A Sunday Smile

A lot of people keep asking me what I do on my weekends in a village in Georgia and most of the time I kind of give them a blank stare and in my head I am thinking “Well I know I did something, I know something happened, but it’s kind of a blur.” Most of the time I just hang out with the family and do what ever they are doing, but today I made a point of documenting it. 

I woke up a little after nine or so this Sunday morning to the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway and I knew that I had missed the weekly trip to the bazaar, not super upsetting as I have nothing to buy, but it’s always good for some photos. I got dressed and stumbled into the kitchen. My host mom made me brunch and I sat around for a bit checking Facebook and reading BBC News. (I just got my own internet on my laptop, so I’m super excited.)

At about 11:30 I decided that maybe I should take a walk. The weather today was amazing. It was one of the first sunny days we have had in about a week and it was around maybe 10ºC, 50ºF. All I know is that I didn’t need my coat to be outside. I called one of my fellow volunteers and chit chatted about random things for about twenty minuets or so. I got off the phone with her and walked around waving at all my fellow villagers who all know me by now and love me. They are like “Yo, teacher Emily! What’s up?” or something like that. There weren’t many people out so I ended up back at my house around 12:30 and again checked Facebook. 

The street my house is on. 

The street my house is on

Around one, my host mother took me to one of her friends houses for coffee. The woman has two adorable children. One is about four maybe and the other one is about a year old. They were watching some horrible Georgian children’s DVD, that was basically them taking Disney movies putting them behind some Georgian child singing. Oscar winner, I think not. I couldn’t look away the whole time though. It was so horrible. Like public TV horrible. We were there for about an hour or so socializing, drinking our coffee, and eating apples coffee baked goods.

When we arrived back home there were four random men in our back yard. I stood taking pictures and when my host mom went by I asked in our Emily and Bella talk “What are they doing?” and Bella was like “Making cha cha (Georgian moonshine) of course! What else?!” She showed me to a little outdoor room full of huge blue plastic barrels. Some were full of wine and now they were filling one with this new concoction. From what I could gather it is made of sugar, water, grapes, and most likely something else, but don’t ask me what. I stood taking pictures and at one point my older male family member who lives with us took out his gun and tried to shoot a bird.

 Kind of like Maine really. Also the whole make your own booze thing that has just caught on in the states has been going on here for years. Win for Georgia! I kept taking pictures, until one of the guys kept looking at me like I was crazy. I’m sure in his head, he was thinking “Dude this is normal, you do this back in the states, right? Are you going to watch us plant in the fields and take pictures this spring too?”

Making sure the Cha Cha mixture is correct.

Pouring the sugar water for Cha Cha

Cigarette smoke 

Sterring the Cha Cha

So I went back into the house and went back on my laptop and posted a blog and talked to some people. One of my fellow volunteers was mad that I was taking photos not getting the recipe for cha cha. Clearly you need visual aids for such things.

A little after 4pm my host mother and I set off for what I was told would be coffee and cake. It was an all women’s supra, for what I have no idea. It seemed that all the women from our part of the village were there, in one of the women’s house. It was a small rustic type place. One woman kept talking to me in German, I understood some of it, but everyone just kept laughing. We were in a room surrounding the wood stove and I sat there kind of wondering when we were going to have coffee after about forty-five minuets or so. I kept watching the adorable baby that was there. That was enough to keep me entertained.

Georgian Baby!

I was then told to go into the other room and there was a long table filled with fruit, chocolate, and cake. The group of about 15 of us sat down and dug in. I was seated next to my host mom and the lady who kept speaking to me in German. She was a gem really. She had enough gold teeth to make any rapper jealous, and kept pouring me shots of some liquor that tasted like chocolate covered cherries. (We are new best friends for sure)

The cake was massive with bright pink and green frosting and kiwis and oranges on it. I was more them pleased when it was served to see the the pieces were easily four or five centimeters thick at the edge. Before I had my first bite I reminded myself, that this was Georgian cake not, American as I tried to do with food when I travel. It always makes it better. The cake part of the cake tasted like home made from scratch American cake. The frosting on the other hand tasted more like whipped cream. I think it maybe a hold over from harder times here, where there wasn’t much sugar or it was too expensive. Then again when is it not hard times in Georgia? Over all I enjoyed it. The fruit was a great touch and I do love my food coloring nice and strong! I was also happy to see when I looked around that almost everyone had finished their cake. These were my kind of women! Not afraid to eat, like those women back in the States, who are like “I’ll just have a shaving of that cake if it’s glutton and sugar free or perhaps you have some dirt I could just eat, but make sure it’s organic dirt.”  

We also toasted different things like adorable babies, Georgia and America being best friends, siblings, and of course loving everyone who was in the room. Yay for sisterhood! 

The German speaking woman was decently buzzed when all was said and done, announced that she had to go, because the cow needed milking and she had to do it. This made me giggle so hard, maybe it was the liquor but I think it was because this was the most amazing exit statement I have ever heard. I think I am going to use it when I get back to Maine. “Sorry I can’t stay late at work tonight. I have to milk my cow.”  We then excused ourselves as well.

We got back to the house around six and I have spent the rest of my night eating dinner, watching TV with the family, listening to music, and reading notes written by sweet people. This is how I spend my weekends. 

View walking down my street.

It Was A White Crane, It Was A Helpless Thing

“Mas! Mas!”

“Oh shit Nastja, I have to go. One of my students has found me and is screaming at me to not go in the field. I just want to go on one walk without someone interrupting it. I’ll call you later.” I said and ended my phone call to one of my fellow volunteers. One of my students had appeared out of no where as I was headed off to walk in a field (Anyone even remotely surprised by this?) and yelling in Georgian to fallow her. I did as requested as I knew there was no point in trying to explain to an eight year old that I was simply just going for a walk. No one in Georgia understands the premise of a walk and that it is done for pleasure, an activity to take up time, or as exercise. I walked out of the muddy field on to a dirty road past houses until we came upon her’s where her mother and two older sisters were waiting. Her mother tried talking to me and I think asking if I was lost. She said my host mothers name and what I am pretty sure is the word for house and instructed her daughters to show me back there. I tried explaining that I knew where I was and I was out taking photos, but it clearly did not work. I again gave up and decided to be shown back to my house.

Walking there we stopped at a crossroad and coming down the lane I could see a boy with what looked like a big white bird, with it’s neck stretched out. He came closer and started swinging the bird around by its head smiling and laughing. I am under the impression that he was the girl’s brother and started to taunt them with the dead animal. It didn’t work. The eldest girl took it and started playing with it as well and soon all the children joined in. I feel that I should have been at least slightly horrified by this sight, but I just laughed and started taking pictures. I noticed that the boy also had two small birds. I have no idea how he killed any of them as it didn’t look like there were any gun wounds. I also think that if he had shot the two smaller ones there would have been nothing left.

After a little bit of playing with the poor dead bird, that I am certain was to be dinner, he took off toward home and we headed back to my house. I took some more photos on the way and had to show them everyone and they seemed pleased. I also was shown by the youngest girl how she could successfully jump over huge puddles and I tried going over some English with them on the way. It went ok. I was more proud of getting a high-five out of my new friend. When we got to my house they explained that it was indeed my house and I went in the gate and waited until they were out of sight to sneak off in the other direction and finish my walk, which was much less exciting. 

Vera Wang Hates Your Guts

*I just got to my new host family on Thursday the 19th and I writing this on Sunday the 22nd, God knows when this will actually be posted. May if I am lucky I am guessing.* 

Today I was sitting around in my host family’s kitchen listening to the audio book, Catching Fire for the second time and playing a game on my iPod. My host mother had some of he friends over and they were gossiping about all that juicy village gossip, like the new English teacher that the village just got who it fruitier then a fruit cake. Wait that’s me. Oh well, it sounds about right. I was sitting there comfortably enjoying the voice of the person who reads the Hunger Games books, (I am not even kidding there is something about this woman’s voice that no matter what I can put it on and calm. I even use it to help me sleep if I need it. I think it’s because it reminds me of my mother reading to me or something.) and sipping my Turkish coffee. I was suddenly told to get up and fallow these women. My host father’s army camo coat was thrown on me and we trudged out into the muddy street. My poor L.L. Bean slippers getting caked with dirt. We ended up at the next house over, that the night before I had been able to hear in my bedroom music blasting from well past midnight.

We were lead upstairs and it was explained to me that this was a wedding supra. “Oh dear God,” I thought. Let me explain a supra to you, non-Georgian customs knowing people out there. It is basically another term for celebration or party. There is normally copious amounts of food and alcohol. There is one person who controls all the toasts, and there for the drinking. (I forgot the term for this person.) They fill glasses somewhere in size between a shot glass and a small glass, full of wine and you are suppose to drink it all in one go. Almost all of the wine you drink at a supra is home made as well, so I am guessing that most of it is stronger then the normal store bought stuff. There is also hard alcohol called cha-cha that again is normally home made. I’ve heard it is kind of like moon shine. I normally shudder and shout “ARA, ARA!” when ever anyone even mentions it. I am deathly afraid of drinking this, or anything in front of any Georgians except for my friend Keti, who lives in Ukraine, especially after an epic night in Tbilisi last month where I drank a whole bottle of wine, tripped with my leopard stilettos on and fell right on both my knees, ripping a hole in my leggings and then getting a taxi back home with a bunch of my protective brotherly like, volunteer males. You see the taxi driver didn’t know where to go and I nicely asked him if he knew Russian and he shouted at me “NYET RUSSKIE!” My drunk feelings were very hurt. I was just trying to flipping help. I might want to add that I know like three words in Russian and one of them happens to be the word for tea. I know that would have gotten us where we needed to have gone if had let me talk. So I have made an ass out of myself in front of at least one Georgian at this point and I really would like to not repeat it anytime soon. I do it enough sober. 

Back to the supra. I was lead into a room that was filled with a long table, covered with food and had benches on either side. The room was cold, with huge cracks and water stains all over the wall. What the room lacked in American comforts, such as heat was made up for in the company. I sat down on one of the benches between my host mother Bella, and her friend. They started pilling different Georgian food on to my plate. I had just eaten lunch an hour before and had coffee with little cakes after that and here I was eating again. Do not get me wrong, I am in love with Georgian food and the fact that I basically just have to walk into a room and someone asks if I want to eat or not. I am not in love with the fact that I keep wearing my “fat jeans” because they are still a little loose and I don’t want to strain my other jeans and rip them when I still have months before I can get back to Gap in America to replace them. Also I am slightly worried about my supply of leggings as I came with four good pairs and I have already put a hole in the knee of one of them. I have a whole system of what and when things can break down until I can at least go west to an H&M. Also if you are coming to Georgia to see me a great gift would be a new dress, leggings or jeans with some Starbucks on the side. Dear God I am rationing my clothes. The horror for a Gap employee. (I know they are going to take me back so I can say that I still work for them. I also still have my name tag and employee card, both of which are with me here. I am thinking it will come in handy for a costume party or something.)

Again, back to the supra. I sat there trying to eat my food slowly so I wouldn’t be fed too much and tried to keep from freezing. I sat watching the toasts that I had no idea what was being said, but it was amusing and energetic for the most part. My host mother then suggested that I go get my camera and take pictures. She is great really. Her English is about on the same level as my Georgian, meaning we don’t know much, but I always seem to be able to make out what she is trying to convey to me. 

I ran next door to grab my camera and change into my own coat and also my boots so my feet would be warm and I wouldn’t have to worry about the mud. When I got back the men who had been drinking seemed so much more excited about me taking their pictures then perhaps the rest of the wedding party. One nicely intoxicated man kept trying to talk to me in Georgian from across the table and toast to me about America and Georgia. They also asked me if I liked Russia and of corse I gave the obligatory “Russia is bad!” comment and face, (I have never been to Russia, there for I am not yet ready to pass judgement on a whole nation.) and then I said I love Georgia.

I was then encouraged by said nicely intoxicated man to do a linked arm toast with him. For the amusement of everyone at the supra I went along with it. Trying to do this when both parties are speaking the same langue would confuse me anyways I think, throw in someone who only speaks Georgian. Forget about it. I giggled my whole way through it and gave expressions to the on lookers that I had no idea what I was doing, but I would play along. My male counter part drank all of his wine in one go and I drank about half, but he would not unlink arms with my until I had finished my whole glass. I drank up and at that point in time I was secretly thanking myself for drinking vodka straight in Ukraine, so downing wine was now no issue for me and give people another reason to laugh at the silly American.

(Getting a kiss on my cheek after the toast)

I then went into a bedroom with my host mom and some other females and warmed up around a wood stove for a bit. Music then started playing and I was asked to do Georgian dancing. The only dancing I do is in the back of Gap Kids when I have ODed on coffee and no one is looking or when I am I getting dressed. I thought to myself “Why the hell not? They will soon see that I am indeed not a natural for this dancing and leave me be after they are done laughing.” My plan worked quite well after a few minutes. They could see that I clearly could not dance Georgian or other wise. I feel both parties had won.

After that my host mother took me back home. I had gotten out of my first wedding supra easy. I find it some what amusing that Georgians have three basic goals for me when I am here. One: To teach everyone English, which I think I can handle. Two: Feed me to death, it doesn’t look good if your volunteer looses weight, even if they were over weight to start with. Three: Find me a husband. (Also I am sure Mama Otter is in on this one too, but I know she is looking for someone who is well, a little more American then Georgian. I know it’s the whole not wanting grandchildren 9,000 miles away.) My first day at school they asked if I was married and I said no. Then they asked if I was single and I said yes. Then they asked how old I am and I said 23. To most of my co-teachers it’s about time for me to get on it and find a husband or I am going to live with my parents forever. I told them I might get married by 25. (HA!)  So Georgia here is my deal I am going to make with you, stop feeding me so much so I can look good in a Vera Wang wedding dress then maybe we will talk about me getting married, until then I will keep deflecting marriage offers. Deal?

This Isn't Everything That You Are

*These pictures were taken on January 2nd, 2011 in Ukraine and the blog was written in late January in Georgia. The photos are meant more to evoke a feeling or mood rather then show information about my setting*

On January second I was suffering from a slight post holiday depression and woke up really, really angry. A feeling that I could not shake and might have been a slight carry over from the night before when I was over tired and all I want to do was enjoy my horrible hang over at home, but I was told to shower, because I kind of smelled. Brush my teeth, because my breath still reeked of alcohol from New Year’s Eve, and put on something other then a god damn, hoodie, jeans, and L.L. Bean slippers to show that I had some pride (Um hello, I was sporting Mainer pride clearly by my slippers) and go out to a going away party. I remember muttering that if I was in America I could have gone out like this. Yes I played the “if this was America” card with my roommate. He was right though. I was a horrible wreck that needed to be cleaned up to go to a going away party for a good friend, however that did not fix my mood.

The morning of the second I got up and showered before my roommate was up. By the time I was done he had woke and I stayed silent out of fear of an angry outburst. He could tell that I was upset, it was probably the way I was violently drying my hair with my head upside down so it would be done faster. I dressed in silence, cursing under my breath, when I realized that I had left my knit winter hat in Georgia, having only brought my fur Mad bomber hat. I was going to wear my hat so I didn’t have to do my hair, but now that was out of the question. My hair is currently divided into thirds. The two side parts are shaved completely and the midsection is left long. (I also have had it dyed this amazing bright orange- red color, that looks great with my complexion. The girls in the hair salon kept oooing, and awing over it after it was done, and I was like “Um you guys did it, but I guess I did pick out the awesome color.”) So with my hair being dried in such a way it kind of just fell everywhere and I ended up pulled it back into a high ponytail in frustration and was done with it. I threw on some clothes and packed my camera bag and started to put on my jacket.

My roommate finally asked what was wrong and in one rushed sentence in a slightly harsh tone I let out, “I just want to go out, get coffee to go, I would really like Starbucks right now, but that’s not going to happen, because I’m in Ukraine, take my to go coffee, get on a marshooka to who knows where, until I am in the middle of no where, take photos, and be completely alone, that is all I want right now.” He looked slightly startled and a little hurt. I said I was sorry and I knew that I had not been active enough in the passed few days and that can make me go a little crazy just sitting around. I promised that I would be better when I was done. 

He said it was ok and told me to have a good day, then the great coat debate begin. Something that pledged me the whole time I was in Ukraine. I brought 2 coats with me, a Gap moto jacket, that is mid weight and my heavy L.L. Bean Baxter State parker that I normally wear when it is around freezing. Everyone always wants me to wear the L.L. Bean one, because they think I am going to die from the cold and then I start throwing around my “I’m from Maine!” That day I explained that it wasn’t that cold out, I was going to wear my massive chunky cream wool scarf, it looks like a neck brace, and as soon as I got shooting I would warm up and start sweating if I worn the Bean’s coat. My roommate, smartly, knew not to fight with me. There was no point. We could either start a screaming match over a coat, that stubborn me would never give into or just let me freeze my ass off, if it really was that cold out and I couldn’t complain about it later.

I said goodbye and then booked it to the wannabe Starbucks. I went in and assessed the menu and confirmed that they indeed did not have “just coffee”. I asked for an Americano, in the largest paper cup that looked like a venti. The guy told me they don’t make it that big and pointed to a cup two sizes down that brought me to the size of about a tall. I muttered and said whatever and asked what kind of flavors they had to add to it, I went with the caramel trying to make it as much like as my Starbucks back home. I walked out of the coffee shop and took the first sip confirmed that it was indeed nothing like Starbucks. Epic fail. I jammed my headphones in and listened to Runaway by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

“I was feeling sad,

Can’t help looking back, 

Highways flew by, 

Run, runaway,

No sense of time.”

As I walked through the streets I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a car window and I thought I looked some what like a model, or at least very European, with my hair pulled back, my face freshly scrubbed with only tinted chap stick, my high Euro scarf/ neck-brace (they are all the rage over here right now. I seriously wished I bought the one in the other color now too), my coffee in hand, and this odd look, that said “I mean fucken business. Get the hell out of my way, I am more important then you.” It startled me, but made me smile to myself at the same time since I was in such a bad mood. 

When I got to the marshooka stop, I stood there drinking my coffee and watching the chaos ensue, as they had just changed all the bus routs with the start of the new year, for a good twenty minuets. Number 38 pulled up and I got on, with a sneaking suspicion I knew where it has headed.

We wined our way through Lviv, seeing parts I had never seen before. I saw some rundown industrial type buildings that would have done nicely shooting, but I just needed out of the city. It had become claustrophobic and suffocating. I needed air. The buildings thinned and I knew we were headed out by a store Metro, that happens to be the way marshooka 84A use to go. (Look at my previous blog, Simply Happy Again, May 2011) I knew I would be ok once I got there. This marshooka happened to go straight at the roundabout, unlike 84A that turned right.  

I saw a cemetery in the distance and got off as we pulled to a stop at the side of the road in a village. I took off at a determined pace, pretending not to notice the dogs that barked at me as I walked pass the houses that they guarded. I crossed a large road and walked through wetlands soaking my boots and up a hill to the cemetery. I walked threw it and thought of how its was in a nice location by farm land, rolling hills, and woods, but it could still not hold a candle to the main cemetery in Lviv. I slipped and slide through the muddy lanes casually looking over the graves, but after a while they all blurred together. No one I knew was there and my own was also missing, so I moved down a hill away from there, to a valley and then back up another hill that was farm land. At this point in time I put my headphones in and started to listen to Snow Patrol’s new CD Fallen Empires. Again it was another great music choice for the day. I have loved Snow Patrol for over half a decade now, and had only heard one song from this album, Call Out In The Dark, before today. I do believe in fate and such and I feel that someone, call them God if you will, knew that I needed to hear this. (Seriously, this album is amazing. I don’t care how you get your hands on it, but just do it.) I needed a day to think over my past four weeks away and how I felt about situations and issues that I was having. One song that kind of put some stuff in perspective for me was “This Isn’t Everything You Are”. It is a song about loosing someone you love and letting people help you to move on and see that this one moment in your life is not all you are about, there is more to you then one relationship. I remember standing in the middle a field so muddy it was hard to pick up my boots as I walked, and just closing my eyes, breathing deeply, and thinking “I can do this.” Whatever “this” was, was more of a general feeling of being able to deal with everything in my life at that at that exact moment, as a small panic about the fact that I had moved half way around the world for a year had set in and the changing of relationships in my life for the good or the worst.

I reached into my pocket to get my phone to text my roommate that I was fine, and I was half way through writing a message and my phone rang. It was him checking up on me. (I swear he just knows sometimes.) He asked if everything was ok and where I was, then he asked about my mood. I said I was ok and I could be better or worse. He said that he wanted me in a better mood and didn’t like to see me like this. I went into a philosophical Emily rant about how could I know what true happiness is if I didn’t experience an occasional bout of sadness and anger? I like to store emotions, tie them up to memories and recall them at later times to change or stable my mood. It’s a coping skill that I find works quite well, especially when a smell is involved. Think about your favorite food that your mother or grandmother use to cook when you were a child, do you relax and feel a warm fuzzy feeling inside as your gut reaction? I am betting yes. It works like that for me some what. 

I then explained to him that I was truly fine, I just needed more time where I currently was, inhaling the dirt into my nasal passages, seeing what my camera lens wanted to show me, and listening to the advice my iPod was spewing. He again knew that there was no fighting with me and told me to take care and be safe after finding out ruffly where I was incase I never came back.

I walked in the fields, much slower then I normally would, taking in everything in the over cast day. Letting the wind hit my cheeks without flinching at the cold. I stopped and looked at the forest, thinking if I should go in or not and decided that I was much happier out in the open. I walked and came across some dead sunflowers and took some pictures for my mother. I always associate these flowers with her. 

I was coming closer to the houses that were being built and I felt calmer and called my roommate and asked him if he wanted to meet me at the grocery store out by my fields to pick up some food for the apartment. He agreed to and I knew that I had about an hour or so until I had to meet him. I went to inspect the house a little closer, but I was loosing motivation in photographing anything else that day. I just wanted to spend the time alone to think. I also used the outhouse. (See the Awwww Shit blog)

I walked along a field that seemed to stretch on and on, now having switched over to listening to Eddie Vedder and the sound track from Into The Wild, an old stand by for when I am feeling lost. The song “Guaranteed” was a perfect close to my day, because let’s face it, I am living in a small village in Georgia, where I am prone to spend my days teaching, reading, writing, taking photos, going for walks and spending a lot of time deep in thought.

On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently
All my destinations will accept the one that's me
So I can breathe...

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they'll never know
A mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes...

Don't come closer or I'll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you...

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I'm never what they thought
I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive...

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees, they're singing with the dead
Overhead...

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite, forever orbiting
I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me
Guaranteed

I Told You No Gifts!

On Ukrainian Christmas Eve morning I was impatiently waiting for my roommate to get back home from going out to get a gift bag for our host’s gift for the holiday. He had been gone for close the thirty minuets and I was starting to get really pissed. We were going to be be late and miss our bus if he didn’t come soon. I called to ask where he was and he said he would be back really, really soon. I had everything packed and I was just waiting on him. When he came home he yelled Merry Christmas with a huge shit eating grin on his face and thrust a Pull and Bear bag at me. I was shocked for a few seconds, as I had kind of forgotten what the day was, then I started stomping my feet and mutter about how I had said no Christmas presents for me. I sat down on my bed and pulled out a box wrapped in brown paper bags mixed with gift wrap and my friend apologized for it not looking pretty, but all the shops had been closed. I told him it was fine and in the States I wrap gifts with news paper. I was more concerned with the amount of what looked like packing tape that had been used and how I was going to open it. When I tore off the first piece of paper and saw a box for a new Cannon 75-300mm zoom lens. I might have started crying a bit, yeah I did, and I was over joyed to say the least. I also got a new 8GB memory card, which was a huge improvement over my 1GB.

(My arms are folded to show that I am mad for the gift giving, but seriously look at that face. Not mad one bit)

I thanked him and complained that it was too much, but he said no it wasn’t because I need it and deserve it. The whole walk to the bus stop I am pretty sure I was glowing I was so happy. He turned around and asked if everything was ok and my smart ass reply was something along the lines of “I’m horrible. I don’t know how I could possibly be happy right now. It’s not like I just got the most awesome Christmas present ever or anything.” The shit eating grin had now been transferred to me. The more I thought about it, the more impressed I became of how well thought out this gift was. It was probably the most perfect thing I could have ever been given and I didn’t even know that I had wanted it until I had gotten it. 

I have only been using my new lens for about a week now, as Ukrainian Christmas is on January 7th, but already I am ecstatic about my new toy. I have been going around Lviv using it to stalk people and photograph them. I feel like I am paparazzi or something. It is truly amazing the freedom I have been feeling with it. I feel like the possibilities are endless right now. I also truly do thank my friend, even though it was too much. I wonder what he will get from my birthday...