Jordan (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ostraya_palka) wrote,@ 2007-09-18 16:42:00 |
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Back in the USSR (well, the RF)
We promised ourselves not to stray from the straight path,
But it was our fate to do so.
And, if we’re honest, everyone is afraid of change,
But here it is anyway.
--Mashina Vremeni, “Povorot” (“Turn”)
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed.
To turn, turn, will be our delight,
‘Til by turning, turning, we come round right.
--“Simple Gifts”
I’m back.
It’s been a long two years since I left St. Petersburg. I left in a flurry of last-minute travel, museum visits, graduation festivities, and a certain mishap involving the St. Petersburg police and my digital camera (may it rest in peace). At the time, leaving the city just seemed like the logical next step in my college career: I would return to Hamilton, life would continue as it had been for the past two years, I would graduate after a year, and I’d see what would happen next.
I didn’t count on the fundamental changes in my life and the lives of those around me that would follow. When I arrived at Hamilton for my senior year, I wasn’t the same person that I had been before. The transition from the freedom of the world’s most beautiful city to the confines of a tiny liberal arts college was rather a shock to the system. Fortunately, my closest friends had all spent at least part of their junior year abroad, so we weathered the confinement in a place we had outgrown together. Moreover, my work ethic suffered greatly; I wanted to walk the streets of Petersburg and gallivant around the Ukrainian countryside, not read about them in dry history books. But after much procrastination and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I graduated, on time and with my academic record intact.
I spent the summer recuperating, and made my first tentative steps into a job search. This produced a part-time job with Bard College, promoting Smolny at colleges in the US. While this was an invaluable opportunity, it was short-term.
In January I moved up to Boston, my friend Karen having convinced me to join her for the second half of the year at City Year. Finally, things were looking up—I was on my own, young, and in the city. City Year was a great experience; although I was nervous about working with kids, it turned out to be a lot of fun. I made good friends and learned a thing or two. Boston was delightful, and I spent many enjoyable weekends partying in Allston, lounging on Copley Square, bicycling through the streets of Southie and the seaport district, and walking along the harbor.
But as much as I loved Boston, I kept seeing the reflection of St. Isaac’s Cathedral in the Charles River and wishing that the sun would set over the water instead of the land. The first few weekends invariably found me in Brighton, buying pel’meni or checking Russian DVDs out of the library. Although I was satisfied with my life and what I was doing, I still felt confined and frustrated when I read about my friends abroad. And although no one ever complained about my work at City Year, I still felt I wasn’t giving one hundred percent.
In April I learned that I had been accepted to the Flagship Program, a program for advanced language study, and that my studies would be fully financed by a fellowship. There were still minor hurdles, such as scrambling around the city to get a physical, and finding a summer job, but these were trifles. Finally, my life was back on track.
As I sat in my room in Pennsylvania and packed my bags, I realized that I was happier than I had been since I left Petersburg. For the first time in a long time, I listened to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in its entirety. I only do this when I’m truly joyful about something, and that hadn’t been the case for a long time. This feeling only grew as I rode the train down to Washington and met my classmates. Finally, here were people who spoke the same language as me, literally and figuratively. Who not only respected my passions, but shared them. Who understood my Russian-language jokes without explanation. And as I listened to the goals of the program and compared them to my goals and preparation, I felt that I was in the right place.
We promised ourselves not to stray from the straight path,
But it was our fate to do so.
And, if we’re honest, everyone is afraid of change,
But here it is anyway.
--Mashina Vremeni, “Povorot” (“Turn”)
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed.
To turn, turn, will be our delight,
‘Til by turning, turning, we come round right.
--“Simple Gifts”
I’m back.
It’s been a long two years since I left St. Petersburg. I left in a flurry of last-minute travel, museum visits, graduation festivities, and a certain mishap involving the St. Petersburg police and my digital camera (may it rest in peace). At the time, leaving the city just seemed like the logical next step in my college career: I would return to Hamilton, life would continue as it had been for the past two years, I would graduate after a year, and I’d see what would happen next.
I didn’t count on the fundamental changes in my life and the lives of those around me that would follow. When I arrived at Hamilton for my senior year, I wasn’t the same person that I had been before. The transition from the freedom of the world’s most beautiful city to the confines of a tiny liberal arts college was rather a shock to the system. Fortunately, my closest friends had all spent at least part of their junior year abroad, so we weathered the confinement in a place we had outgrown together. Moreover, my work ethic suffered greatly; I wanted to walk the streets of Petersburg and gallivant around the Ukrainian countryside, not read about them in dry history books. But after much procrastination and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I graduated, on time and with my academic record intact.
I spent the summer recuperating, and made my first tentative steps into a job search. This produced a part-time job with Bard College, promoting Smolny at colleges in the US. While this was an invaluable opportunity, it was short-term.
In January I moved up to Boston, my friend Karen having convinced me to join her for the second half of the year at City Year. Finally, things were looking up—I was on my own, young, and in the city. City Year was a great experience; although I was nervous about working with kids, it turned out to be a lot of fun. I made good friends and learned a thing or two. Boston was delightful, and I spent many enjoyable weekends partying in Allston, lounging on Copley Square, bicycling through the streets of Southie and the seaport district, and walking along the harbor.
But as much as I loved Boston, I kept seeing the reflection of St. Isaac’s Cathedral in the Charles River and wishing that the sun would set over the water instead of the land. The first few weekends invariably found me in Brighton, buying pel’meni or checking Russian DVDs out of the library. Although I was satisfied with my life and what I was doing, I still felt confined and frustrated when I read about my friends abroad. And although no one ever complained about my work at City Year, I still felt I wasn’t giving one hundred percent.
In April I learned that I had been accepted to the Flagship Program, a program for advanced language study, and that my studies would be fully financed by a fellowship. There were still minor hurdles, such as scrambling around the city to get a physical, and finding a summer job, but these were trifles. Finally, my life was back on track.
As I sat in my room in Pennsylvania and packed my bags, I realized that I was happier than I had been since I left Petersburg. For the first time in a long time, I listened to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in its entirety. I only do this when I’m truly joyful about something, and that hadn’t been the case for a long time. This feeling only grew as I rode the train down to Washington and met my classmates. Finally, here were people who spoke the same language as me, literally and figuratively. Who not only respected my passions, but shared them. Who understood my Russian-language jokes without explanation. And as I listened to the goals of the program and compared them to my goals and preparation, I felt that I was in the right place.
