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.....