Лето - это маленькая жизнь

Лето - это маленькая жизнь. И пока она утекает сквозь пальцы, растворяясь в последних теплых днях сентября, я пытаюсь понять, отчего же жизнь исчисляется в летах, а не зимах или веснах. Почему я так люблю лето?

Потому что могу купаться в озере, наверное. Нет ничего прекраснее.
Быть в воде - чувствовать первородную связь с телом, быть в единении с собой, с внутренним богом, с Землей. А если лежать на спине, когда половина головы в воде, а глаза на небе? Можно услышать, как бъется сердце Вселенной, как пульсируют собственные вены. Вдох - выыыыдох. 

Можно увидеть, как самолеты сладкой ватой оставляют узоры и, ястребы, расправив крылья, летят в голубую бездну. А если закрыть глаза? Можно вернуться в начало начал. Переродиться. Исправить все ошибки прошлого. Простить себя. Залатать все раны. А потом вода превращается в миллиарды капель на теле - миллиарды крупиц счастья, светящихся на солнце.

Лето - это красивое забвенье. Впадать бы в него целую вечность, и пусть оно никогда не заканчивается.

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4 принципа гармонии

Из интервью для узбекского женского ресурса

1. Путешествовать, путешествовать и еще раз путешествовать. Ничто не сближает тебя с самим собой, как наблюдения за другой культурой, за другими людьми, за другими пейзажами. Путешествия заставляют рефлексировать и задавать новые вопросы самому себе. Путешествия позволяют посмотреть на себя в совершенно ином свете. Путешествия - это кайф, это адреналин, это то, что не дает стоять не месте. Из каждой поездки возвращаешься домой другим человеком - лучшей версией себя.

2. Никаких диет, подсчетов калорий, разделения еды на "плохую" и "хорошую". Фиксированность на весе и на "правильном питании" - этим я переболела, и только сейчас поняла, что это никогда не приведет к душевной свободе, и уж тем более к гармонии с самим собой. Мое отношение к этому изменили многочисленные путешествия, в которых я наблюдала за традиционными культурами и их пищевыми привычками. Главный принцип - сезонное, свежее, локальное и приготовленное из ингредиентов, знакомые твоей бабушке. Это и есть один из принципов здоровья и долголетия, а не грустная куриная грудка. Съесть тарелку отличной пасты и не биться в истерике, что там было миллиард калорий - вот настоящая свобода! 

3. Медитировать. Это может быть, что угодно. То, что нравится вам. То, что вызывает тишину и спокойствие внутри. Я люблю ездить на велосипеде, делать хайкинг в горах, заниматься йогой, слушать музыку, читать, готовить на кухне, или просто сидеть на балконе под солнышком. Обожаю плавать в соленом море и люблю иногда нырнуть в ледяное горное озеро. Медитация для меня - это быть в лоне природы. Ходить босиком, кстати, одно из лучших средств для единения с природой, с Землей, со Вселенной. Природа - лучший врач на свете. Она дает уверенность в себе, дарит любовь к своей душе и своему телу. 

4. Избавиться от всего искусственного. От искусственных отношений, от искусственных ресниц, ногтей (и других частей тела), искусственной еды, вещей с искусственными лейблами, искусственных желаний и амбиций. Когда уйдет желание казаться лучше, чем ты есть, только тогда настанет ясность и порядок в голове, придет настоящая свобода. Придет свобода выбирать, любить, отдавать и принимать. Придет свобода быть здесь и сейчас, свобода прислушаться к себе. Быть собой. Быть гармоничной частичкой Вселенной.

Spring is not coming to Muynak

Climate change to me is when a human being is taken away joy to enjoy the beauty of the nature. Climate change is when the flow of nature is destroyed. I took these pictures when I traveled to Muynak (Karakalpakistan republic), a former fishing town beside the Aral sea. 

Once an important port and resort place, Aral see does not exist anymore. Instead you see a desert with lonely broken ships. A devastating catastrophe of the sea drying out has changed the climate of the whole region. As a result people of this area suffer from severe winters and hot summers. I visited Muynak during Navruz, a holiday that takes place on March 21. Navruz is a celebration of spring and blooming trees, it symbolises new life and fertility of the land. Walking in the village, I saw a picture that shocked me deeply. Muynak citizens were gathering beside a huge photo stand with blooming trees on it. It was sad and tragic because spring was never going to come to Muynak. No tree or a flower grows in the salty soil of this place.

Про путешествия.

Мой смешной зеленый паспорт наполняется приграничными штампами, так же и я – наполняюсь новыми впечатлениями и новым опытом. Чем больше я передвигаюсь, тем ярче и разнообразней становится мир. Рушатся границы, в том числе и те, что в собственной голове. Ломаются стереотипы, клише и предрассудки. Путешествия – это наркотик, нет ничего притягательней, чем держать в руках билет в ранее неизведанный мир и паковать чемодан.

Я люблю ездить на автобусе по ухабистым дорогам, по горным тропам, по городам и весям. Я люблю летать на самолетах странных и не очень авиакомпаний, люблю поезда, люблю сидеть за спиной у мужа, когда мы колесим по холмам незнакомых нам островов. Ценнее этого только люди, которых я встречаю на этом пути. Я пишу все это сидя в очень веселом баре в Сараево, где свою послеполуденную ракию выпивают местные старики. А владелица бара – старая панкерша с ирокезом. Лица морщинистные, лица с отпечатком войны, лица с характером – я их видела много, я их всех помню, так же как и помню все услышанные от них истории.

Мне сложно выложить слова в красивые бусины, но каждый раз, приезжая домой из путешествий, я чувствую, что уже никогда не буду такой как прежде. Что-то внутри меняется, что-то делает тебя очень восприимчивым. В один прекрасный миг ты ловишь себя на мысли, что твоя координата ценностей сдвинулась. Жизнь стала проще. Такой сложный мир вдруг упростился на рассветы и закаты, лето и осень, призывы муэдзина на молитву и церковный звон колоколов, запах шалфея и розмарина, кофе и травяной чай, горы и озера, стук рельсов и скрип винила, скатерть в клетку и дубовый стол, завтрак и ужин, день и ночь.

А все что тебе нужно – это вместительный рюкзак, любимые протертые кроссовки и большое открытое сердце, чтобы впитать в себя все краски, звуки, запахи по ту сторону твоего собственного дома.

Когда настанет час, я хочу помнить именно это – морскую соль на губах, пыль дорог, улыбку торговца без двух зубов на рынке, пение цикад в яблоневом саду, шипение кофейной гущи ранним утром в снятом нами домике на безымянном острове, вкус чевапи в грязной маленькой кафешке, и непременно закат в Пиргосе – самом красивом месте на Земле. И еще многое другое - то, что только предстоит. 

Ведь все только начинается!

Hiking in the alps

Right here and right now stop self pity, let go all of your pains. Here in the Alps you are newly born. 

Embrace the grandness of Earth. Cherish the beauty of nature. Give your love to all the cows and goats, to all the flowers, stones, rocks and hills. Listen to the Alpine horn somewhere far away. Let the wind play with your hair. Wash your face in a small waterfall. Spread your arms and feel the energy running through your veins. Breath in the 2000 meters high altitude thin air. In the night watch the stars – the myriad of your brothers and sisters. Always there for you, just give your hand. 

Swim in the ice cold mountain lake, dive in. Everything is different under the water. Can you hear the silence of the Earth?

Reverse back to an embryo. No past, no wounds, no heartbreaks. No one ever made you suffer. No one ever was mean to you. Nothing ever was disappointing. 

Emerge. See how sun rays playfully shimmer on the glossy surface of the lake. The goosebumps on your skin. Melt on the sun.

Nothing brings you back to yourself than being in a pure, undisturbed and archaic surrounding like Alps. Feel gratitude for being alive, for being here, for having a chance to be stunned by the eternity. By mighty Earth. By mother Nature. God.

Laugh.
Cry.
Once and for all.

Smile.

Right here and right now you are the perfect creature. Empowered and strong. Young and beautiful. Fierce and fearless. Free and healthy.

You are gorgeous.

Right here and right now.

Ode to my Land

The more I embrace the West, the deeper I miss my roots. I miss my childhood in the suburbs of my hometown and the long summer holidays spent at my grandmother’s house. 

Those were the days when my grandfather was alive. I still hear the mesmerizing whisper of the walnut trees in his garden. I still smell the baked potatoes we clumsily made on the coals. There is still a taste of a fresh milk and hot Uzbek bread in my mouth, that little special bread for children that my grandmother baked in the clay oven. 

I hear all these voices that called us to the table for a dinner of fried tomatoes and dry bread. I hear all these voices of my vanished childhood. Those twenty years ago, when summers were mild, aryks were filled with water and I was a child bitten by mosquitoes. I was a youngster who smashed the watermelon all over my shirt; I was a child full of curiosity and lust for new experiences. 

Those were the days when even my great grandmother was alive. She could no longer walk without assistance. Every time I ate an apricot or a peach, she would tell me to plant their stone in the ground. She made me believe that beautiful fruit trees would spring forth from this tiny seed. And the trees did grow: trees of life and passion that sprang up in me. My great grandmother taught me to nurture the soil and the soul. 

When I think of who I am, the golden reeds stretching forth on the salty Karakalpak land instantly come to my mind. I still remember them quivering in the wind and blinding my eyes. I reminisce about the trees, steady and unmoving, spreading their strong branches into the wild, trees deeply rooted into the soil. There is a terrifying magnificence to this scene which symbolizes the nation that gave birth to people who are called nowadays – Uzbeks. Under this overwhelming sky, Amazon women rode their horses and defended their land from the other tribes. They were my predecessors – button-down, cool and fierce people. 



There, under the stunning rays of the sun, you can hear the whistling sound of the wind; you can feel the majesty of Earth running through your veins. The lines on my 80 year old grandmother‘s face are not wrinkles, but the evidence of a long and fulfilled life. I see a resemblance; I feel we have the same DNA. She kisses my cheeks twice and then kisses my hand. And I know I am from here. And I am THAT tree standing alone in the middle of the desert with branches that even the wind can‘t break. 

No matter what language I will speak, no matter where I will wake up, no matter how big my bank account will be, no matter what clothing I will wear, I will always remember who I am. It is written on my face – the shape of my eyes, the color of my skin, my nose and my lips. And there is not any force that is going to erase it. The desert wind is my lullaby. It is the ode to my heritage; it is the poem of my progenitors written on the surface of the desert sand. And I carry the lyrics in my genes. And deep in my heart, I sing the ancient song that gives me power and energy to live my life to the fullest.

sanity

The world has gone perverse, the big organizations are all the same bullshit, the crowd coming to the ‘let‘s get married‘ show is more insane than that who is watching it, it is all absurd. I wonder that most of people are pretending not to see it, or just too scatterbrained to feel the weight of the world. Only your beloved ones and closest friends remain the same, remain the sane. I love the evenings we can just talk, not being pretentious and arrogant, not trying to show the world how strong and successful we are. In the end, us is the most precious thing we have. And I want to keep it. 

24

Last year I was super excited to turn 23. It was crazy and also seemed very simple. You are living your life to the fullest and the years are passing by. You just enjoy them. But what I later realized is that growing up is not that easy. It is not the easiest thing to be responsible – for your life, for your behavior, for your attitude, for what you say and what you write.

I was a young girl – smart, witty and as some people pointed out – “talented”. I was on top of the world having so called best friends, crazy parties, a “trendy” job and cool projects; also a broken heart and deep, extremely deep wounds that I carried inside me.

At some point it was obvious with my lifestyle, that I was burnt out and lost. I quit my job. I underwent a long journey through the desert back to my roots. I saw my relatives and found myself in the process of a self-identification. I finally understood what simplicity meant. I came back with a clear heart and a clear mind. And suddenly I removed all the unnecessary people and situations from my life. Only the ones who care about me are now here by my side.

The magnificent thing is my niece was born. And with her the return of my brother, who I thought I had lost and wrote about it in last year's ‘I am 23‘ note. And I have found love. There, one late August evening, two people were sitting together on the stairs and having a life changing conversation. Two lost people renewed their faith once more. It was me and my man.

Looking back, I see how pretentious and arrogant I was, taking everything for granted and over estimating my abilities. What I have learned is that you should live a simple life. Simple does not mean simplistic. But it does require being pure in heart and staying true to your roots.

And yes, I am 24.

51

Today, twenty years later, I'm reminiscing about when we had a lot of snow in the early days of my childhood. In the beginning of '90s the USSR has collapsed, and my parents, being ordinary teachers at school, did not have enough money to buy us a sled. They pulled my younger brother and me on the snow in a huge basin. Yes, yes, yes, the one that we used for washing clothes! Being kids, we loved it, we enjoyed it.

Twenty years ago, I tried my first Snickers chocos, Chupa Chups and Kinder Surprise. My parents would buy these things once a month when they received their salary.

17 years ago, I went to school (as they called it "English") and my parents drove me on the bus №94 from the suburbs to the city. The taxi ride was quite a luxury.

Today, twenty years later, I look back and realize that I had a very happy childhood. Even though I dreamed of a Barbie doll (the real one, not Chinese!) and it cost 3000 soums, which was the entire monthly salary of my mom.

Once, a neighbor boy told me – ‘we have two tv‘s, and you have only one. You are poor!‘ I cried to death. My mother told me that we are not poor, we just have one TV. Today with my salary I can buy 10 TV‘s, hundreds of Barbies and thousands of Snickers chocos.

You have to understand, that raising a child was not the easiest thing to do in a former republic of the USSR. My father had to quit his job as a teacher and work in a bank as accountant, counting someone elses money.

I never would have been me, if it weren‘t for my parents.
If it were not for my Mom.
If it weren‘t for my Dad.

I am so grateful for everything that I have. I owe them a lot.

Yes, I did not have a Barbie doll and sled as a kid, but my parents, especially my father, taught me that you have to work hard and be honest with yourself, then you'll achieve everything you want.

Today, my dad turned 51. He will not read this passage. In our family we're not used to showcasing our emotions. And there are the times when I have disagreements with my father. There are also disputes and fights. But he knows that I love him. And I always will.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

***

“Well, we’re all wounded. We carry our wounds around with us through life, and eventually they kill us. Things happen that leave a mark in space, in time. In us.”

***

The best thing is that you cruise the morning streets, and the sun blinds your eyes, and you want to sink in peace and serenity of this morning. And you feel blessed. And just right here and right now Alexi Murdoch’s ‘All my days’ remains the soundtrack of your life.

***

Winter doesn’t look like winter for me. So was the autumn. Seasons are just passing by, or is it me passing by the seasons? I just don’t feel them, and I can’t catch the mood. I live in my own microcosm which has its own weather, inhabitants, micro events and such.

I can’t do a chronicle. Life’s going too fast, too intensive. It’s because we’re young, bold, and full of energy and we don’t want to look back. I want to capture all of the moments, all of the faces, smiles, events, conversations, but by the morning it’s all scattered. You forget what you felt yesterday, and while you try to reminiscent, everything is gone.

And a new day is born.

On top of the world

I am on top the world. Swimming in the boundless ocean of time, dissolving in the bliss of my being. I can taste the sweet nectar of life on my lips, as if I knew beforehand, what my destiny has chosen for me. As if during these twenty years, I’ve been saving up my strength, getting ready for the biggest start of my life.

I can see my reflection in the scattered circles of history, the same history which has covered my short fleeting sojourn on this sinful earth with its homely but sweeping lines. I am wearing the most beautiful, dazzling, spring blue cornflower dress and running, running, running barefooted in the eternal, never ending carnival of life, this cheerful and idle masquerade where the whirligig of time carries you through a hazy tunnel of short flashes of serenity and long expectations, celebrations of love and separation.

I am twisting in my hands a fragile glass of life with a sparkling wine inside – the crimson colored blood throbbing through my veins, reverberating with continuous strokes in my temples, wrists, chest, plaiting into the intricate tracery and secret labyrinths of an unfading soul.

I am floating on the waves of my obstinate fate letting flow through my fingers a bitter injustice mixed with the sweet venom of random meetings, devastation, lost feelings, future affections, shed tears and moments of reverential happiness.

I am a tiny grain of sand of the enormous Kitchen of the Universe and I don’t know all of the magical recipes of the skillful Chief Cook, who is ritually slicing human fates one by one flavoring them with salt and honey. His Kitchen resembles a Noah’s Ark full of earthquakes, tsunamis, autumn rains, early dews, the Babel Pandemonium of birthdays, funerals, weddings, dates, tiffs and conciliation.

I am floating and melting in a paradisaical fluid, I am an embryo inside of the mighty, intimidating Universe, whose breadth has neither beginning nor end. Its waters are carrying me over the waves of a reckless journey called Life.

And it seems to me I am on top of the world.

While drawing hearts on paper I realized that…

I’m always in love. In love with life, music, people, places, someone’s random smile or a funny joke. Even when it hurts, I keep loving. I hope I will not regret anything when i make it to the end. After all, love is all we need.

Banal. Super!

I would like to write something interesting, something sad or happy, funny or tedious, pseudo intellectual or stupid, but everything I can tell you – is just solid banalities, ordinary details of my ordinary life. And yet, isn’t our life a series of invisible to the eye, or obvious, pleasant (and oh so not) banalities?

We are fragile and helpless.

We can only live out one more day in the suffocating city of stone, which we love and hate at the same time. All we need is something like a smile casually thrown by a passerby, a cold piece of watermelon, or a favorite song on the radio while we ride in a taxi. This is so trite, tongue-tied, but so damn nice and sweet to the heart.

And we are alone and abandoned.

We are waiting for some miracle. We want to be found, heard. We set hundreds of lighthouses on Facebook, put in our favorite music Radiohead, and we look for soul mates. We want to be understood. Loved. All of this is so sickeningly hackneyed and vulgar. But do you not reach the top of the world, when the salt of a kiss remains on the lips? Does not a soul make it to heaven when the body jolted from the electrical discharge arising out of the unity of the two loving people?

Banal. Super!

Take me out tonight

I am watching The Smith’s video where Morrissey and a bunch of guys are riding bicycles. There is always this poetic vibe to bicycles. There is so much carelessness, even some naivete to them. Reminds one of an old charming toy from your childhood. So probably this is the reason why I love taking pictures of bicycles, on an unconscious level of course. And I have this mood tonight: as Morrissey sings in my favorite song ‘Take me out tonight, because I want to see people and I want to see life’. I definitely like early-september-evenings-in-Tashkent. People coming back from work, people walking with their kids, wives, mistresses, friends, enemies, those lovely echoes of chit chats you catch from the far, the breeze giving you goosebumps and a (hypothetical) gentleman taking care of you with his extra-large jacket. So yeah, take me out.

***

What has poisoned me for ages is gone now. There is so much life out there, i can feel it running through my veins, in every tiny cell of my being, in every corner of my soul. Explosion. Ashes. Snow. Stillness. The majesty of Earth. And life.

***

“But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.”
— Arthur Rimbaud

Blessed days

Blessed days. Friends, lovely chit chats, occasional catch ups, meetings, desserts, plans, flirts, music, funny jokes, research, work, compliments, inspiration, knowledge, expectations, city strolling, pool, photography, musings. I have it all. I love it all.

The vanished voices of my childhood

I was sitting there, under the peace of the trees my late grandfather planted with love, waiting for the solace to come. Almost in a semi coma, in a mysterious oblivion, I was trying to bring back to life the vanished voices of my happy childhood spent in the walls of this house, the house with a stack of deserted rooms where grief and devastation nestled down by now.

Strolling through these dark rooms with broken furniture, dusty curtains, torn pages of an old newspapers and old toys on the floors, I realized that the house of my childhood doesn’t exist anymore.

The only way to recall my childhood memories are these incoherent attempts of putting my feelings into words. And most of the time I fail doing so.