I'm home

Nothing much changes in this town. The buildings get painted and old signs get replaced. The leaves fall off the trees and in a few months they come back. The people are the same. The bars are the same. There are places I avoid because I know that I will see the same people I've seen for years, doing the same thing they've always been doing, with seemingly no goals or aspirations and endless glasses of beer or whiskey.
Then there's me, and I have no goals or aspirations, either.
I just don't want to be reminded.

So I'll sit at home with my dogs. And cry a little bit when I think of Georgia, and try to remember every little detail of riding the bus down Chavchavadze, because soon I won't remember much at all. I think about saying goodbye. And walking through old town laughing even though it was hard. And watching Lydia walk away from me down the stairs crying. Sitting in the front seat of the cab, watching Tbilisi flash by me for the last time--the television tower glittering and the churches glowing, like they always do. Thanking the cab driver and dragging my luggage into the airport, realizing that was probably the last Georgian I'd speak in a long, long time. And feeling incredibly lonely.

ar vitsi

“Just shut up; I don’t know what you want anymore.”

She shut the door behind herself. She took off her jacket and hung it up, not that it mattered. She unzipped her boots, not that that mattered either. Chunks of mud fell onto the floor as she pulled violently on the heel of her left shoe and nearly fell on the floor. She flung her bag and her scarf onto the bed and rummaged through scraps of paper and candy wrappers in her purse to find the one piece of paper that mattered. Dialing numbers on her phone, she hesitated before pushing send, because what would she say anyway? And after she got the courage, the phone just rang and rang.
It was useless.
So she pushed aside the garbage that had accumulated on the bed and lay on her back staring at the ceiling.

After god-knows how long, and a few mindless wanders to check to see if the fridge was still empty, she walked down the street. People were speaking in languages she couldn’t recognize. People were telling kids to stop running. Old women were lugging bags bigger than themselves. And she had nothing but the cold breath fogging the air in front of her and disappearing. 

10

I keep opening this page with the intention of writing something, but there doesn't seem to be any way I can formulate anything that can possibly compare to what I really mean or how I really feel. When I first came it seemed like everything I was experiencing was novel and unique and I should write it all down because it was funny. And now, I suppose I've become accustomed to most of the things that once seemed strange, because all I can think of is how everything makes me feel and how I want to remember everything but none of it is anything that can be put into words.

It's the way I feel when I wake up and can see the sun rising behind the crack in the curtains; how the Christmas lights looked on Rustaveli tonight when I was riding the bus thinking to myself "I need to remember this" but knowing I really won't be able to within a few months or even a few weeks; how it feels to be spoken to and not understand a word someone is saying, but know what they mean anyway. The way the children look at me between classes and giggle shyly when I ask them a question; the way it feels to have so many people love you undoubtedly for no reason at all.

I want to remember hearing the buses screeching outside of our flat building. I want to remember what it's like to be in a rush in the morning and almost fall down the icy hill. I want to remember the taste of khinkali and khatchapuri and lobio. I want to remember what it feels like to be drunk on chacha and homemade wine.

Today, Papuna told me that in 10 years I will not miss Georgia. I will miss it for a year or two, and then it will just be a memory of a nice time, and it's sad but that is how it is. But I want to miss it. I want to miss all the people I've met and grown to love. I want to remember the smoky bars and clubs and dancing, and getting lost in the nameless streets, and the way the men I tutor laugh at me like I'm crazy.....