As your typical foreigner, I didn't use to care much about the presidential elections in the US. However, the upcoming elections have been at the forefront of my attention for some time now, because I think we're close to a historic moment for this country, and its people.
I really want Obama to win. I really, really want that to happen. Not only because McCain is Republican and subscribes to their backward ideas such as banning gay marriage and virtually illegitimizing abortion; not only because Obama is younger, more energetic, more well-spoken and less repetitive in his messages to the US people; in summary, not only because Obama is far more convincing as a president of a 21-cetury United States. But also because this is a pivotal moment for the American racial model. I believe, and others I've talked to share the view, that electing Obama president of the US would be a huge win for the United States, both domestically as well as in terms of their image in front of the world. This country, which has such a horrible history of repressing its Black population, would show in a way that's harder to contest that things have changed, and would continue changing for the better.
Conversely, a victory for McCain to me would signify that most of what people consider core American values - democracy, equality, pluralism - are no more than a sham. It seems absurd to me that we could elect, in the 21 century, a president from a party that has missed the past few centuries, throughout which there has been a separation of church and state. I myself am a devout Christian, so I'm not speaking out of my ass. I would seriously reconsider staying in the US if McCain wins this election. His running mate, our beloved Mrs. Palin, is against most of who I am - gay and a foreigner. I guess my redeeming qualities are that I'm white and a male, which is just about as bad.
On a different, but tangentially related note, I've been feeling a little weird lately. I've been reading James Baldwin, who is a renowned American writer whose major themes are racism and homophobia, in particular in mid-20th century US. His writing has been a kind of shock for me, because it is one thing to know racism exists "out there", as a vague shapeless notion, and it's totally different to see it in excruciating, painful detail through the eyes of someone who experienced it in his life. The more I'm reading his book the more I want to put it down and cry for hours and hours, because not a single cell in my body can comprehend, or fail to be enraged by, the utter senselessness and violence of racism. I keep thinking whether I would be able to recover from the blows the characters took, whether my family would endure what the families in the book endured.
But what's really scary is that I see myself in this book through different, piercingly judging eyes. And what's more, I realize that this horrible image of me is very well justified, very much deserved. Suddenly being white has become a liability for me, just like being gay, because I know that there are many people out there that, even if they don't know me, would dislike me for who I am. But, whereas the former is an irrational hatred, the latter is very rationalized, it has a real reason. I know that I'm not American, I know that my country never took slaves regardless of color, I know that I am everything BUT racist, but I have been feeling ashamed, so deeply ashamed of my color. My aching question after reading all this, my burning question that might probably redeem me, and give me the cheap peace of mind I really need right now, is - is it different now? Do I really look like that to people of color? Is this really who they think I am and how I view them?
I like black men. It is a topic for a different blog post, suffice it to say it's not just a fetish I have. I have dated black men, and will continue to, hopefully, but now that I'm aware of my color, I've been thinking - how would that influence my hypothetical future relationship? Where/when would I be welcome/unwelcome in his life? What would be the burden on him that he has a white boyfriend? I walk in the streets of Seattle and I see white and black folks mingle and walk hand in hand, and I want to think that the nightmare is over, but I'm still not convinced. I've been unable, for a couple of weeks now, to look at black people in the eyes - I was so awkward when this cutie chatted me up in the campus shuttle the other day. Fortunately I was able to conjure up my gift of speech and we clicked nicely. But I don't know yet what it would take for me to go back to normal. And maybe I shouldn't?
I wish someone could answer my questions...
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Homecoming and other news
Last weekend was Homecoming weekend at Dartmouth College, and I decided to go. I wasn't sure whether I was going until the Monday of that week, which probably explains the cost of my plane ticket :)
Homecoming, overall, was a really, really sweet experience. I was missing my closest people, and it felt really good to be spending time with them again. It felt as if I had never left the place - the frats were the same, I tied my jacket by the sleeves at my usual spot on the staircase railing, then we danced at our usual spot by the speakers in Tri Kap, then we left for Chi Gam to find out, unsurprisingly, that it's impossibly packed, then we went past Novak to get some water after we'd shed pounds and pounds on the dance floor. I even had a crush on the same guy as during senior year :) Even my friend's boyfriend drama was the same, as it rolled out on the same tables in Food Court.
Some things were also different though - I now saw a lot of unfamiliar faces, quite probably from the Class of 2012, which to me is just another mystery with a sci-fi twang to it (I mean 2012, she-it). The campus's reaction to the new freshman class was mixed, as it always is, and all that reminded me of the things that used to occupy my mind and time when I was in college. That was another difference - I felt much freer and much more relaxed than I ever was as a student. Not being tied to the place anymore, knowing that I'm not stuck there forever, knowing what's there for me outside the campus boundaries made the experience really pleasant, and blanketed out everything that had used to make me nervous/anxious/discontented in this place. It was an idealized fairy tale. But really the only space I occupied for sure was the company of my closest, and God had I been needing it. It irked me that some of those closest apparently didn't understand our time together was limited, and it might have been a better idea to agree on a truce in their personal wars and focus on us, but then again the time was little for that kind of arguments.
In essence, Homecoming was, indeed, coming home. Home is never a problem-free place, but once you have been away for a while, you tend to forget the bad and focus on the good. It is funny that I should feel this way at a place which is so far, still, and in many ways, from my original home. Note I'm not saying "real" - because what I call "my home" has now become a fascinating, monstrous conglomerate spanning two continents and two coasts, and two cultures and languages. I was talking today to someone about the fear one feels from crossing the bridge to a new life, at a new place, with new people. I have known this fear all to well, twice now, and sometimes I catch myself thinking whether it has impaired my ability to relate to people - I can still make friends easily, but I'm more afraid to let anyone close, because who knows for how long they are going to be around before we have to say our "goodbyes". I now understand the movies where the child is indignant that his/her parents are moving yet again.
However, each big move has given me more than I could put down in this blog. In some aspects, my 3 months in Seattle have let me experience more things than the 4 years at Dartmouth. I'm slowly growing into my own, becoming more and more defined as "me", and appreciating what that "me" stands for. I'm looking younger than my freshman year in college, there is so much less on my mind, it's a wonderful ride. Then again there are the losses - and I saw that at Dartmouth: a lot of people I knew and met embraced me and were as happy to see me as I was to see them; but there were probably as many who only approached me perfunctorily, as if all our past history had been bumping into each other in the store. We were all kind of like people talking while waiting to get off the bus - the rushed, seemingly friendly, but ultimately detached conversations, the very tangible sense of transience. I'm happy a weekend only has two days :)
In other news, I have discovered a liking for Danity Kane - in particular, this song:
and this song:
In still other news, after about a month of break, I finally had a hot date over the weekend. I was starting to get all gloomy and moody, as it usually happens when you've been out of physical contact for a while, and now I'm back to cheerful :) And, this time I have no expectations, so I'm just enjoying things for what they are.
Hope y'all are well! MWAH
Homecoming, overall, was a really, really sweet experience. I was missing my closest people, and it felt really good to be spending time with them again. It felt as if I had never left the place - the frats were the same, I tied my jacket by the sleeves at my usual spot on the staircase railing, then we danced at our usual spot by the speakers in Tri Kap, then we left for Chi Gam to find out, unsurprisingly, that it's impossibly packed, then we went past Novak to get some water after we'd shed pounds and pounds on the dance floor. I even had a crush on the same guy as during senior year :) Even my friend's boyfriend drama was the same, as it rolled out on the same tables in Food Court.
Some things were also different though - I now saw a lot of unfamiliar faces, quite probably from the Class of 2012, which to me is just another mystery with a sci-fi twang to it (I mean 2012, she-it). The campus's reaction to the new freshman class was mixed, as it always is, and all that reminded me of the things that used to occupy my mind and time when I was in college. That was another difference - I felt much freer and much more relaxed than I ever was as a student. Not being tied to the place anymore, knowing that I'm not stuck there forever, knowing what's there for me outside the campus boundaries made the experience really pleasant, and blanketed out everything that had used to make me nervous/anxious/discontented in this place. It was an idealized fairy tale. But really the only space I occupied for sure was the company of my closest, and God had I been needing it. It irked me that some of those closest apparently didn't understand our time together was limited, and it might have been a better idea to agree on a truce in their personal wars and focus on us, but then again the time was little for that kind of arguments.
In essence, Homecoming was, indeed, coming home. Home is never a problem-free place, but once you have been away for a while, you tend to forget the bad and focus on the good. It is funny that I should feel this way at a place which is so far, still, and in many ways, from my original home. Note I'm not saying "real" - because what I call "my home" has now become a fascinating, monstrous conglomerate spanning two continents and two coasts, and two cultures and languages. I was talking today to someone about the fear one feels from crossing the bridge to a new life, at a new place, with new people. I have known this fear all to well, twice now, and sometimes I catch myself thinking whether it has impaired my ability to relate to people - I can still make friends easily, but I'm more afraid to let anyone close, because who knows for how long they are going to be around before we have to say our "goodbyes". I now understand the movies where the child is indignant that his/her parents are moving yet again.
However, each big move has given me more than I could put down in this blog. In some aspects, my 3 months in Seattle have let me experience more things than the 4 years at Dartmouth. I'm slowly growing into my own, becoming more and more defined as "me", and appreciating what that "me" stands for. I'm looking younger than my freshman year in college, there is so much less on my mind, it's a wonderful ride. Then again there are the losses - and I saw that at Dartmouth: a lot of people I knew and met embraced me and were as happy to see me as I was to see them; but there were probably as many who only approached me perfunctorily, as if all our past history had been bumping into each other in the store. We were all kind of like people talking while waiting to get off the bus - the rushed, seemingly friendly, but ultimately detached conversations, the very tangible sense of transience. I'm happy a weekend only has two days :)
In other news, I have discovered a liking for Danity Kane - in particular, this song:
and this song:
In still other news, after about a month of break, I finally had a hot date over the weekend. I was starting to get all gloomy and moody, as it usually happens when you've been out of physical contact for a while, and now I'm back to cheerful :) And, this time I have no expectations, so I'm just enjoying things for what they are.
Hope y'all are well! MWAH
Friday, October 3, 2008
Google Didn't Have a Clue, or Gay, Bulgarian and in the US
There isn't exactly much to say about what I'm going to say. But I think the little there is is important, because even Google seems to be poorly informed about it.
As you may know, I am a Bulgarian gay man in the United States. I have never given it much of a thought, or tried to ponder what it "means", because it never seemed like something out of the ordinary to me. The fact that I'm Bulgarian, much like the fact I'm gay are things I was born with and a part of who I am, so I didn't think they deserved any "special treatment".
However, you add the adverbial modifier "in the United States" and things become a little interesting. As a computer geek I'm good with online search, and I spent quite some time trying to find information on Google about Bulgarian gay guys in the States. Guess what - all of my searches failed - they pointed me to the gay societies in Bulgaria, news on Bulgarian legislation about gays, spicy details about the Bulgarian gay nightlife, and even spicier pictures of allegedly Bulgarian gay models (except they have names like Piotr and Malek, which are SO distinctly Bulgarian it makes me shiver).
Then I resorted to a weapon I had't used since my early college years - preying for gay guys on Facebook. But this time, in addition to specifying "Male, interested in Men" I also added "from Bulgaria". Yeah, I know - I'm only searching in the Seattle, Dartmouth, and Microsoft networks, but it is still telling I got no results.
So it seems that, for all intensive purposes, we don't exist :) However, since I'm proof to the contrary, it is interesting to think how many others like me are there, not having anyone exactly in their shoes to talk to about what it means to them, and how it has affected their lives and relationships with others. I have few stories of my own to tell, but there is one stereotype I have seen over and over again - in the States it is expected that all Bulgarian men are straight.
Once I was talking to a friend on the phone, and when we were done she didn't hang up the phone correctly, so I could still hear her talk in her room. She is Bulgarian and apparently had some Bulgarian friends over. When they asked who she was talking to, she explained it was so-and-so "and oh, he's gay". The other Bulgarians sounded quite surprised and asked her a few times if she was quite sure.
College was different, yet not. It was different, because I met Niki and Alex, my fabulous Bulgarian girlfriends, who not only didn't take an issue with me being gay, but actually helped me come to terms with it and feel comfortable with myself. The guys, however, while being friendly (as all Bulgarians in the US are supposed to be to each other), never really quite accepted it, or talked about it. I was even expected, on several occasions, to "bring some hot chicks" with me to the party. And I usually did, although for different reasons :)
On a more positive note, it seems like my American counterparts go nuts (no pun intended) about foreign guys, or guys with accents, or some mixture thereof. When I say I'm Bulgarian it instantly wins me some cute points, and I have grown to appreciate my motherland in a whole new way :)
So yeah, so far I have only my experiences to draw on when I talk about what it is to be Bulgarian, and gay, in the US. Of course, everybody goes through life in their own way, but I do admit I would have liked to know how it is for people on a similar path to mine.
As you may know, I am a Bulgarian gay man in the United States. I have never given it much of a thought, or tried to ponder what it "means", because it never seemed like something out of the ordinary to me. The fact that I'm Bulgarian, much like the fact I'm gay are things I was born with and a part of who I am, so I didn't think they deserved any "special treatment".
However, you add the adverbial modifier "in the United States" and things become a little interesting. As a computer geek I'm good with online search, and I spent quite some time trying to find information on Google about Bulgarian gay guys in the States. Guess what - all of my searches failed - they pointed me to the gay societies in Bulgaria, news on Bulgarian legislation about gays, spicy details about the Bulgarian gay nightlife, and even spicier pictures of allegedly Bulgarian gay models (except they have names like Piotr and Malek, which are SO distinctly Bulgarian it makes me shiver).
Then I resorted to a weapon I had't used since my early college years - preying for gay guys on Facebook. But this time, in addition to specifying "Male, interested in Men" I also added "from Bulgaria". Yeah, I know - I'm only searching in the Seattle, Dartmouth, and Microsoft networks, but it is still telling I got no results.
So it seems that, for all intensive purposes, we don't exist :) However, since I'm proof to the contrary, it is interesting to think how many others like me are there, not having anyone exactly in their shoes to talk to about what it means to them, and how it has affected their lives and relationships with others. I have few stories of my own to tell, but there is one stereotype I have seen over and over again - in the States it is expected that all Bulgarian men are straight.
Once I was talking to a friend on the phone, and when we were done she didn't hang up the phone correctly, so I could still hear her talk in her room. She is Bulgarian and apparently had some Bulgarian friends over. When they asked who she was talking to, she explained it was so-and-so "and oh, he's gay". The other Bulgarians sounded quite surprised and asked her a few times if she was quite sure.
College was different, yet not. It was different, because I met Niki and Alex, my fabulous Bulgarian girlfriends, who not only didn't take an issue with me being gay, but actually helped me come to terms with it and feel comfortable with myself. The guys, however, while being friendly (as all Bulgarians in the US are supposed to be to each other), never really quite accepted it, or talked about it. I was even expected, on several occasions, to "bring some hot chicks" with me to the party. And I usually did, although for different reasons :)
On a more positive note, it seems like my American counterparts go nuts (no pun intended) about foreign guys, or guys with accents, or some mixture thereof. When I say I'm Bulgarian it instantly wins me some cute points, and I have grown to appreciate my motherland in a whole new way :)
So yeah, so far I have only my experiences to draw on when I talk about what it is to be Bulgarian, and gay, in the US. Of course, everybody goes through life in their own way, but I do admit I would have liked to know how it is for people on a similar path to mine.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Some Crappy Poetry
As a good queen, I can travel the spectrum from vulnerable to bitchy and cold in the same day, and here is a sampling of both extremes in poetry. I wrote this on the Sunday after the Saturday Text Message Wars I wrote earlier about.
Untitled 1
Wilderness...
--- save me by your grace
--- I'm a child in the forest
--- waiting, waiting, waiting...
Tenderness...
--- save me by your face,
--- save me with your touch,
--- in the cold of the night
--- be my star and give me light
--- I've been lonely for a while...
Winter days...
--- you're so far away
--- and I am here to stay
--- just like ever and before:
--- waiting, waiting, waiting...
Untitled 2
New days
paint new skies,
and the blues goes on and on
on the old gramophone...
The search, the wait is on.
New face
paints new tears,
and the lies go on and on
till I feel I am done
and it's time to move on.
Pick your dreams
with the care of an old craftsman's hands;
treat your heart
with the care and affection of mother to child.
Don't leave it out on display
for there are many thieves
who would throw it away
in the end.
Untitled 1
Wilderness...
--- save me by your grace
--- I'm a child in the forest
--- waiting, waiting, waiting...
Tenderness...
--- save me by your face,
--- save me with your touch,
--- in the cold of the night
--- be my star and give me light
--- I've been lonely for a while...
Winter days...
--- you're so far away
--- and I am here to stay
--- just like ever and before:
--- waiting, waiting, waiting...
Untitled 2
New days
paint new skies,
and the blues goes on and on
on the old gramophone...
The search, the wait is on.
New face
paints new tears,
and the lies go on and on
till I feel I am done
and it's time to move on.
Pick your dreams
with the care of an old craftsman's hands;
treat your heart
with the care and affection of mother to child.
Don't leave it out on display
for there are many thieves
who would throw it away
in the end.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Don't Date Guys Who Are Not Out
So I've been seeing this guy for about two weeks now, and last night he screwed up as per tradition, and when I cut him off he wouldn't stop bothering me. Here is the story in summary, but the point of this blog entry is to capture the conversation we had today.
Me and guy were supposed to go out last night. His neck was sore and he'd been in some argument, so I was trying to be all nice and warm and shit. I took him to a nice bar, got him a drink to relax, offered to give him a massage (which he refused). Meanwhile he asked me "what country are you from again?" I tried to ignore the fact that he apparently hadn't been listening to me and said "Bulgaria". He went "is that even a country?" and at that point I changed the subject.
But anyway, we went to the bar, had a drink, then since he'd mentioned he felt like going to the club I offered to go and we went. Long story short, he said he'd be right back and 20 minutes later he was still nowhere in sight. I danced by myself for some time but felt sick of it, and just left without giving him a notice. I was so pissed that if I had stayed I would probably have made a scene, so I preferred to leave. And today, a long long text message exchange began:
Boy: Sad... U too now... Now you see why I didn't want to go there with you...
Me: Don't mean to preach, but when you go out with someone you go out with someone.
Boy: Ruslan I did go out with you... You didn't have fun? I had fun until you were being mean
(note: eventually he showed up at the dance floor, and acted like everything was fine, so I just turned my back at him and kept dancing)
Boy: You were treating me fucked up... My neck hurts still! I wanted to get drunk man that's why I kept getting beer but it was too painful.. I made a bad decision...
Me: You ditched me in the club. If I wanted to be by myself I wouldn't have called you. Don't play me it's irritating.
Boy: I didn't want to keep asking you to buy me drinks.. I went down stairs to sit and relax.. U didn't come down.. U just wanted to dance.. How am I supposed to force myself to do what you want to do when I'm in pain? U don't have to believe me.
At this point I called him because I was getting sick and tired of his messages and having to type everything, and I explained that if he didn't want to dance, he could just have told me instead of ditch me there and expect me to somehow guess he wants me to follow him. Especially having said he'd be back. He went off about me being so "feisty" and how that was so hot. I was genuinely pissed and explained to him it was not funny, and that I didn't mean to be bad to him, just wanted to give him a piece of advice not to do certain things with the next guy. Oblivious, he just said his neck still hurt and asked whether I would still give him a massage. In 5 more minutes I was just too tired and when he kept inviting himself to my place I said I didn't wanna see him or talk to him. He hung up. And then the text messages resumed:
Boy: Fuck you then dude...
Me: Likewise.
Boy: Damn it!! Why fuckin u now??
Me: Cut it out and get a grip.
Boy: U only thinkin about yourself.. U don't give a shit about me..
Me: U gotta be fuckin kidding. I took you out 3 times and tried hard 2 get 2 know you even tho you hardly ever talk. Guess what I'm fed up.
Boy: I do talk! Wtf? We had NICE talks.. Now you are lying
(note: Our "nice" talks are me trying to wring out information from him. Every time we met I'd be the one asking questions about the other, sharing experiences, etc. Eventually he also said a couple of things about himself, because I'm good enough to make him loosen up. But it felt like hard work for me. I guess it's just a different perspective.)
At that point I went to my friend and told her the whole story, including the events from the last 2 times (which I won't post because it's a whole nother load of BS). And she was like "just stop responding". I wanted a closure badly, especially since he accused me of lying, but she stopped me. The guy continued to write:
Boy: U just can't handle this.. That's all
Boy: Everyone versus me.. I guess no one is ready.. I am the hottest guy in Seattle anyways.. I dont care
And to show me he didn't care, he called me but my friend hung up. She is the best. And now it's your turn to give me feedback.
Me and guy were supposed to go out last night. His neck was sore and he'd been in some argument, so I was trying to be all nice and warm and shit. I took him to a nice bar, got him a drink to relax, offered to give him a massage (which he refused). Meanwhile he asked me "what country are you from again?" I tried to ignore the fact that he apparently hadn't been listening to me and said "Bulgaria". He went "is that even a country?" and at that point I changed the subject.
But anyway, we went to the bar, had a drink, then since he'd mentioned he felt like going to the club I offered to go and we went. Long story short, he said he'd be right back and 20 minutes later he was still nowhere in sight. I danced by myself for some time but felt sick of it, and just left without giving him a notice. I was so pissed that if I had stayed I would probably have made a scene, so I preferred to leave. And today, a long long text message exchange began:
Boy: Sad... U too now... Now you see why I didn't want to go there with you...
Me: Don't mean to preach, but when you go out with someone you go out with someone.
Boy: Ruslan I did go out with you... You didn't have fun? I had fun until you were being mean
(note: eventually he showed up at the dance floor, and acted like everything was fine, so I just turned my back at him and kept dancing)
Boy: You were treating me fucked up... My neck hurts still! I wanted to get drunk man that's why I kept getting beer but it was too painful.. I made a bad decision...
Me: You ditched me in the club. If I wanted to be by myself I wouldn't have called you. Don't play me it's irritating.
Boy: I didn't want to keep asking you to buy me drinks.. I went down stairs to sit and relax.. U didn't come down.. U just wanted to dance.. How am I supposed to force myself to do what you want to do when I'm in pain? U don't have to believe me.
At this point I called him because I was getting sick and tired of his messages and having to type everything, and I explained that if he didn't want to dance, he could just have told me instead of ditch me there and expect me to somehow guess he wants me to follow him. Especially having said he'd be back. He went off about me being so "feisty" and how that was so hot. I was genuinely pissed and explained to him it was not funny, and that I didn't mean to be bad to him, just wanted to give him a piece of advice not to do certain things with the next guy. Oblivious, he just said his neck still hurt and asked whether I would still give him a massage. In 5 more minutes I was just too tired and when he kept inviting himself to my place I said I didn't wanna see him or talk to him. He hung up. And then the text messages resumed:
Boy: Fuck you then dude...
Me: Likewise.
Boy: Damn it!! Why fuckin u now??
Me: Cut it out and get a grip.
Boy: U only thinkin about yourself.. U don't give a shit about me..
Me: U gotta be fuckin kidding. I took you out 3 times and tried hard 2 get 2 know you even tho you hardly ever talk. Guess what I'm fed up.
Boy: I do talk! Wtf? We had NICE talks.. Now you are lying
(note: Our "nice" talks are me trying to wring out information from him. Every time we met I'd be the one asking questions about the other, sharing experiences, etc. Eventually he also said a couple of things about himself, because I'm good enough to make him loosen up. But it felt like hard work for me. I guess it's just a different perspective.)
At that point I went to my friend and told her the whole story, including the events from the last 2 times (which I won't post because it's a whole nother load of BS). And she was like "just stop responding". I wanted a closure badly, especially since he accused me of lying, but she stopped me. The guy continued to write:
Boy: U just can't handle this.. That's all
Boy: Everyone versus me.. I guess no one is ready.. I am the hottest guy in Seattle anyways.. I dont care
And to show me he didn't care, he called me but my friend hung up. She is the best. And now it's your turn to give me feedback.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Changes
So I finally found an apartment in Seattle, and I now have a place just for myself. It's an awesome feeling to be finally living in the real world, and my piece of the real world is not bad at all.
I'm in what's known as Capitol Hill in Seattle, or the "gayborhood", which provides me easy access to a lot of bars, clubs, stores and everything else. I'm also lucky to have all of my closest friends in Seattle within walking distance, which makes living here all the better.
My job is also going well. What really warmed my heart was how happy people were to see me come back for full time. I did an internship at my company last year and worked with those folks. Some of them didn't know I was coming back, and some thought I wouldn't be starting until November :) Even the HR folks, for some reason, thought I was starting October 6, and I had to kindly explain to them that NO, actually it's not like that. As a result I started a week later than I was supposed.
Funny thing is that all this is behind now. In general, I spent my summer worrying about things. In Bulgaria I was wondering if I would get my work authorization in time for my visa interview; then whether I could go to the interview in time for my departure flight; then whether the interviewers would give me the visa; then whether the visa will be for the necessary amount of time; then whether they would let me in the US with my interesting situation; then whether my bags would arrive because they didn't when I landed; then how long it would take the HR folks to solve my problem and whether my money would be enough to survive on until my first paycheck; then whether I would be able to find an apartment by the time my friend came back from Bulgaria and I would have to leave his place. Whew.
And things, as always, resolved themselves in ways I couldn't have anticipated, which only confirms the truth of the saying "When humans make plans, God laughs". On July 16 the American Embassy in Sofia answered my email from almost a month back, telling me they could schedule an earlier interview for me on the 18th (Friday). The previous day I had finally received my work permit from the International Office at Dartmouth, which made it possible to say "yes" to that offer.
Then on Friday I went to my interview. I traveled overnight by bus, and it was a crappy ride because the bus was packed, but not properly air conditioned. In the middle of summer I felt like I was going to be cooked in my own juices. I arrived in Sofia about 2 hours before my interview, then I had to wait about 1.5 hours for my turn to come, so I was quite ready to pass out right there, right then. Finally I heard my name, and braced myself for a deep-drill interview, with sly and misleading questions trying to fool me into making it sound like I have immigrant intent. The interview was like "So you have OPT for Microsoft? -Yeah. Where did you have your higher education? - At Dartmouth College. Did you like it there? -Yes, quite a lot. OK, your visa will be ready in about 2 business days". I was shocked, but just smiled and left. Then I took the bus back to Varna, which was much like the previous bus I had been on.
Then I finally received my visa on the 22nd, a day before I left for Seattle. It was all right. The flights were OK, but when I arrived in Seattle my bags weren't there. This was a little sad considering that ALL of my remaining possessions were in these 2 bags :)
Eventually I got my bags 2 days later, delivered right at my door. Then I started dealing with background checks and other shit my company wanted me to do ASAP. It looked like I was not going to be able to start for another 2 weeks, because the background check took between 7 and 10 business days. Endes alles, it took them 5 business days for me, and I was able to start a week later.
I solved the money problem by getting a credit card, so that is no longer an issue. I also found an apartment this week, so that's no longer an issue either. But I looked damn hard.
So yeah kids, too much worrying for nothing. But aren't we all prone to it? ;)
I'm in what's known as Capitol Hill in Seattle, or the "gayborhood", which provides me easy access to a lot of bars, clubs, stores and everything else. I'm also lucky to have all of my closest friends in Seattle within walking distance, which makes living here all the better.
My job is also going well. What really warmed my heart was how happy people were to see me come back for full time. I did an internship at my company last year and worked with those folks. Some of them didn't know I was coming back, and some thought I wouldn't be starting until November :) Even the HR folks, for some reason, thought I was starting October 6, and I had to kindly explain to them that NO, actually it's not like that. As a result I started a week later than I was supposed.
Funny thing is that all this is behind now. In general, I spent my summer worrying about things. In Bulgaria I was wondering if I would get my work authorization in time for my visa interview; then whether I could go to the interview in time for my departure flight; then whether the interviewers would give me the visa; then whether the visa will be for the necessary amount of time; then whether they would let me in the US with my interesting situation; then whether my bags would arrive because they didn't when I landed; then how long it would take the HR folks to solve my problem and whether my money would be enough to survive on until my first paycheck; then whether I would be able to find an apartment by the time my friend came back from Bulgaria and I would have to leave his place. Whew.
And things, as always, resolved themselves in ways I couldn't have anticipated, which only confirms the truth of the saying "When humans make plans, God laughs". On July 16 the American Embassy in Sofia answered my email from almost a month back, telling me they could schedule an earlier interview for me on the 18th (Friday). The previous day I had finally received my work permit from the International Office at Dartmouth, which made it possible to say "yes" to that offer.
Then on Friday I went to my interview. I traveled overnight by bus, and it was a crappy ride because the bus was packed, but not properly air conditioned. In the middle of summer I felt like I was going to be cooked in my own juices. I arrived in Sofia about 2 hours before my interview, then I had to wait about 1.5 hours for my turn to come, so I was quite ready to pass out right there, right then. Finally I heard my name, and braced myself for a deep-drill interview, with sly and misleading questions trying to fool me into making it sound like I have immigrant intent. The interview was like "So you have OPT for Microsoft? -Yeah. Where did you have your higher education? - At Dartmouth College. Did you like it there? -Yes, quite a lot. OK, your visa will be ready in about 2 business days". I was shocked, but just smiled and left. Then I took the bus back to Varna, which was much like the previous bus I had been on.
Then I finally received my visa on the 22nd, a day before I left for Seattle. It was all right. The flights were OK, but when I arrived in Seattle my bags weren't there. This was a little sad considering that ALL of my remaining possessions were in these 2 bags :)
Eventually I got my bags 2 days later, delivered right at my door. Then I started dealing with background checks and other shit my company wanted me to do ASAP. It looked like I was not going to be able to start for another 2 weeks, because the background check took between 7 and 10 business days. Endes alles, it took them 5 business days for me, and I was able to start a week later.
I solved the money problem by getting a credit card, so that is no longer an issue. I also found an apartment this week, so that's no longer an issue either. But I looked damn hard.
So yeah kids, too much worrying for nothing. But aren't we all prone to it? ;)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Long Overdue: Graduation & Friends
Ok so this one is going to be a long one, but there are many things I want to say, so you have no choice :P
My last blog post was in March, when I was still an undergraduate at Dartmouth College. Now it is the middle of July, and magically over a month has passed since the day when I, finally, graduated - June 8, 2008. It is mostly about that day and the week leading up to it that I wanted to write.
A bit of prehistory - as a computer science major, I had two choices of a culminating experience: either writing a thesis or participating in a community software project, and I chose the thesis. I had a couple of reasons - first, I'm thinking about going to grad school at some point or another, and undergraduate research is a bonus for the application. Second, I always viewed myself as more of a researcher than a practitioner within computer science, and this was a chance to go deeper into a topic of my choice. Eventually my thesis topic was offered to me by a Dartmouth prof specializing in computer security, and it had to deal with an area within securtity. I wasn't as excited about the topic itself as I was about the opportunities it gave me to learn more about artificial intelligence and its applications in real-world scenarios.
So I had the winter and spring term of my final year at Dartmouth to write the thesis. I used up the whole winter term to do background research (I had no knowledge of security prior to that project). Then Niki, Alex, Jon and I went on a spring break to Miami, which was way cool. However, I remember lying on the beach with my eyes closed, thinking that I still haven't written a single page with only 10 weeks left, and what's worse - I still have NO clue what I'm writing about. And in fact, I was still doing background research 5 weeks into my last term at Dartmouth. I ended up doing research and writing in parallel, finishing a chapter about something that I already know while reading stuff for the next chapter.
Then suddenly it was the week before senior week, i.e. the last week of classes. By Wednesday of that week I had 4 out of the 7 chapters of my thesis, unrevised. I had promised a full draft to my thesis advisor by Friday. So on Wednesday night, I went into the 1902 room in Baker library, put my stuff down one one of the large wooden tables, already laden with other people's books and laptops, put aside some food and energy drinks, and resolved to at least try to meet my deadline. Indeed, for th next two days I only left that spot for a few hours, to take a nap. At 3.40am on Saturday morning I sent my thesis advisor the completed draft, apologizing I hadn't really made the Friday deadline, and crashed like a Titanic clone. Later that day I had to write my final Spanish paper, which I did in a semi-awake state, and I semi-used references, and I semi-proofread it at the end (it later turned out OK, luckily).
Then on Sunday I resolved to make all the editions for all the chapters that my advisor and my thesis assistant had proposed, in time for them to look at the finalized manuscript. They did, and I stayed awake until 3.30am on Monday (the deadline for submission being 9am), making final edits and rephrasings and beautifying and shit. Then, I attached the PDF file to an email to the thesis committee, and I remember freezing for a moment before I hit "Send". After this, there would be nothing left for me to do towards my college degree. In more or less a trance, I finally hit the send button and my senior honors thesis went on its final journey - to the graders.
On the way back to my room I felt very odd - the campus looked somewhat distant, I almost felt like a visitor; I felt like I've been here before but it was so long ago (kinda like when I visit my high school or previous homes). I remember walking very slowly, not so much because I was exhausted, but because it suddenly became very emotional, and the whole weight of being done and being ready to go finally collapsed on me in full. I was, actually, leaving this place in a few days.
Between Tuesday and Friday I was mostly hanging out, finishing up on financial stuff and college documents and administrative shittery; and having rehearsals for my first choir in college - Chamber Singers. We were going to have our Senior Concert (a yearly concert given by the graduating seniors) on Friday at 7pm, and I was expeting my mom to come at 10pm that same night. It was nice to reconnect with my old friends in the choir in the way that only doing something together provides, and singing pieces some of which I had chosen and loved since freshman year. During that week there were also some formals and cocktails and such, and I went to them, even though my mind was away from the festivities.
Then Friday came, and we had our concert, and my closest friends came to support. Then me and my choir friends parted with the expected "See you at graduation" which we felt wouldn't exactly happen, but shit it sounds comforting, doesn't it? After the concert Jon ahd to go to Sheba practice, so Niki Alex and I went to the Hop to grab dinner. On our way out I surprisingly saw my mom coming towards me from the bus station - she had somehow gotten on the earlier bus. She finally met Alex, of whom she'd heard a good deal (which was also true in the other direction). Then we retreated to my room where she told me the funny/ridiculus story of her travel as a non-English speaking smoker (apparently she kept saying to people "I don't spick English, I want to smoke"). I had written her a 10-page letter explaining every single step she needed to take from Sofia to Hanover, NH, and for the most part things had gone smoothly, but there were some little things that she hadn't exactly guessed right (like getting off her seat as the plane was landing in order to leave the plane first). Later that night, she, I and he crew had dinner at Molly's, where everyone could finally meet everyone else, and have a multilingual chat.
Then it was Saturday. Was that a long day :) In the morning we had commencement practice, a lot of which I skipped; then at 3pm there was the Baccalaureate service, where I sang in both Gospel Choir and Chamber Singers and my mom could see/listen to that, which was cool. Later that night we were joined by Nela, one of my oldest and closest friends at Dartmouth, a 2004/2005 graduate, and we saw some student groups perform, including Sheba with Jon on the frontline. Of course they were fabulous :) The night continued with drinks in Murphy's, and then the candle lighting ceremony, where we went to a large isolated dark area surrounded by trees, and lined up in a huge circle of graduating seniors, each one with a lit candle in hand. Then, one by one, we had to put our candles off, as a symbol of passage. It was a very strange experience, and my mind was skillfully evading the thought of what it really symbolized, in a more personal way. Then we regrouped in front of Dartmouth Hall to listen to the Aires (one of the a capella groups on campus), and found some more friends who'd come for the festivities.
The last event of the night was the traditional dance party that goes on all night, and we went there - it was indeed cool, but by 3.30am we wanted to leave. It was my last dance party at Dartmouth, and one in a long series of lasts that had started a few days ago. We parted with promises to hang out the following day. The truth is I would have stayed at the party for longer, but I felt a little left out - Alex had left earlier, and Niki and Jon were immersed into each other, and I didn't feel like dancing by myself or with other, less close friends. But I decided that other things are more important and resolved not to sleep in order to tie some loose ends in terms of leaving the place. Eventually i gave up at 5am-ish and went to bed, only to be woken up at 6am by my mother who wanted to know how to use the showers' water knob. I was going to get up at 7am anyway to take us to bfast and then leave her to Niki so that they could find seats for the graduation ceremony.
We only had coffee, so I went to the Hop where I happened to have breakfast with an old prof, and among other things we finally came out to each other despite apparently knowing beforehand. We talked for a little bit and then we had to leave; I bumped into Alex and Jon on the way out, each of us getting ready for the upcoming ceremony. I went back to my room, changed, put on my black robe and got my funny hat, and hurried to where we all would be gathered and placed in order before marching on the Green. On the way I was joined by other seniors and we shared our growing anxiety about what was coming up. I could see Jamal in his fancy robe and adornments in front of me (with whom I had, at long last, shared a hot dance the night before), and other peeps in groups and clusters.
In the huge arena we had to fill a looooong senior survey asking us everything imaginable about our college experience. I didn't have enough time to finish everything :) Then, slowly, row after row got up as we left for the Green. Eventually I also got up, and my heart started racing. Then we paraded all the way to the Green, greeted by the happy faces of the locals, and finally lined up at the end of the park opposite to the stage. Many parents were jostling around, trying to take a picture of their graduating children. And just as I was disucssing how my mom made it to the US after all, she showed up, having found me among thousands of people, and took a few pictures of me. Then we all paraded to the front stage, assuming our seats in expectation of the endless speeches and giving of graduate diplomas.
A couple of hours later, we were drenched by sweat as it was 100 degrees with 90% humidity out there, and it was finally our turn to get our diplomas. I saw countless friends, one by one, getting up the stage and receiving their much-craved and hard-won diplomas, parting with Dartmouth, parting with me (although the latter probably did not occur to me). When it was my turn, I very nearly shut down, I wasn't seeing or hearing the large crowd anymore, and when Jessica Glago finally announced my name, I stepped up with my heart and mind racing and received my diploma. I think I blacked out for a couple of seconds, and came back to midway down the stairs, and I was now a BA in computer science, with honors and cum laude, and not a student anymore.
We took numerous pictures after the ceremony; deep inside I really just wanted to eat something, drink a truckful of water and SLEEP. So I hardly saw anyone before I left Hanover.
Later that day I organized two dinners - first with Nela, Olga and mom (Olga had to leave early), and then with Niki, Alex and Jon, but sadly Niki had to leave for work in the early afternoon. I tried, but couldn't get my little core group together for dinner, and that made me really sad, but it was the best I could do. After the first dinner I said goodbye to Olga and Nela, and then dropped mom back in my room before the second dinner. As I was going back to Molly's for that dinner, it all came to me and I started choking up, just like that. The tears wanted to leave my eyes so bad, that at some point I had to actually say out loud "No, not now, not now...". I was hoping nobody would see me and try to talk to me, but it happened and I try my best to keep it together, because it was another friend with whom I had to say goodbye. I managed to say "hi" and nod and look understandingly, but it was very, very hard to speak at this point and I just wanted to cry like a baby.
Somehow I kept it together though, and got to Molly's where I was then joined by Alex, Jon and Zaritza. We took pictures, had a nice chat that was so typical of all our chats over meals and drinks in the past 3 years, that it felt comforting. It felt like home, my home. Then we left, all of us agreeing to leave the sentimental stuff to the bus station the following day.
Then it was Monday, only a week after I had submitted my thesis, and I had to leave Dartmouth. Leave Dartmouth. My mind kept repeating this as if trying to make sure it wasn't some kind of a joke. I had to be out by noon, so I got up at 5.30am and started cleaning up. Since I hadn't gotten my shit together to send my clothes and books to friends in Seattle as I was originally planning, I ended up having to donate almost all I had - most of my clothes, most of my books, all of my electric appliances, almost everything really. So many memories, so much of my life over these 4 years. Each thing I threw out took with it a small piece of me, and by the end of this exercise I felt really small, but somehow new - it was my ritual of passage, my closure, my analogy of the Romans burning their ships when they invaded a new land, so that had no retreat plan. And I did need a new beginning.
Between 12pm and 1pm, when I had to take my bus, I managed to sell two textbooks, mail one to a buyer from Amazon, return some items to the music department, and get water. Then came the moment I had imagined for more than a year - the Goodbye at the Bus Stop. I had cried countless tears during that year, countless times and in countless places - my dorm room, Bulgaria, Switzerland, the plane to Seattle, and so on and so on. I was so afraid and needed my people around me at this moment. However, the stupid asshole of a bus driver started shouting and pushing people in the bus, because he needed a "head count". Eventually, I could barely get off the bus to say a hurried goodbye to Alex and Jon. I never had my teary movie moment. Maybe it was for the better, it was somewhat less traumatic this way. But my feeling for these people were indeed strong (especially for one, and sorry but I can't deny it), so the first few minutes as the bus was leaving Hanover I felt like I had gotten a blow on the back of the head. I couldn't even raise my eyes above a certain point.
Then I arrived in Bulgaria, after about a day of traveling. And you, my dears, and my life, and my three quarters, have not left my mind for a second. I miss you in so many ways that I can't even start to describe here, and I do hope we can meet sometime close in the future, all of us, just like we used to do. And then nobody will be able to take my movie moment away ;)
I leav you with this.
My last blog post was in March, when I was still an undergraduate at Dartmouth College. Now it is the middle of July, and magically over a month has passed since the day when I, finally, graduated - June 8, 2008. It is mostly about that day and the week leading up to it that I wanted to write.
A bit of prehistory - as a computer science major, I had two choices of a culminating experience: either writing a thesis or participating in a community software project, and I chose the thesis. I had a couple of reasons - first, I'm thinking about going to grad school at some point or another, and undergraduate research is a bonus for the application. Second, I always viewed myself as more of a researcher than a practitioner within computer science, and this was a chance to go deeper into a topic of my choice. Eventually my thesis topic was offered to me by a Dartmouth prof specializing in computer security, and it had to deal with an area within securtity. I wasn't as excited about the topic itself as I was about the opportunities it gave me to learn more about artificial intelligence and its applications in real-world scenarios.
So I had the winter and spring term of my final year at Dartmouth to write the thesis. I used up the whole winter term to do background research (I had no knowledge of security prior to that project). Then Niki, Alex, Jon and I went on a spring break to Miami, which was way cool. However, I remember lying on the beach with my eyes closed, thinking that I still haven't written a single page with only 10 weeks left, and what's worse - I still have NO clue what I'm writing about. And in fact, I was still doing background research 5 weeks into my last term at Dartmouth. I ended up doing research and writing in parallel, finishing a chapter about something that I already know while reading stuff for the next chapter.
Then suddenly it was the week before senior week, i.e. the last week of classes. By Wednesday of that week I had 4 out of the 7 chapters of my thesis, unrevised. I had promised a full draft to my thesis advisor by Friday. So on Wednesday night, I went into the 1902 room in Baker library, put my stuff down one one of the large wooden tables, already laden with other people's books and laptops, put aside some food and energy drinks, and resolved to at least try to meet my deadline. Indeed, for th next two days I only left that spot for a few hours, to take a nap. At 3.40am on Saturday morning I sent my thesis advisor the completed draft, apologizing I hadn't really made the Friday deadline, and crashed like a Titanic clone. Later that day I had to write my final Spanish paper, which I did in a semi-awake state, and I semi-used references, and I semi-proofread it at the end (it later turned out OK, luckily).
Then on Sunday I resolved to make all the editions for all the chapters that my advisor and my thesis assistant had proposed, in time for them to look at the finalized manuscript. They did, and I stayed awake until 3.30am on Monday (the deadline for submission being 9am), making final edits and rephrasings and beautifying and shit. Then, I attached the PDF file to an email to the thesis committee, and I remember freezing for a moment before I hit "Send". After this, there would be nothing left for me to do towards my college degree. In more or less a trance, I finally hit the send button and my senior honors thesis went on its final journey - to the graders.
On the way back to my room I felt very odd - the campus looked somewhat distant, I almost felt like a visitor; I felt like I've been here before but it was so long ago (kinda like when I visit my high school or previous homes). I remember walking very slowly, not so much because I was exhausted, but because it suddenly became very emotional, and the whole weight of being done and being ready to go finally collapsed on me in full. I was, actually, leaving this place in a few days.
Between Tuesday and Friday I was mostly hanging out, finishing up on financial stuff and college documents and administrative shittery; and having rehearsals for my first choir in college - Chamber Singers. We were going to have our Senior Concert (a yearly concert given by the graduating seniors) on Friday at 7pm, and I was expeting my mom to come at 10pm that same night. It was nice to reconnect with my old friends in the choir in the way that only doing something together provides, and singing pieces some of which I had chosen and loved since freshman year. During that week there were also some formals and cocktails and such, and I went to them, even though my mind was away from the festivities.
Then Friday came, and we had our concert, and my closest friends came to support. Then me and my choir friends parted with the expected "See you at graduation" which we felt wouldn't exactly happen, but shit it sounds comforting, doesn't it? After the concert Jon ahd to go to Sheba practice, so Niki Alex and I went to the Hop to grab dinner. On our way out I surprisingly saw my mom coming towards me from the bus station - she had somehow gotten on the earlier bus. She finally met Alex, of whom she'd heard a good deal (which was also true in the other direction). Then we retreated to my room where she told me the funny/ridiculus story of her travel as a non-English speaking smoker (apparently she kept saying to people "I don't spick English, I want to smoke"). I had written her a 10-page letter explaining every single step she needed to take from Sofia to Hanover, NH, and for the most part things had gone smoothly, but there were some little things that she hadn't exactly guessed right (like getting off her seat as the plane was landing in order to leave the plane first). Later that night, she, I and he crew had dinner at Molly's, where everyone could finally meet everyone else, and have a multilingual chat.
Then it was Saturday. Was that a long day :) In the morning we had commencement practice, a lot of which I skipped; then at 3pm there was the Baccalaureate service, where I sang in both Gospel Choir and Chamber Singers and my mom could see/listen to that, which was cool. Later that night we were joined by Nela, one of my oldest and closest friends at Dartmouth, a 2004/2005 graduate, and we saw some student groups perform, including Sheba with Jon on the frontline. Of course they were fabulous :) The night continued with drinks in Murphy's, and then the candle lighting ceremony, where we went to a large isolated dark area surrounded by trees, and lined up in a huge circle of graduating seniors, each one with a lit candle in hand. Then, one by one, we had to put our candles off, as a symbol of passage. It was a very strange experience, and my mind was skillfully evading the thought of what it really symbolized, in a more personal way. Then we regrouped in front of Dartmouth Hall to listen to the Aires (one of the a capella groups on campus), and found some more friends who'd come for the festivities.
The last event of the night was the traditional dance party that goes on all night, and we went there - it was indeed cool, but by 3.30am we wanted to leave. It was my last dance party at Dartmouth, and one in a long series of lasts that had started a few days ago. We parted with promises to hang out the following day. The truth is I would have stayed at the party for longer, but I felt a little left out - Alex had left earlier, and Niki and Jon were immersed into each other, and I didn't feel like dancing by myself or with other, less close friends. But I decided that other things are more important and resolved not to sleep in order to tie some loose ends in terms of leaving the place. Eventually i gave up at 5am-ish and went to bed, only to be woken up at 6am by my mother who wanted to know how to use the showers' water knob. I was going to get up at 7am anyway to take us to bfast and then leave her to Niki so that they could find seats for the graduation ceremony.
We only had coffee, so I went to the Hop where I happened to have breakfast with an old prof, and among other things we finally came out to each other despite apparently knowing beforehand. We talked for a little bit and then we had to leave; I bumped into Alex and Jon on the way out, each of us getting ready for the upcoming ceremony. I went back to my room, changed, put on my black robe and got my funny hat, and hurried to where we all would be gathered and placed in order before marching on the Green. On the way I was joined by other seniors and we shared our growing anxiety about what was coming up. I could see Jamal in his fancy robe and adornments in front of me (with whom I had, at long last, shared a hot dance the night before), and other peeps in groups and clusters.
In the huge arena we had to fill a looooong senior survey asking us everything imaginable about our college experience. I didn't have enough time to finish everything :) Then, slowly, row after row got up as we left for the Green. Eventually I also got up, and my heart started racing. Then we paraded all the way to the Green, greeted by the happy faces of the locals, and finally lined up at the end of the park opposite to the stage. Many parents were jostling around, trying to take a picture of their graduating children. And just as I was disucssing how my mom made it to the US after all, she showed up, having found me among thousands of people, and took a few pictures of me. Then we all paraded to the front stage, assuming our seats in expectation of the endless speeches and giving of graduate diplomas.
A couple of hours later, we were drenched by sweat as it was 100 degrees with 90% humidity out there, and it was finally our turn to get our diplomas. I saw countless friends, one by one, getting up the stage and receiving their much-craved and hard-won diplomas, parting with Dartmouth, parting with me (although the latter probably did not occur to me). When it was my turn, I very nearly shut down, I wasn't seeing or hearing the large crowd anymore, and when Jessica Glago finally announced my name, I stepped up with my heart and mind racing and received my diploma. I think I blacked out for a couple of seconds, and came back to midway down the stairs, and I was now a BA in computer science, with honors and cum laude, and not a student anymore.
We took numerous pictures after the ceremony; deep inside I really just wanted to eat something, drink a truckful of water and SLEEP. So I hardly saw anyone before I left Hanover.
Later that day I organized two dinners - first with Nela, Olga and mom (Olga had to leave early), and then with Niki, Alex and Jon, but sadly Niki had to leave for work in the early afternoon. I tried, but couldn't get my little core group together for dinner, and that made me really sad, but it was the best I could do. After the first dinner I said goodbye to Olga and Nela, and then dropped mom back in my room before the second dinner. As I was going back to Molly's for that dinner, it all came to me and I started choking up, just like that. The tears wanted to leave my eyes so bad, that at some point I had to actually say out loud "No, not now, not now...". I was hoping nobody would see me and try to talk to me, but it happened and I try my best to keep it together, because it was another friend with whom I had to say goodbye. I managed to say "hi" and nod and look understandingly, but it was very, very hard to speak at this point and I just wanted to cry like a baby.
Somehow I kept it together though, and got to Molly's where I was then joined by Alex, Jon and Zaritza. We took pictures, had a nice chat that was so typical of all our chats over meals and drinks in the past 3 years, that it felt comforting. It felt like home, my home. Then we left, all of us agreeing to leave the sentimental stuff to the bus station the following day.
Then it was Monday, only a week after I had submitted my thesis, and I had to leave Dartmouth. Leave Dartmouth. My mind kept repeating this as if trying to make sure it wasn't some kind of a joke. I had to be out by noon, so I got up at 5.30am and started cleaning up. Since I hadn't gotten my shit together to send my clothes and books to friends in Seattle as I was originally planning, I ended up having to donate almost all I had - most of my clothes, most of my books, all of my electric appliances, almost everything really. So many memories, so much of my life over these 4 years. Each thing I threw out took with it a small piece of me, and by the end of this exercise I felt really small, but somehow new - it was my ritual of passage, my closure, my analogy of the Romans burning their ships when they invaded a new land, so that had no retreat plan. And I did need a new beginning.
Between 12pm and 1pm, when I had to take my bus, I managed to sell two textbooks, mail one to a buyer from Amazon, return some items to the music department, and get water. Then came the moment I had imagined for more than a year - the Goodbye at the Bus Stop. I had cried countless tears during that year, countless times and in countless places - my dorm room, Bulgaria, Switzerland, the plane to Seattle, and so on and so on. I was so afraid and needed my people around me at this moment. However, the stupid asshole of a bus driver started shouting and pushing people in the bus, because he needed a "head count". Eventually, I could barely get off the bus to say a hurried goodbye to Alex and Jon. I never had my teary movie moment. Maybe it was for the better, it was somewhat less traumatic this way. But my feeling for these people were indeed strong (especially for one, and sorry but I can't deny it), so the first few minutes as the bus was leaving Hanover I felt like I had gotten a blow on the back of the head. I couldn't even raise my eyes above a certain point.
Then I arrived in Bulgaria, after about a day of traveling. And you, my dears, and my life, and my three quarters, have not left my mind for a second. I miss you in so many ways that I can't even start to describe here, and I do hope we can meet sometime close in the future, all of us, just like we used to do. And then nobody will be able to take my movie moment away ;)
I leav you with this.
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