

My teacher used to say: “you know that you are a good photographer when you get three perfect pictures in row. Then you know, it was not an accident”.

The waiting period followed. Film had to be exposed. We’d unscrew our Zenit’s lenses, point them to the exposed films and carefully select frames. Lots of guesswork – green was red, it was hard to say if the image was blurry, etc.

And then…the final waiting…to see if real pictures matched the guesswork. Sometimes they were better, sometimes they were disappointing.

My teacher used to say: “a perfect picture does not need retouching”.

Some pictures were salvageable. I’d sit down and carefully crop the pictures with a paper knife, throwing away the garbage. Then I’d paste the much smaller pictures on a cardboard.

With all this work, with all this effort, every picture was revered. Every picture could become “the perfect picture”. I would never just snap a photo. I would carefully examine many angles, positions, double-check aperture and shutter speed.  I would carefully adjust the lens focus. And with each movement, I’d re-adjust.

My teacher used to say: “you have to consciously take many, many pictures, before you become a good photographer”; he said: “these images of a cactus do not qualify as homework!”

… Sometimes when I adjust focus on a projector lens for the trainings, I remember how I used to adjust lens for every single frame and I smile.

The only skill I have left now is taking pictures from different positions. Oh, I am not shy to stand right in front of you to take a good shot. A good shot is worth your frustration.

But I lost it all, the shutter speed, the exposure, the depth, the aperture size. The appraisal of the composition.

I just took 700 (!) pictures of an event. Some of those pictures turned out pretty good. Well, I do jump around and am bound to accidentally capture something special. I have a very nice camera - so nice that when I try to auto-correct exposure via Photoshop, no changes are necessary most of the time.

It takes so much time to sort through 700 pictures and pick several for the PR purposes. Because unfortunately I have still retained the skill of assessing photos.

11 years ago, my teacher told this boy from the other group who joined us for photo-taking tour: “here, choose the one you like” and the boy chose me. All the pics on my blog (with several exceptions) belong to me or this boy.

…I could never take three good pictures in a row. Now, I doubt I can take even one.

 P.S. I took this photo in Budapest. I actually like it.

Roadside Georgia

Georgia for me is a big chunk of land divided by a highway. There’s stuff right of the highway and there’s stuff left of the highway. The road itself starts in Tbilisi and either ends in Batumi (the long version) or in Kakheti (the short version). My mental map of Georgia is this thin strip of land on both sides of the road, bordered by the mountains. I’ve been living in a two-dimensional Georgia.

Despite the fact that I have traveled all over Georgia – tents, nice hotels, bad hotels, cities, villages, valleys- despite the fact that Svaneti  is the only region I have not yet visited, despite the fact that for the last 4 years I always chose positions that include working in the regions - I am still a tourist in my own country.

Really, what is Georgia for me? Batumi in the summer and Gudauri in the winter? Nice hiking area?

These people I see from the cars, these people I train, I sit down for therapy, why do they wear different clothes, what do they all day? How do they live? What do they do for fun?

Do you know what is the first place that I absolutely have to visit, even if I have nothing to buy? Smart supermarkets. Thank god there is one in Akhaltsikhe, in Gori, in Gonio. Smart supermarket is where I find shelter, ATMs, tea, clean bathrooms. Where I know things.

My comfort zone has extended to Kutaisi now. I can walk around the center alone without getting lost and mostly understanding the situation.

I spend so much time, so much time with people who discuss Game of Thrones, Benedict Cumberbatch, the latest event at the Mtkvari club, did-you-see-that-video-of-a-kitty-on-9-gag, and I start believing that this is what Georgia is, that everyone around me watches kitty videos, that everyone misses Breaking Bad, that everyone has a FB account. I am not surprised that some people don’t know English, but it doesn’t sound right to me. I don’t mean perfect English, I mean not understanding computer commands or “Friends” dialogue. I realize how incredibly snobby I sound.

And I actually do go out there. I actually spend so much work and vacation time outside Tbilisi. Yet, I don’t let the country in. I leave, I lock up my thoughts and beliefs; I don’t try to fit in – I try not to annoy. The only thing that I identify with is the nature. Those mountains on both sides of the road. I feel like they are mine. Mountains and the Smart supermarkets.

How did it happen that I am a tourist in my own country? It had something to do with refusal to watch TV.  Something to do with declaring that I am better than all this. That I am "way too educated" and "way too liberal". And as we took the new shortcut around Kutaisi  last week, I felt like my point of reference – the road – shifted. I caught myself thinking: I don’t even know how long we need to ride to the horizon until we reach the border of Georgia. Is it 2 hours, 3 hours? What’s out there? Azerbaijan, Russia? But then of course the shortcut ended and we went back to familiar highway, this road I’ve been riding several times a month now. Western Georgia-coffee at Zestaponi-Rikoti twists and turns-Nazuki-Khashuri roundabout-Gori Smart-abandoned Berta building-Jvari-Digomi-home.

…I wish I had a village, I wish I was not born and raised here, I wish I could connect, I could remember,

how must it feel to wake up on the 2^nd floor, under 4-sided roof, walk to the balcony rail, shiver and hurry downstairs for breakfast.

Cause I don’t know.

P.S. Pic I took in Kakheti last year.

Bar-hopping in Tbilisi

I used to complain that there is nothing to do in Tbilisi on a Friday night. That was era of endless-independent-film-watching.

I looked around the other day and discovered underground Tbilisi expansion. We’re no Berlin or NY, but still, things happen.

It’s Friday night and I have to choose between clubbing and bar-hopping. And that makes me exited.

So, if you decide to bar-hop in Georgia, let me share our favorite route which includes some newly-formed, informal bars.

1.       Warshawa  - a great place to start. It is located on the Freedom Square (Pushkin’s 19).  Menu includes 2 and 5 GEL drinks

You can hang around outside (people don’t smoke inside, yeah!), stay on a crowded first floor, or descend to a historical basement with long tables and benches. Basement serves wine only, so you’ll have to carry beer, drinks and food with you from the first floor down some pretty uncomfortable steps. Also, basement has no cell phone service.

Expect expats and young kids that don’t mind standing or sitting in the street.

2.   Walk toward old city hall, pass by the pretentious Tabidze, walk up Leonidze and turn left (Machabeli 2). The place has no sign, but you’ll see commotion outside. Arsad, located in the basement of former Lebanise restaurant (now just in the basement of nothing), Arsad (Nowhere in Georgian), used to be our favorite place to hang out about a year ago.  Expect shaggy, strange-haired youth here. It is also located in a historical basement and is usually pretty full on weekends. I love two warm design solutions here – Portrait of Shevardnadze that scared me to death last Halloween and writing on the bathroom mirror “Beware, the Chamber of secrets has been opened again”. By the way, the bathroom itself – yuck!

3.       Walk back to Freedom Square, down the Rustaveli Av. and discover “Reefer” (Rustaveli 28), another bar in the basement. Hipsters, dreadlocks. Concerts. Friendly management.

4.       Next stop – Canudos Ethnic Bar. Walk down the Rustaveli Av., until you reach McDonald’s, turn on Elbakidze, you’ll see a Samaia Park with hipster/i-like-dreds/ I-will-wear-Che-T-shirts crowd.  There was a time, when I absolutely loved this bar, it was one of the first ones to welcome different-minded crowd, but it is too mainstream for me now( I am aware of how pretentious that sounds)  I like the option of hanging outside, since bar is always crowded and you have to make your way through a unruly queue to get a drink.

5.       Walk  back to  Rustaveli, approach Wendy’s and eat something fatty. Or enter Smart and eat something fatty. The point is – after 4 bars you need to eat something fatty. (See my safe clubbing post).

6.       Continue walking on Rustaveli Av. and head left before you reach the Opera House. Walk down Lagidze street and turn left. Enter Dive bar (Lagidze 12). The crowd here is mostly friendly expats and young Georgians who have spent some time in Europe. It has two rooms, no floor and very underground feel. However, I just don’t find it cozy. Maybe the crowd is too young for me. Maybe the bar stand is too crowded. I don’t know.

7.       Now, take Tabukashvili street until you reach Tubo Partybar (Tabukashvili 14). I love this place. Blue walls, light fixtures made of red pipes, Ukrainians who opened it up. Sometimes there’s a DJ. It’s small, but not too many people know about it (they will now). Many expats from the Post-soviet space. Hubby has tasted variety of distilled house alcohol with no lethal results.

8.       Keep walking on Tabukashvili, until you reach the flower market on Kolmeureneoba. Here you climb the stairs to Pirimze (Atoneli 18) – There’s big policnica sing on the fisrt floor.. It is the quietest of all bars, but at this point you need to relax. Interesting artwork on the wall,  crowd discussing Sundance festival, old Singer sewing machines as a part of décor in an old, intelgentsia-styled apartment…you get the picture.  One of my favorite places on the route. Take advantage of a clean bathroom. Get some liquids. Check out the balcony.

9.       Next, you walk to Orbeliani street into second Ukrainian –owned bar, Absurd. It is located yet in another historic basement. It used to be a New Art Café, the space is pretty big and the crowd…you will not notice the crowd by this point. Barpeople are very friendly. They usually have pretty cool electronic music till 12, when they have to turn the volume down due to the neighbors. Used to be the only bar with no indoor smoking, but they had to allow it  - people used to smoke outside and annoy the neighbors.

10.   If you’ve started at 10 p.m. and moved pretty quickly, it’s probably 3-4 AM by now. But that’s OK because you have one last cool stop: the Drunk Owl (Samghebro’s 21). It is the newest bar on the block and pretty cool one. It has interesting décor (light fixtures made of bottles, owls of different sizes and shapes).  Bar’s mission is to introduce interesting drinks- also makes a good first stop, to appreciate pretty-colored cocktails before you are completely drunk. It is located right opposite the newly-built monastery, on the left right when you enter Abonotubani.

Happy drinking to you!

P.S. the pic: I stole it from their FB page, Absurd barpeople with lots of beer.

P.S. I've linked all the bar names with their fb pages, for your convenience. Because I am cool like that.

Kill Your Darlings

These last two weeks, I've been working for 12, 14 hours a day (not exaggerating), immersing in Gestalt therapy and trainings, thinking and feeling and crying and networking. And just now, I gave myself two-hour break and watched a film about Gingsberg and beginning of changes in US. And then I walked into FB and found out about killings, about a protest rally planned on Tuesday (when I am in  Kutaisi, working), and anger took over.
I'm mourning. I just don't know who I am mourning.
And here's my "poem".

There's change, there's process, there's relations.
Phenomenology.
What happens here and
what happens now.
Identity is a myth
I am different,
With you,
With the cat,
With a taxi driver.
I was different today from yesterday from year before.
And those who seek identity,
Who resist changes and process and relations,
Who define their own by opposing you,
And me,
And other faceless objects,
That we've become.
To them.
They come and kill us,
Because by killing they validate their selves,
Because by killing they know that they live.

We're blind. I'm blind. I'm walking blindfolded.
Until one day, they kill so many,
They kill so much,
That I'll be dead too.
Just walking.
Just working.
Just drinking pregnancy pills.
All dead inside.

Come, kill me too.
Come, kill your darlings.

Kvareli Luxury

Now I have done it all: I stayed in one of those overpriced, trying-to-be-fancy, overlooking-a-pond hotels in Kakheti. I have to tell you, if we don’t take into account that I can find equal or better accommodation for that price in a very touristy place abroad, I am actually very happy with the results. But let’s not be hasty, shall we? I hereby present you overview of the overpriced Kvarreli area hotels – I’ve seen them all and tasted just one.

Royal Batoni – granted, it looks very kitchy. It is shaped like a freaking castle. If Vegas ever wanted a Georgian-themed hotel, well it’s either this castle, or some cheap Svanetian tower copy. However, the entrails of the castle are pleasant. It has carpets and Georgian motif (but not too much), an infinity pool overlooking Ilia’s “lake”, pretty terrace and picturesque views of the Duruji valley. Dream fall vacation.

Pros – We got the executive suite and it came with many perks. 1 absolutely breathtaking views. Now, I was told that the other suite had a better view- of the “lake”- but nothing beats fall-colored mountains. Lake-shmake 2. Huge bath in the middle of the room. Yep. It’s just huge, deep and just stands in the middle of a large, open-space suite. Overlooking the pros#1. Since, there was a group of us, we just sat there in our bathing suits, taking turns. Imagine: people having fun, talking, drinking, and you’re with them, only in a tub.3. Free bottle of wine from the hotel’s own winery. This is Kakheti. Hotel has own wine cellar. Duh. 4. Shower room with a transparent wall. You could pull the curtain. Or not.  5. Bright colors. OK, I hate beige décor. It reminds me of Big’s first wife in “Sex and the City”, who painted everything beige. Some hotels think it’s classy. Well, I got a perfect, warm, Tuscany-like photo shoot against orange background. Beat that, beige!

Cons- Hubby said it: it looks like one person built the hotel and the other runs it. Which is probably not the case. But how can you have a huge bath in the middle of orange-room and Georgian-food-only menu in the same hotel? Not only it is just Georgian food, it is boring Georgian food, it ruins the whole fairy tale illusion. Who wants to drip overpriced khinkhali just left of the infinity pool? They could at least make it a bit innovative, reinvent Georgian cuisine, or include rare Georgian dishes, or have seasonal menu, or something, or at least present it in a different way! Tasty – but limited.

So, what else is in the Kvareli area?

1.       Kvareli Lake Resort. Probably the best view of all of them. “Lake” from one side, Alazani valley from the other. Terrible food. OK design.

2.       Lopota Lake Resort. Nice infrastructure. Several types of restaurants, bars, pools. Comfortable. The view is worse than Royal Batoni and Kvareli Lake Resort. Prices bite. Was innovative years ago, since it was one of the first (if not the first) hotel that started this whole luxury Kakheri trend. Very good for tourists, training, meetings. Self-sufficient area.

3.       Kvareli Eden. Awesome Mediterranean/Spanish design. Specially-built, mind-blowing spa. Nothing like it in Georgia. Hence, they charge extra for it. You can sit in a glass steam room and look into the vineyard. You can get into a solid copper bath tub filled with wine! Endless spa fun. Massages. Aromatherapy. View-not so much, but it is in the middle of the vineyard. Some people prefer foliage to mountains. This is definitely where I would go with my hubby. It is just very beautiful. But ouch, why do they charge hotel guests more for the pool usage? Who does that?

      Anyway, so these are your options, should you have a weekend when you have spare money, but no time to travel abroad, or if you just want to wander in pretty part of Kakheti, not over-crowded by tourists, now is a perfect time to casually sit in a tub, look at the leaves displaying gay pride, and make peace with yourself.

p.s. the pic: view from my hotel window. Duruji valley

Melancholia

The ghost of the fall has swept across Tbilisi.

I start writing posts and then delete them.

Kazantip is over. We returned for another weekend, danced our feet off, kidnapped pair of Russians and came back to our work.  Since then, I have been trying to avoid fall.

We’ve been walking with the Russians and going to parties. We went to clubs. We drank wine. They drank wine. I don’t like alcohol. It numbs me.

 I have started several posts, about futility of monogamy, about digital photography as the end of my picture-taking, about killings, about 90ies back in fashion and in spirit.

Summer is another planet, wrote someone, summer is my planet, even  unbearable, hot summer, it’s the time when the sea is salty, when the day is free.

...Sometimes I’m scared of this new job adventure, new house adventure, and I guess this is why I keep postponing it, postponing posting the prices on websites, postponing hiring designer, postponing long-term commitments.

I am sitting in my office, alone, waiting for clients to drop out of blue sky.

I had 5 clients yesterday. Clinic clients. It is uneven. It is unstable. I work good. I help people. I just started. I need time.

...I want it all and I want it now.

We’re selling our apartment, you know the one with all-night parties and bar stand and a cat and a hubby and plants on the windows that the said hubby systematically murders while I’m away for trainings.

Mortgage slaves. That’s what will become of us.

Of course, I can always sell my body.  I’ll probably be more successful then now, when I’m selling my mind.

...This summer planet, it was so nice. It had Lviv in it and new friends, it had Batumi with no rain (!), it had Kazantip , I miss the sea, I need more sea, my tan is pealing. I look like a zombie. I did not get enough sea.

When was the last time I got enough sea?

...The thing is, this psychological counseling thing, it’s a gamble. What if the market is not ready? What if I sit in this chair forever?

...Each day, I fear the winter. I keep thinking of cold weather and mushy snow.

Each day, I fear the new day.

...The ghost of rain and yellow leaves.

P.S. the pic: my happy summer planet - I took this pic at Kazantip

P.S.S. I wrote this post a week ago but I had so much work to do that I just couldn't sit down and edit it.
:-( I'm kinda over moping now :-)

Samarkhvo Kazantip - Anaklia 2014

Never has my blog name felt so spot-on: my friend has been stuck outside of the Former Democratic Republic of Kazantip for two days now; he was promised Kazantip visa, to set up a condom stand. Once he got there, with a box full of prophylactics, he got stranded in a tent city. “There is no sex in Kazantip” is the official stance of this year’s republic.

The president declared that he respects Georgian traditions. This is the moment that I facepalm myself bloody, hide my Georgian passport and pretend I am from Mars.

See, Kazantip turned out to be so much different than I expected. I kept calling it a music festival, but it really is a separate country, with its own rules (and I thought that was just a marketing trick). People honestly believe in this idea. Hard to imagine, but citizens of Kazantip actually seek peace, love, community, freedom, acceptance. They call it “happiness”. Imagine, thousands come from collectivistic, harsh, rigid, post-soviet societies, they flee from repression and “must do”’s. They save money all year to visit a place where they can be not who they are, but who they want to be. Those are not empty phrases. People start transforming into what they want to be, from head to bottom, from crazy creative outfits, to friendly and loving attitude.

They do so responsibly. They actually read Kazantip constitution. They do not fight, do not sexually assault and do not pee in the street. None of them. But they expect infinite freedom beyond that. They seek happiness.

Where is the happiness? -  I keep hearing it from Kazantip citizens over and over. Happiness has been sacrificed to “Georgian traditions”.

Happiness is not drugs, it’s not sex and it’s not cheap food; people who say that Kazantip sunk due to shortage of the noted products, do not know what Kazantip is. Happiness is wearing whatever you want, animal costumes, Buddhist monk ensemble, polyester swimming suit or nothing; happiness is endless dancing without being molested by local boys; happiness is sleeping on the beach, on the pavement or on a bar stand without being approached by law enforcers; happiness is talking with complete strangers without being grabbed and insulted; happiness is wandering weary and possibly drunk at 6 a.m. without feeling gaze of judging police.

Suddenly, all of our Geo insecurities came to life, all of them. Oh, a tourist, great, let’s make them pay 2 Lari per Khinkali! Oh, Slavic girl, let’s grab her boobs instead of greeting her (this is not an exaggeration)! God forbid people sit in the middle of the road (inside of the gated, no-car zone)! Call the police!

The police. They are at every palm tree, behind every rock. They are riding motorcycles, BMW-s, Mini Coopers, Fourwheelers, Segways, Golf carts. They are blinking and yelling and just watching your every move. And here you are looking for infinite freedom and ultimate happiness, collectively watching sunset under enchanting music and tuning your heart to beats of a gong that are calculated to sound precisely as the last rays reach the Former Democratic Republic of Kazantip. And as you dance in trance, someone is asked not to sit on a pavement.

Every year, for closing, Kazantip citizens write their wishes on yellow balloons and send them to the sky.

Here is my wish: I wish for a miracle. I wish for Crimea to go back to Ukraine, I wish for Kazantip to go back to Crimea and I wish for me, a free citizen of my new country, to go back to Kazantip every year from now on.

Cause I want my share of happiness.

p.s. Samarkhvo means fasting in Georgian;

p.s.s. pic taken by my hubby. I took part in this fun Kigurumi parade. 

Lost Lviv

Don’t you hate it when you write something and it gets deleted? Has your E-mail ever evaporated? Did you throw the comp out of your window?

 My first Lviv post, the one that I wrote with care, the one that I did not publish right away because I wanted to re-read it, perfect it, is gone, gone, and now I have to write it again.

How do I confess my love for the second time?

My first post started with the words “good morning, Lviv, do you miss me, Lviv?” I was addressing the city, I was talking to the city, I was talking to its colors, to its funny tourist cafes, I was talking to its lightness and its miniature elegance.

I talked to Lviv, I told Lviv, hey rememeber, how I rolled my suitcase at 8 A.M. , to a bus stop behind the opera, spilled coffee on my new Ukrainian shirt, ruining my grand entrance? How resistant I was to move away from your streets for training? How I hated to leave training once I got there?

I wrote, dear Lviv, it was just the three of us, hubby, you and me, walking around at night, away from the tourist zones, talking about life, Lviv, about loathed work and dull existence. It was you Lviv, I wrote, who listened to our dreams, me with my hostel and him with his bar, you listened and grew quiet and your streets were hushed and peaceful.

Oh, Lviv, I wrote, I miss the training, I miss the people, I miss talking all night long. I wrote, Lviv, I tortured my body, I deprived it of food and sleep, but I gave it Buddhism, video stories, jokes, flirt, I gave it friends, I gave it global problems, debates, issues, I gave it new ideas, so who cares about the shell of flesh?

My first blog post, so pathetic at times, full of exclamations. I talked to Lviv, Lviv that is no longer close, no longer right outside my window, not even half an hour away, not even in the same country.

Lviv. Listen. Running like crazy to board the plane in Istanbul. Three-day non-stop touristing. Souvenirs. Searching for pins. Surprise hubby visit. Coffee that tired-rock-star waiter set on fire. The apothecary museum. Strudels. Walking golden statue in the rain. Masoch café with chains and bras. Flowery sheets in rented apartment. Singing “Suliko” in nationalistic underground bar. Coolest country presentation. Tornado energizer. Friendly folks with different accents. The stop-animation video our team produced. Funny punishments for late trainees. Sessions that we lead. Sessions that we watched. Car on 6^th floor terrace café. Hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick. Constant picture-taking. Curly hair and midnight talks. Walks in the forest. The crisp sunset air and the Slavic church in an open field of grass. Talks. Smoking sessions. More talks. Those silly games with bottles and cards. Posing. Philosophical discussions. Gossip. Breezy trip on Bosporus. Airport. Hubby. Home. FB requests.
Listen, Lviv, I wrote. I miss you, Lviv, I wrote.

I miss you Lviv.

Pathetic.

Good thing I lost it.  Repressing feelings of infinite freedom and returning to normal life.

Good-bye, Lviv.

P.S. the coffee with caramelized sugar set on fire in a coffee-mining cafe (I know, right!) in Lviv.

Safe Clubbing Rules

Second weekend in a row I’m greeting sunrise on Turtle lake, after all-night clubbing. And second weekend in a row I feel nauseous all day after. And I’m not even drinking alcohol.

So what the f...?

Dehydration, my friends. I get so caught up in dancing trance that I forget to drink water and I don’t want to be bothered with bathroom stops. However, several bottles of water could save my Saturdays. Thus, I've compiled web sources and my own experience to share with you guys the ways of healthier and ultimately, more pleasant clubbing. Here's the wisdom:

-       - Before you start drinking, eat fatty and sugary foods. Carbs actually help with nausea. Also, have some salty foods – they remind you to drink water even if you forget to.

-       -    Energizers block your intoxication awareness. Party regular vodka+red bull actually gets you much drunker than you think. Hence, worse hangover. Pace yourself. Alternate between alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. Have a fatty snack. Or just get prepared for a horrible morning.

-        -  Rule of thumb: if you mix substances, you will feel like shit later. Some substances are more mixable, bla, bla, yes, that’s true. However, generally, more you mix, worse you feel the next morning. That is if you wake up. Some substance mixes are very dangerous. So do your research! No high is worth dying for or even damaging liver, brain, etc. 

-         - If you are on some uppers – please stay hydrated. People die from dehydration. Put on water alarm on your phone before, force water in your throat when you don’t feel thirsty, I don’t know, ask your friends to give you liquids. Do something to combat "oh I can dance for days with no food or water" feeling.

-         -  Don’t go to sleep the moment you reach home. This works wonders for me: have some breakfast. What should you eat when you drag your un-cooperating legs home? What gets your energy levels up and helps your muscles restore? Complex carbs and proteins. Good source of complex carbs: potatoes, oatmeal, rye bread. As for the proteins, meat, fish, dairy, eggs. If you have consumed alcohol, add some fatty foods. So, in nutshell: if you fry some bacon or sausage, make an omelet and have a yogurt or cheese plus toast, you will get everything. Add some orange juice and there’s additional portion of vitamin C to help repair your immune system damage, caused by drinking, inhaling cigarette smoke (directly or indirectly), overtaxing your muscles, and depriving body of a night’s sleep. Also, broth restores sodium and banana – potassium.

-        -   Replace lost fluids. Restore electrolytes – don’t just drink water. In US they have sports drinks, in Geo – opt for Sprite. It is caffeine- free. 

-   - Buy food and drinks ahead of time! How often do you wake up with a headache and get to your nearest store shaking, wishing for miracle Borjomi (Nabeglavi, Mitardi, whatever)? 

-       -   Try contrast water therapy (O.K. I know that no one, no one will do this after clubbing, but still, let me put it out there): 2 minutes hot water, 30 seconds cold water, repeat 4 times. Allow a minute of moderate water between those 4 times. Smile – it’s for your own good.

-        -   Please sleep. In a peaceful setting. Your sleep will be irregular and light, so turn off the phone – you may not be able to fall back asleep if disturbed.  

Wish you good and safe and pleasurable nights of dancing!

Tbilisi Tango Therapy

I won’t write about Shevardnadze’s death.

I won’t write about Mayor’s elections.

This week I will write about something enticing.

Have you ever considered many films and books telling a story about a hero outsider? That archetype of a born-outside-of-the-realm saver, the one who comes to a foreign world and helps natives find strength in their own resources? Like Paul Muad’dib in Frank Herbet’s “Dune”, like that soldier guy from the “Avatar”? Fremen’s term for Paul is Lisan al-Gaib (sci fi haters, bear with me): the voice of the outer world.  Yes, on one hand, it has a colonial, white-men-will-save-the-world aftertaste – because why can’t natives just save themselves- but on the other hand, when you’re stuck in the same shit daily, the voice of the outer world is what gets you out!

 Got me out, in any case.

Tbilisi has a little tango society. All you have to do is look them up on FB. Simple, right? No. Because why would I suspect it in Tbilisi? Thus, just like in a classical sci-fi adventure, a voice of the outer world, my Latvian therapist, who visits Georgia once in a blue moon (O.K. every other month), looked for the tango-dancing folks and joined them. And of course, despite his multiple stories about them, I still refused to believe that they exist. Tbilisi tango. A little cognitive dissonance. Beautiful magical unicorn.

But my best friend got interested and practically forced me to accompany our therapist to his tango lesson.

Imagine:

You get out of a smelly taxi.

Walk by the oft-visited TBC bank.

Glimpse towards road that leads to the despised Ministry of Education.

Walk into Eldorado café.

Chandeliers light up.

Girls in pretty dresses and high heels are perched on the wooden Vienna stools.

Pair of strangers dance.

Chocolate flows in the right corner.

And as time passes by, slim, well-posed boys walk to the group of girls, silently exchange looks, smiles, gestures, stand oppose each other, hold hands, press faces together and start dancing…

Couples multiply. It gets harder to focus on a particular pair. They are part of a bigger entity, they all do the same thing, they all do the different thing. Some dance shy. Some dance strong. Some dance close. Some dance apart.

 A confection of white lace and silk floats by and all I can think of is Rafaello dessert (I know, consumerism has maimed me for life). The girl has such reserved, tender passion, she keeps her eyes closed, she keeps her body away, save the temple area on the face, the hands around the back and sometimes, only sometimes, a high-heeled leg shoots up in the air, and sometimes it brushes against partner’s calves. Sometimes she wants to step away, but her partner blocks her with his feet. Smiling, with eyes closed, she dances in the free space that he lets her have, because, he is the one that cannot close his eyes, he is the one that has to watch out for other couples, choose direction, guess her wishes.

I squirm uncomfortably upon this realization. “But what if a girl does not want to sit around and wait to be picked? What if girls wants to lead?”, I ask. I live in a world where girls are not allowed to choose and lead. “They often learn the other part and partner up with each other”, casually answers my therapist and I really, really want to see that. He is back at the table, with his sickeningly good camera zoom, taking pics of the dancers. Then he walks up to a covey of Georgian girls, looks lingeringly, until one of them accepts his invitation, presses her face  against his and they join the dancing current.

We leave after 3 hours.

We walk through old streets with old wooden balconies.

I still can’t connect what I’ve seen with my city.

As I go on living in it, as I keep on walking in its streets, as things get mundane and tiresome, as I come up with all-night dancing and 100 happy days projects (more on that later), trying to fight this desperation, trying to cover up the emptiness, as I keep sacrificing sleep, healthy eating, rest, self-esteem, I forget that good things, truly good things exist in Tbilisi. I forget that I don’t always need to forge my own happiness, that sometimes happiness just sits there, waiting to be discovered.

I am plotting the next tango meeting.

P.S. the pic: this pic is horrible. My camera phone sucks at capturing motion and I didn't want to post close-ups, since I haven't asked for permission to post these pics. But, this is the proof that the unicorn is real :-)

Vagina Monologues in Tbilisi. Again.

My vagina liked last year’s Vagina Monologues so much that it begged to come back. And come back it did, a director vagina. An important vagina.

My vagina sat with many other vaginas for 3 months and we talked about…guess…vaginas. We talked about our monologues. We talked about parts of our souls they touch. We wrote about the women we presented. We made their stories our stories.

My vagina tried to direct. Honestly, it was more like giving personal feedback. It’s not like my vagina ran around artistically, yelling at the actors: “action, action!”

As we changed, so did our stories. Some vaginas lost love, some gained confidence. Some vaginas grew stronger. Some vaginas fell into darkness. Our monologues changed colors. Though in the end, our vaginas felt accomplished. It was like vagina therapy.

And so it happened that my vagina went to a Vagina Workshop.  To discover own form and essence. After practicing and practicing, my vagina finally talked about it in front of 200 people and it was elating. It even tried to convey an orgasm on stage. My vagina was funny. People laughed.

My vagina also made a little speech in the beginning. My vagina said, hey, women are killed in Georgia. Wheelchair-adapted swings are taken down in Georgia. My vagina said, we need to hear these women in Georgia. My vagina said, we need to hear them.

Backstage, my vagina watched other vaginas talk, one by one, and it was proud, my vagina was proud, it was my team, it was our team, we dared and talked about vaginas when most do not dare and  do not talk about vaginas.

No one yelled and no one screamed.

Some felt uncomfortable. Sitting and listening to other women’s vaginas. Some laughed nervously. Some felt connection. Some felt like they knew these vaginas on stage – through work, through life, through their own vaginas. Even if they did not have one.

And now it is over. My vagina believes that after performing last year and performing and directing this year, it has talked its talk. My vagina wants others to get involved. My vagina encourages you to participate next year.

And then you can sit down and write your own vagina monologue.

Like the one I am writing today. Or this one.

In any case, come and listen.

Because we have to:

Let our vaginas talk. Let our women speak. Let our inner, hidden, repressed selves finally declare: Enough! No more violence!

P.S. My Vagina Workshop scene

P.S. life is so hectic, I hardly find time to sit and think. And if I don’t think, I don’t write. And if I don’t write…well, I loose you guys.

That’s it. I promise to write in July. And thank you for still checking my page out.