Winter morning

“Madame L! Madame L!”

She opened her eyes to the gray windowless room. She didn’t move. For a moment she felt confused. Where was she? Then it all came back. She was in jail, women's jail in Sharjah. How many inmates were in her cell? Enough to get claustrophobic at night.

The cell was empty. She tried to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids were too heavy.

Where was Fatima, the cell boss from Uzbekistan and the fortune teller for all Russian-speaking inmates?

“Fatima, I wore red high heels in my dream. What does it mean?”

“That’s a good dream. You will meet a nice man very soon.”

“Fatima, I swam in the ocean in my dream. What does it mean?”

“That’s a very promising dream. You will throw a big celebration soon.”

Soon… Did the prostitutes lose track of time here? They didn’t. They needed hope. Fatima was their anchor.

“Madame L! Madame L!”

She didn’t move. Three hours ago she wanted to climb over the concrete walls of the jail yard. The walls were low and tempting. Would the guards shoot her? A thought of spending a night in the windowless cell with ten inmates was terrifying. She would suffocate. And what about her new job at a publishing company in Sharjah? Would they wait for her to get out of jail? Probably not. No one knew she was in jail.

Where was that lovely girl from Kyrgyzstan who introduced her to the Russian-speaking inmates and offered her a headscarf?

“Never sleep without a headscarf or you will get head lice.”

How long did she sleep on Fatima’s triple mattress? When would she get her own mattress?

“Madame L! Madame L!”

This time the voice was loud and insistent. She almost jumped to her feet.

“It’s me. It’s me. What’s up?”

“Khalas jail. Khalas jail.”

She could not believe the words she just heard. They stroke her like invisible bullets. Bullets of relief, bullets of hope, bullets of happy ending. In a split second “khalas” became her favourite word. No more jail. No more court hearing. No more 50 lashes and a month in jail, although she was ready to get 100 lashes to avoid any jail time.

Two policemen who had taken her here earlier that morning waited for her by the jail entrance. She wanted to hug them, but she was too shaken. She just smiled, thanked them and got into their car. Four hours ago she asked the policeman to save her from jail and they did. They became her heroes. Her humble heroes.

“Where are we going?”

“To the police station.”

Her heart sank, but she did not let her temporary anxiety turn into panic.

The Chief of Police, presentable and intimidating, was coming down from the second floor. Every step he took was in slow motion. She tried to stay calm. Her eyes met his. The Chief smiled. She smiled back.

“Habibti, can you promise me one thing? When you drink in Dubai, please stay in Dubai. Sharjah is not your city. Here are your car keys and driving license.”

She wanted to hug him too, but she was too shaken. She just smiled, thanked him and went outside. With her hands still shaking, she started the car. 

She was saved. Saved. Waves of joy washed over her. She drove to Dubai. She didn’t know how lucky she was. Nobody got out of jail in Sharjah in four hours. She did. 

Fall evening

“Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek, and ye shall find it; knock, and it shall be opened onto you.” This is definitely not what the priest just said. He probably said that everyone was a sinner and we all sinned to some degree in our lives. He probably also mentioned original sin. Why would Adam and Eve eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, which God had forbidden?

She was at Mass at Notre-Dame Basilica. It was in French. Messe en françai... She couldn’t understand a word, but she followed Mass. It incorporated so many different elements: procession of the priest and his attendants to the altar, Bible readings, prayers, hymns accompanied by the organ, symbols and gestures. How many times did she stand up and sit down?

Earlier, the tour lady told the story of James O'Donnell, an Irish American Anglican architect from New York City. He moved to Montreal to build the Basilica from 1823-1829. The architect was so moved by the outcome that he converted to Catholicism. Was that the real reason? He is the only person buried in the crypt of the Basilica.

She sat on the wooden bench and wondered how many had sat there before her. Why did she stay for Mass after the tour? She needed time to herself. The last six months were chaotic. They were filled with many events and many people. They were filled with people’s love, but also with their small and big dramas. She didn’t want to comfort people anymore. She wanted to move on in her life without justifying her decisions to others. She sat on the wooden bench savouring the moment of temporary peace.

In one week she would leave behind the togetherness. She would leave behind a place of strong bonds. She would leave behind a place of fond memories. She loved those she would be leaving behind. Together they used to float like shining stars, circles and spirals in their unique universe. She was ready to leave the familiar universe. She was ready to spread her wings and fly to another unknown universe.

The priest consecrated the bread. Did it really become the body of Christ? People sitting next to each other stood up and shook their hands. They looked genuinely happy. Soon everybody lined up to receive a piece of sacramental bread from the priest. Would she qualify to receive Communion? She was not of Catholic faith or any other faith, but she felt authentic grace for life at that moment. When she approached the priest, he said something in French, probably “the body of Christ”. She hold out her hands and received a round, thin piece of holy bread. She said “Amen” and ate it. Did she just eat the body of the Lord?

She left the basilica feeling renewed. She knew that in one week her life would become more perilous, but it would also become more and more interesting. She remembered her favourite passage from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert: “Virginia Woolf wrote, ‘Across the broad continent of a woman's life falls the shadow of a sword.’ On one side of that sword, she said, there lies convention and tradition and order, where all is correct. But on the other side of that sword, if you're crazy enough to cross it and choose a life that does not follow convention, ‘all is confusion.’ Nothing follows a regular course. Her argument was that the crossing of the shadow of that sword may bring a more interesting existence to a woman, but you can bet it will be more perilous.” More interesting, but more perilous...

Summer afternoon

That lazy summer afternoon she felt drained. All she could do was to lie in her bed, dreaming of past and future. She heard a knock on the front door and then distant voices coming from the living room. She didn't move.

“Elliott and Eva are here to see you.”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She closed them immediately and smiled softly.

“Honey, please tell them that I died yesterday.”

“Not funny… I will tell them that you will be out in fifteen minutes.”

She knew that she had to see her visitors. They had come to support her and express their condolences.

Her brother had been dead for over a month. His unexpected death, no matter how shocking it was, felt straightforward to her. While at her brother’s funeral she found out that her father had died two weeks before her brother. She had not seen her father for twelve years, but his death felt straightforward to her as well.

She sobbed for long four hours when she had been told of her brother’s death. Unbearable anger and pain flowed out of her body with every sob. She cried until no more tears came. She felt deflated. And then she accepted her brother’s death. She was filled with emptiness, but felt no pain. Three days after her brother’s death she accepted her father’s death. She didn't sob. She just let him go, too.

Lying in the cozy bed, she hoped that Elliott and Eva would go away. She always loved this bed, but for the last four weeks it had been everything to her. It was “her” place where she could escape from her outside blurred world. Every single muscle and bone in her body enjoyed the softness of the mattress and pillows and silkiness of the sheets. Could today be just her and her dreams? No visitors, no talk about funerals, no comforting hugs…

She looked at the window. When would they get curtains? She remembered that she had not bought any items for their apartment, except for two small paintings of exotic birds and a wooden sculpture of a woman with disproportionately large legs. The sculpture reminded her of one her best friends. The paintings looked good next to a cage with their African grey parrot. Why she could not hear the parrot? He was usually very talkative when people were around.

She could hear her husband and Elliott. She hoped that her husband would enter the room and announce that the visitors would come some other day. Elliott… she knew him for ages. He was her friend. He was almost like a brother to her and still she slept with him two years ago. It just happened. They were in another city with no spouses around. It happened spontaneously and lasted only a few days. When they came back to their families, she moved on and completely forgot about their short affair. Somehow Elliott could not shake it off. Every time he was around her, he would whisper something tender and provoking into her ear. She liked and disliked it at the same time. She could not do it again.

“Darling, tea is ready. Elliott and Eva brought your favourite cake. Please join us in five minutes.” Her thoughts drifted back to her brother’s death and his funeral.

Life Observations - Observation #2: What do I miss about being Russian?

“When I'm in Canada, I feel this is what the world should be like."

Jane Fonda

 
In 1998, I chose Canada and in 1999 Canada chose me back. Our “arranged engagement” happened at the Embassy of Canada in Poland, Warsaw. My knowledge of Canada was very limited then: it’s vast and located north of the USA, it has a red maple on its flag and it has two official languages. The Canadians I met in Dubai were extremely nice, but a bit boring to my Russian standards. A year after my “engagement” to Canada, I left familiar Kazakhstan with no expectations towards unfamiliar Canada. When I landed in Toronto, I knew that it was love at first sight…
 
What do I love about Canada? And what do I miss about being Russian (I am Kazakh, but by Russian I mean all people who lived in the USSR or now live in post-Soviet countries)?
 
Love for Canada
1. I love our beautiful vast and untouched land. Canada is the second largest country in the world, Kazakhstan is the ninth. My ancestors were pastoral nomads (it sounds so romantic, doesn’t it?) so I have this unexplainable fondness for vastness in my blood. I can easily imagine how almost 500 years ago Jacques Cartier, the French explorer, was shocked by the vastness of Canada’s territory when he first arrived here. Travelling along the St. Lawrence River, Cartier asked two aboriginal hunters where he was. The answered “kanata” which is the Iroquois-Huron word for village. I guess we are all just one big lovely village.
2. I love Canadian kindness. Kindness is natural here. Trying to understand why Canadians are so kind is the same as trying to understand the mythical and elusive Russian soul. It just exists. This kindness is so kind that it let me be ignorant of my own unintentional ignorance. This kindness is so kind that it makes be a kind person too (I am kind from time to time). This kindness is so kind that I don't have an urge to break the rules anymore (I keep this urge under control). This kindness is so kind that it makes me a better person despite my little faults (I may not have any faults left after almost 17 years of total kindness).
3. I love Canadian inclusiveness. Diversity, inclusion and cohesion were vital to me (I exaggerate here because I love the word “vital”) during Soviet era. And they are vital to me (I exaggerate again) now. They make our “Kanata” unique, comfy and welcoming. 
 
Nostalgia for being Russian
1. I miss partying a la Russe: when you start an evening with ridiculously fun people who know how to party, immediately forget about political correctness and oversensitivity, joke inappropriately non-stop, have a wild time, break a few rules and feel extremely alive!
2. I miss drinking a la Russe: when you enjoy the passionate late-night debates with your drinking companions about weird stuff that makes total sense at night and no sense at all next morning, feel the depth of yours and others’ souls, express emotions in their purest form, feel endless poetical love towards strangers and humanity, make crazy plans and remember to fulfil them in the future, wake up with a severe hangover, but feel extremely alive!
3. I miss living with a la Russe intensity: when you have and feel everything in exaggerated form, observe tragic sensibility and shocking frankness, act spontaneously and unpredictably, be more flashy and less underdressed, experience fierce loyalty and endless resourcefulness, ignore small talks and routineness, long for the unknown and uncertain, indulge in philosophical and dreamy laziness, show optimism and fatalism at the same time, embrace a sudden change of plans and new opportunities... and feel extremely alive!
 
Sir Winston Churchill once defined Russia as "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” Do I still have the key to this riddle?!

"Wisdoms" I've learned so far - "Wisdom #2": Your bucket list. Dream it. Have it.

"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it."

Winston Churchill

Three years ago, I became very curious about bucket lists. I found that the biggest motivation behind a bucket list is a desire to shake up a routine and live a regret-free life. I also found that a bucket list usually covers the following main areas: places to visit, goals to achieve, experiences to live and skills to master. In other words, the bucket list should be the ultimate list of all your lists. It should uplift you.    

Inspired, I decided to write my own “Bucket List before 50”. I collected different ideas for my list. Research is not my forte, so the list was very generic. I shared the list with my husband and my friend in Toronto, but never converted it into a real list of “50 before 50”. There were 38 items on that list: 10 were related to travel and 28 to experiences. They were not even my items, but random ideas from internet.  

A month ago, I was going through my email folders and came across this long forgotten list. Of course, some items on the list, like “Drink champagne at the top of the Eiffel Tower” (I imagined that this would not happen at the Bar à Champagne, but that the sky would rain champagne right into my flute), “Go skinny dipping with girlfriends” (not sure when this will happen as some of my girlfriends are afraid to even pee in the sea), “See the northern lights” (I live in British Columbia, Canada, so I don't even need to travel to Norway or Finland to see the Aurora Borealis) or “Stomp on grapes in a vineyard” (once again, I can stomp here in British Columbia, I just need to visit our great vineyards in the Okanagan) have not happened. At the same time, I was surprised to see that many items have actually happened, not exactly as they were written, but very close. I will not go through the full list, but here are some of my favourites. Reminder: I am a “glass half-full” person. 

1. “Dance in the rain” 

I want to write here that I was dancing and singing in the rain like Gene Kelly “I'm singing in the rain, Just singing in the rain...”, but that would be not true. What I did in 2015 was not dancing in the rain, but swimming in the tropical rain. Not once, but twice, during our trip to Thailand.  

The first time it happened in Koh Samui, the island of coconuts and beaches. I was there with my two sons, as my husband had left to Siem Reap (Cambodia) to explore Angkor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world. It was early afternoon on our second day in Koh Samui, when the rain started. My younger son and I were in the sea. Every hotel guest collected their belongings and ran to their villas. The beach was abandoned. The sea was quiet. The rain was strong and warm. We were so amazed by the power of the nature that we could not leave the sea. The contrast of the underwater and overwater experiences was unforgettable. The world under water was peaceful and quiet. The world over water was disturbing and dynamic. We wanted the rain to last forever. 

The second time it happened in Railay, the small peninsula in Krabi separated from the mainland by magnificent limestone formations (the only way to get there is by a long tail boat and the only way to get around there is to walk). It was late evening of our last day in Railay. My two sons and I were still at the beach. Suddenly it was a full-on tropical storm. The scenery was terrifyingly beautiful: dark clouds, lightning on the horizon, naughty waves, explosions of thunder and heavy rain. Just as in Koh Samui, all the hotel guests ran back to their rooms and only the “Russian” guests (my sons and I) run into the sea. We enjoyed every drop and every wave. We screamed with joy so loud that two young German guys joined us in the sea. The experience was liberating. It was our dance in the rain. 

2. “Win an award” 

In December 2015, I really won an award. I went to our department holiday party to support my colleague who was getting an award. It was a surprise for her. We cheerfully chatted with our colleagues, enjoyed wine and food. Soon the department head got on the microphone and announced the award ceremony. I kept my eyes on my colleague, as I did not want to miss her reaction. When I heard my name, I first froze and then almost jumped with a joy. I had no idea that I was getting the award. It felt good. It felt rewarding. 

3. “Use a waterfall as a shower” 

It was not a romantic shower with a random hot guy (or with my husband) in the early sunshine or at night under the stars in the middle of a tropical rainforest. It was a refreshing shower at the Wang Sao Thong Waterfall, a very-very-very small waterfall with a small natural pool and a breathtaking view of the mountains. The walk there was not easy as the path was tricky and unpredictable. In some areas, we would climb up holding the ropes and wearing Crocs shoes was not helpful at all. After twenty minutes I was hot (not as hot as the random hot guy), sweaty and red-faced. I definitely did not need any guys around. The shower under the smallest waterfall in the world made me feel alive again. I remembered a small waterfall in a small pool in our villa and made a mental note to recreate the romantic shower with the imaginary random hot guy there.  

4. “Go white water rafting” 

It was not white water rafting at all. It was the ultimate thrill swim with the whale sharks in the choppy water off the coast of Isla Holbox, where the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea merge. When I signed up for the swim, I thought it would be a leisurely swim in the open water. What I did not know is that it would be a challenging and competitive activity in the open water. First, I needed to jump in the water on command from the speedboat captain. He looked like a real pirate of the XXI century. I cannot be easily intimidated, but I would probably jump in the water with real sharks on his command (not the first one, but on the third for sure). Then I needed to do a speedy swim in a snorkeling gear towards the whale shark chosen by our pirate-looking captain. I cannot breathe freely with my mouth, so snorkeling is not always a smooth experience for me. I decided not to risk my swim and asked our cute tour guide to jump with me and another woman and hold my hand during the swim. After that, I needed to make a 180 degree turn with an “Olympic” speed when we saw the massive mouth (approximately 1 meter) open like in an eternal howl.  

Finally, I needed to do another speedy swim along the whale shark (they are slow-moving creatures, but they are 6-10 meters long). I did it all, with the help of the cute tour guide. Choppy open water, speedboat, pirate-looking captain and enormous creatures with their massive mouths - it was nothing like white water rafting. It was racing with the shark whales. 

Just telling you these stories makes me crave new travels. I will definitely make my real bucket list this summer. Moreover, I encourage you to write down your own list of dreams, desires and whims to pursue adventures, new experiences and fun.

PS. This morning I learned about an amazing project “Life List” by Danny Dover. He should complete the entire list of his 150+ item by May 25, 2017. Danny also posts a monthly LIfe List, an assortment of free and easy activities that you can do right away.

Life Observations - Observation #1: Time goes faster as I get older

“I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

This is exactly how I felt when I was a child. My imagination was almost limitless. We lived behind the “iron curtain” (“iron curtain” was a geographical, political and informational separation of the USSR and Eastern Europe countries from the rest of the world from 1945 to 1989) and that would stretch my imagination even more. During the day I would dream of space trips, adventures in Africa and a victory of communism around the world (I genuinely believed that there would be no wars, no boundaries between the countries and we all would be the comrades forever!). At night I would look at the patterns on the wall, the carpet by my bed or on the wallpaper in my room, or check the frost images on the window, or trees behind the window, and I would create a parallel world full of beautiful places and magic creatures. Back then, every day and every night felt like an eternity. Every summer was endless. Every winter was desirable and never enough. Everything was memorable and unique.

As I was growing up, each year would go faster and faster. And I loved it. I wanted the first time events to happen: school graduation (I do not miss it at all, hope that doesn’t sound sad, does it?!), first love-second love-just love-was it love, university graduation, first job-no job-many short term jobs, first business, first and seems like last marriage (I always dreamed of three husbands, but no one listens to me up there, you know where; in his defence I forgot to ask for three marriages), first child-second child-no more children, first trip-second trip-many trips, etc. Everything was novel. Everything was exciting. Fast was good, fast was the norm.

I always believed that at middle age, life would slow down. I thought that I would have all the time in the world to reflect on life and relationships, analyze new ideas and make them happen, and never to multitask during my morning coffee. On contrary, I found that each year goes by faster and faster. Why does time have to race? Psychologists explain this phenomenon by fewer memorable events and new experiences in middle age (it’s not a numeric milestone anymore and no one wants to be categorized as middle aged). The days blend together. In other words, routine becomes the norm. Routine is comfortable, but... Routine makes life unremarkable. Routine does not make distinct memories. Routine makes time fly by.

Can we slow down time? Yes, we can. Please, please, please do the following:

• Live in the moment and notice beauty (a cliché, but try to master it in any situation, even, I mean especially, if you are surrounded by mediocre and boring people). Lovely things happen, when you are in the moment.
• Do new experiences and learn new things (another cliché, but try to make it big; use your time and brain wisely). This makes you sharper than ever.
• Make your dreams-goals-opportunities list! You may call all it LIFE list, BUCKET list, DREAM list or YOU NAME IT list (not a cliché at all, it’s “Wisdom #2” from my list of “Wisdoms” I’ve Learned So Far, but I will tell you more about it in my next post). Live with zest for life and own your desires.

"Wisdoms" I've learned so far - "Wisdom #1": Your childhood story. Let it go.

“One day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together.”

Author Unknown

"Wisdom #1": Your childhood story. Let it go.

We all have a child within us… the one with dreams, hopes and imagination. And we often carry unresolved stories like buried traumas, feeling unloved, betrayals, feeling rejected, broken hearts and wounded spirits, from our childhood into adulthood. These stories often drive our adulthood behaviour one way or another. As children, we are confused and can't tell our stories straight. As adults, we are mature and can clearly hear what the child within us is trying to say. At some point in our life we should re-experience, re-understand and repair our stories. This experience is awkward and surprising, but it's also very rewarding. We can't keep sending the child deep down in our unconscious mind. We should let the child go and be free. And we should let the stories go too. We can’t bottle up our emotions. We should unburden them.

My main story is growing up with an alcoholic father (unfortunately, not a soft and humorous one) and then having a fatherless childhood. Although I have never experienced a strong emotional impact of my dad’s alcoholism, sometimes I wonder if I would be a different person, if he didn't drink.

When my parents divorced, I felt such a relief - no more chaos at home. My dad had died when I was 32 (we met 3-4 times after the divorce). I never even thought about being fatherless till my 40s. My dad failed as a father, but he loved me unconditionally and tenderly. By tenderly I mean... Dad was usually sober in the mornings. On school days he would let me sleep till he prepared my school uniform, polished my shoes (people who lived in USSR or currently live in post-Soviet countries know that you need to polish your shoes daily there) and made me hot breakfast. Then he would gently wake me up at the very last minute, feed me breakfast and help me put on my shoes. Each time I would tell him to wake me up earlier next morning, but he never listened to me. He had tenderness for what I was and respect for what I was to become. My memories of him fade more and more every year, but I know that he will always be an inseparable part of my life.

My dad’s alcoholism and my fatherless childhood taught me to laugh and cry in the same sentence (children of alcoholics are also quick thinkers and have a great imagination). It taught me to accept loss and adore myself in all my imperfections, dignities and sins (did I tell you that I was born with a PhD in self-love?). It taught me not to yearn a childhood that I was never able to have and to put it in the closet (you never know when you may need your cool childhood you never had). It also taught me that there is no loneliness and that love is all around me (you basically can’t avoid it). The lessons were glorious, especially the one about love.

Love can be lost. Love can be found. Love lost and love found are romantically described in one of the never sent letters of Lenny Belardo (the Pope Pius XIII from “The Young Pope”) to a California girl he met before joining the priesthood. Lenny’s admiration and love touched me deeply. Enjoy the masterpiece of love below and the divine voice of Jude Law.

“What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found? Don't laugh at me, my love. I know it, I'm awkward and naive when it comes to love, and I ask questions straight out of a pop song. This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me, my love. To find... or to lose?  All around me, people don't stop yearning. Did they lose or did they find? I can't say. An orphan has no way of knowing. An orphan lacks a first love. The love for his mama and papa. That's the source of his awkwardness, his naiveté. You said to me, on that deserted beach in California, "you can touch my legs." But I didn't do it. There, my love, is love lost. That's why I've never stopped wondering, since that day: where have you been? Where you are now? And you, shining gleam of my misspent youth, did you lose or did you find? I don't know. And I will never know. I can't even remember your name, my love. And I don't have the answer. But this is how I like to imagine it, the answer. In the end, my love, we have no choice. We have to find.”

What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found?

Turning 50

“Do not worry about avoiding temptation. As you grow older it will avoid you.”

Joey Adams

In June 2016 I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I would be turning fifty in 352 days. My heart was racing, and my brain was telling me “You are becoming middle aged (not really, I am not in the middle)! You are entering an entirely new demographic group (not really again, I have already been offered a senior discount at Shoppers Drug Mart)!” There was something about turning fifty that freaked me out that night and left me sleepless.  

I literally had a panic attack. “What would I tell people when they ask me my age? I cannot even say “fifty” out loud to myself. Fifty is definitely not the new 40, fifty is 50! It is easy to accept that I could not turn back time. It is hard to accept that I could not turn heads anymore. F-i-f-t-y is scary!”  

At the end of my panic attack, I decided that I would not celebrate my fiftieth birthday and would just go away somewhere. The thought was so liberating. I would go to Tibet, Nepal or Bhutan (I could only picture myself somewhere in Himalayas) and come to terms with fifty there. Somehow, I thought that holy lands and high altitude would take all my worries away. I also decided to do a challenging kora (a walk circling a sacred site) around the base of Mount Kailash in Tibet and became a renewed person on my fiftieth birthday. Kailash is a sacred mountain for four faiths: Hindus, Buddhists, Jains and followers of the indigenous Tibetan religion of Bon. It is a very symmetrical peak of a distinctive diamond-like shape made of of black rock. They say that anything you have ever wanted to know about yourself can be found in Kailash. I would love to know more about myself! 

Then I started dreaming of meeting His Holiness The 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet… not in Tibet, but in Dharamsala, India, and other nice guys, such as Richard Gere. Feeling happy with my genius plan, I quickly fell back asleep.  

Fast forward 9 months. At the beginning of March 2017, I decided that the only way to turn fifty properly is to embrace and celebrate it. Am I not old enough, wise enough and lived long enough to be a joyful, sensual and in control woman to celebrate my millstone? I definitely am. I am not going to Tibet, or Nepal, or Bhutan (in the past 9 months I’ve also considered Hawaii, London, Alaska and Las Vegas). I will have a party.  

My birthday party “Fifty shades of LS” is in 2 months and it will be epic. I wish I could list all 50 “shades” of me, but you will probably get bored by #18. So here my “top 17” list: 

• I do not feel old (honestly, I do not).
• I have a freedom that comes with age (freedom to be nice).
• I can still rock a dress (despite my geriatric armpits, although they have never been perfect) and wear a bikini at the beach.
• I have a partial denture while I am waiting for my dental implants (actually, for a second surgery).
• I am wise as I can speak from experience (at least I think I am wise).
• I am powerful, driven and focused (most of the time).
• I feel happy every day and even extremely happy some days (this is my interpretation of meditation).
• I don’t have time for any nonsense (although sometimes I fake that I have time for nonsense, but it is basically in one ear and out the other).
• I am old enough to be confident (except for my armpits and jawline).
• I am still young enough to be hilarious (can you be old and hilarious?).
• I celebrate something every week (with wine; I do not think it is a bad habit, so I am sticking with it.)
• My husband and my sons are my best-best-best friends and loyal ones (they always have my back).
• I know who I am (translates I am nice to myself).
• I try to be non-judgmental, non-gossipy and kind (most of the time).
• I think sleep is the best meditation (actually Dalai Lama thinks so).
• I dream small and big dreams (one of them is to visit Tibet).
• I think life is full of beauty and love!

I can continue the list, but I also want to share with you some “wisdoms” I have learned in life so far. So I am going to place a period here (we should control our punctuation from time to time, right?) and work on my next post. LOVE you all!

1995 или невозможное в ОАЕ

“- Нельзя поверить в невозможное!
  - Просто у тебя мало опыта, - заметила Королева. - В твоем возрасте я уделяла этому полчаса каждый день! В иные дни я успевала поверить в десяток невозможностей до завтрака!”

Льюис Кэрролл “Алиса в стране чудес”

С раннего детства, как и все дети, я была уверена, что мир вертится исключительно вокруг меня. А ещё я была уверена, что мир полон добрых и замечательных людей и все они служат мне верой и правдой. Уверенность со временем, конечно же, трансформировалась и стала больше ожиданием, чем уверенностью. Появились ответственность, планирование и даже забота о других. Остались легкая спонтанность и ощущение, что мир все таки чудесным образом продолжает вертеться вокруг меня. История, которая произошла со мной в конце 1995 года в Объединённых Арабских Эмиратах, в очередной раз напомнила мне, если верить в невозможное, то оно непременно случится.

И так…

В конце 1995 года я в очередной раз очутилась в ОАЭ, в этот раз правда на неопределенный срок. Жила я у подруги Айжаны в городе Шарджа, являющегося столицей одноименного эмирата Шарджа. От Шарджи до Дубай 20 минут на машине. Символической границей между городами является дорожная развязка, находящаяся наполовину в Шардже и наполовину в Дубае. Одной из особенностей эмирата Шарджа является абсолютный сухой закон, распространяющийся на все виды спиртных напитков. Жители Шарджи, любящие развлекаться в ресторанах, барах и клубах на выходные едут в Дубай.

Будни я проводила в Шардже. Помогала двум молодым мужчинам из Казахстана переводить переговоры с их арабским партнёром по открытию магазина меховых изделий. Одновременно подавала резюме на работу в разные компании в Дубай и Шардже. Провела два интересных дня с арабским бойфрендом моей подруги и его канадско-американскими друзьями. В один из этих дней мы поехали в бедуинскую деревню с целью ознакомления с местными традициями. В программу посещения деревни входила езда на верблюдах. Канадско-американский народ никак не мог решится сесть на верблюда и я решила стать добровольцем. Верблюды в деревне, в отличие от верблюдов в Казахстане, были все одногорбые. Меня подвели к мирно лежащему верблюду и сказали устроиться поудобней на шерстяной подстилке сзади горба и руками ухватиться за волосы на горбе. Я последовала всем инструкциям и через минуту уже сидела на верблюде. И тут верблюд вдруг резко встаёт на задние ноги. Я со скоростью света скольжу вперёд по горбу верблюда. Поняв, что могу слететь на землю, я цепляюсь за шею верблюда буквально в последний момент. Только я было открыла рот, чтобы отказаться от езды, как хозяин верблюда и арабский бойфренд моей подруги быстро перекидывают меня обратно на шерстяную подстилку. Верблюд также резко встаёт на передние ноги и начинает медленно идти вперёд. Мне ничего не оставалось, как гордо восседать на корабле пустыни и улыбаться. Канадско-американский народ радостно фотографировал меня и окрестности, а я в это время представляла своё драматическое слезание с верблюда. Мне ужасно не хотелось лететь второй раз через горб верблюда и я со страшной силой вцепилась ему в горб. После катания мы пили арабский кофе, общались на пальцах с бедуинами и знакомились с деревней. На следующий день я, арабский бойфренд моей подруги и его канадский друг поехали на пляж. После пляжа мы отправились на их хоккейную игру. Чтобы не скучать в дороге, они попросили меня спеть песни на русском языке. И тут я как затянула… После исполнения песни “Ой, мороз мороз” арабский бойфренд моей подруги и его канадский друг больше со мной не флиртовали. Думаю они перестали видеть во мне женщину.

Переговоры по поводу открытия магазина меховых изделий шли в традиционном ближневосточном стиле, медленно и непринужденно. Скорое открытие магазина не предвиделось, деньги заканчивались и нужна была работа. И тут меня приглашают на интервью в издательскую компанию в Шардже. Компания собиралась переводить путеводитель по ОАЭ на русский язык и распространять его в самолетах и отелях для туристов. После третьего интервью владелец компании предложил мне позицию переводчика и одновременно пригласил меня в ресторан в отеле на Джумейре. Я, кончено же, с радостью приняла предложение о работе и с улыбкой пообещала приехать вечером в ресторан. Ехать в ресторан я не собиралась ни при каких обстоятельствах. Это был четверг, на работу нужно было выходить только в воскресенье (в ОАЭ выходные дни это пятница и суббота). Я решила не волноваться о том, что я скажу своему будущему шефу в воскресенье утром по поводу своего отсутствия в ресторане и отправилась отмечать получение работы к подруге Виктории в Дубай.

Выходные с Викторией прошли, как обычно, очень феерично. В воскресенье около 4 часов утра (бары и клубы в те времена работали до рассвета) я вспомнила, что через 5 часов начинается мой первый рабочий день и поехала в Шарджу. Въехав на первую дорожную развязку в Шардже, я поняла, что реально засыпаю за рулём. До дома подруги оставалось ехать 10-15 минут, но сон брал своё. Я решила съехать на парковку вдоль дороги и поспать в машине полчаса (однозначно неадекватное решение). Припарковав машину, я положила голову на пассажирское сиденье и моментально уснула. Не знаю сколько минут я проспала, но проснулась я от стука в окно. Собрав все свои силы, я подняла голову, открыла глаза и увидела собравшихся вокруг моей машины полицейских. Их было человек 10-12. Один из них вежливо спросил, как я себя чувствую, что я делаю в машине и где я живу. Я честно ответила, что сильно устала и решила поспать в машине некоторое время, прежде чем ехать домой. Тут полицейский поинтересовался, почему я припарковала машину на правой линии дороги и тем самым создала дорожный затор. После моего недоумённого оглядывания по сторонам и искреннего ответа “начальник, я была уверена, что съехала на парковку”, полицейский спросил, откуда я еду и употребляла ли я алкоголь. Я честно сказала, что еду из Дубай и совсем не честно сказала, что выпила 2 бутылки пива за весь вечер. Полицейский попросил меня выйти из машины и пересесть в полицейскую машину. Я сказала, что никак не могу этого сделать, так как в 9 часов утра у меня начинается первый рабочий день и ради этой работы я прошла 3 интервью. Когда полицейский повторил свою просьбу, я поняла всю серьезность ситуации и быстро направилась к полицейской машине. Машина эта была похожа на двухместный Джип Вранглер с решётчатым отделением сзади. Я села как раз в это отделение и двое полицейских меня куда-то повезли. Стёкол в решётчатом отделении не было и ехала я с ветерком. Несмотря на сильную усталость, я осознавала, что так ехать очень позорно (хотя кто мог меня знать в Шардже?) и опустила голову почти на колени. Во время 20-минутной поездки я рассказала полицейским про свою будущую работу и о своём обещании шефу быть на работе в 9 часов утра, а также подчеркнула важность этой работы для меня и туристического бизнеса ОАЭ. Полицейские были почти душечки и очень сочувственно со мной разговаривали. Первая остановка была в больнице, куда меня привезли на анализ крови (алкотестеры в эмирате с абсолютным сухим законом полицейским видимо не выдавались). Вторая и последняя остановка была в тюрьме.

Я все ещё была уверена, что это профилактические устрашающие меры и через пять минут меня отпустят. Не тут-то было! Мои полицейские передали меня сотрудникам тюрьмы. Я поняла, что это не розыгрыш и перед расставанием попросила их поскорей забрать меня из тюрьмы.

Меня сфотографировали, сняли отпечатки пальцев, забрали деньги, документы, золотые украшения и выдали голубую карточку, где всё было написано на арабском языке. После сотрудники тюрьмы поинтересовались, с кем я хочу сидеть в камере. Я ответила, что предпочитаю сидеть с русскими. Мне сказали идти в камеру #4. Когда я вошла в камеру (не в лабутенах, но на каблуках), я услышала недовольный коллективный женский крик. Это была камера филипинок и я им, видимо, не понравилась. Я им сказала, что притеснять их не собираюсь и спросила, в какой камере сидят русские. Меня отправили в камеру #7.

В камере #7 из восьми женщин трое были “русские”: сутенерша Фатима и проститутки из Узбекистана. Кроватей в камере не было, только матрасы. Подушек, одеял и постельного белья тоже не было. Шло время завтрака и женщины занимались кто чем. И только Фатима лежала на 3-х широких сложенных друг на друга матрасах. Вспомнив фильмы про тюрьму, я сделала вывод, что она рулит камерой #7. К Фатиме начали приходить русскоговорящие женщины из других камер, рассказывать свои сны и просить её растолковать их сны. Ответы Фатимы были краткие и позитивные: ты скоро получишь хорошее известие, ты скоро встретишь свою любовь (в тюрьме?), твой любимый сделает тебе дорогой подарок и все в таком духе. Тут у меня неожиданно начался приступ клаустрофобии. Мне стало не хватать воздуха в камере и я пошла осматривать тюрьму. К моей великой радости в тюрьме был уютный дворик. Во дворике я увидела несколько пар женщин из Южной Азии и они, к моему великому ужасу, очищали друг другу волосы от вшей. Забор во дворике был невысокий, метра два. Я подошла к нему и меня охватило непреодолимое желание его перелезть. Я спросила у одной из женщин, будут ли в меня стрелять, если я перелезу забор. Она ответила, что точно не знает, так как забор ещё никто не перелазил. Я решила не рисковать и вернулась в камеру. Русскоговорящие женщины начали ли меня расспрашивать, кто я, откуда я и почему я попала в тюрьму. Я им рассказала свою историю и что по словам полицейских мой суд будет завтра. Они мне не поверили и попросили показать голубую карточку. Одна из не русскоговорящих женщин внимательно осмотрела карточку и подтвердила мое обвинение. После этого женщины смотрели на меня почти с восторгом. Они сказали, что мне несказанно повезло, что мой суд состоится так скоро. Оказалось, что многие женщины ждут суд уже несколько месяцев и надеятся на тотальную амнистию во время месяца Рамадана. Они также добавили, что скорей всего мой приговор будет включать 30 дней тюрьмы и 50 плетей. Я поинтересовалась, могу ли попросить суд назначить мне 100 плетей вместо 30 дней тюрьмы. Женщины сочувственно на меня посмотрели и сказали, что 100 плетей и даже 50 я не вынесу. Я им не поверила.

Прошёл почти час. Матрас мне так и не выдали. Я решила позвонить Айжане или Виктории и оповестить их о своей ситуации. Оказалось, что заявление на телефонный звонок нужно писать на арабском языке. Та женщина, которая прочитала мою голубую карточку, обещала после обеда помочь мне с заявлением. Я взгрустнула и почувствовала себя прекрасным единорогом, который заблудился в лесу, но должен был скоро найти выход к волшебному замку.

Пока я представляла себя единорогом, меня опять охватило сильное желание спать. Добрая женщина из Киргизии из соседней камеры дала мне головной платок и строго наказала спать только в платке, чтобы не подхватить вшей. За неимением своего матраса, мне ничего не оставалось, как попросить Фатиму подвинуться. Она, наверное, была не совсем довольна моей просьбой, но вида не подала и подвинулась. Я моментально заснула, глядя на широкую спину Фатимы. Не знаю сколько времени я пробыла в объятиях Морфея, но меня разбудил стук по двери камеры и крик “Мадам Луиза! Мадам Луиза!” Открыв глаза, я увидела сотрудницу тюрьмы, которая без остановки повторяла мое имя и куда-то звала меня жестами. Я быстро подскочила с матраса и подошла к ней. На мой немой вопрос глазами сотрудница тюрьмы ответила “Khalas (произноситься как халас) jail!” и для пущей наглядности скрестила руки перед грудью. Я радостно помахала сокамерницам рукой и последовала за сотрудницей. Мне быстро выдали все, что у меня забрали при оформлении в тюрьму и повели к выходу. На выходе меня ждали мои полицейские-душечки.Я опять ехала в решётчатым отделении полицейской машины, но в этот раз машина мне показалась лимузином. Я всю дорогу благодарила их за мое спасение и мы стали почти друзьями. Полицейские привезли меня в полицейский офис и сказали ждать главного из главных. Через минут пять по лестнице со второго этажа начала спускаться значительная фигура. Стать, форма и манеры выдавали в этой фигуре главного из главных. Я встала со стула и выпрямилась. Главный из главных подошёл ко мне, обнял меня по отцовски и сказал неожиданную фразу: “Луиза, в следующий раз, когда ты будешь выпивать в Дубай, оставайся в Дубай!” Я его поблагодарила и сказала, что после его слов я сегодня же перееду из Шарджи в Дубай. Главный из главных торжественно вручил мне ключи от моей машины. Я взяла ключи и быстро покинула полицейский офис, пока он ненароком не передумал. Дверь машины я открыла, но несколько секунд не могла попасть ключом в зажигание, так как не могла контролировать дрожь в руках и ногах. Эти несколько секунд показались мне вечностью. Я сделала несколько глубоких вдохов и выдохов, дрожь немного поубавилась и я завела машину.

До дома Виктории в Дубай я доехала на автопилоте. Про несостоявшуюся работу в издательской компании я забыла ещё в полицейском офисе. Виктория, Айжана и многие другие друзья и знакомые никак не могли поверить в мое чудесное освобождение из тюрьмы. Я то знала, что у них просто было мало опыта верить в невозможное и в добрых и замечательных людей.