i love how in the short amount of time since we started this, the birthday treat sign-up sheet has gone from specifics (lemon loaf, lavender brownies, vanilla cupcakes) to abstractions (something baked, redemption for last time, cookies)

let 2014 be remembered as the year of cancer. the year of layoffs. the year i saw senior colleagues weep at losing those they've worked with for 20 years. the year i saw emma decimated by illness. the year i was truly ashamed to call myself russian. the year i strained my throat trying not to cry in front of friends facing the last session of chemotherapy. the year i seriously considered what would happen to my loved ones if i were to get sick.

the year i decided i would never let them see it.
the year OUP Canada was "reorganized".

but also:

the year i finally got over my fear of driving. the year of your magical jes-clap, which will go down in history among f's cutest things of all time. the year we go to copenhagen.

more will happen. we will see.

my mother was shocked to discover that i do not support russia's actions in crimea. she has now sent me several articles to read

... i think we're each quite disturbed by the other's position; the news exchange may go on for some time

سال نو مبارک

عزیزان من

wishing you all a warm and lovely year

друзья, мы с вами

as we slept, putin gave a press conference, quietly, confidently, divided a nation, and demonstrated that most russian of all characteristics: arrogance. we worry about the minorities, about impending violence, about what this all means for the new ukrainian government...

as i wrote this, shots were fired at a military base--someone was killed, another injured; a young tatar was found murdered; sanctions were imposed; the rhetoric escalated..

and because i feel a strong personal involvement in all this, the knot in my stomach tightens and tightens

... tired of seeing Putin's stupid, self-satisfied face everywhere; can't he crawl back into whatever ignorant, obnoxious, maniacal hole he crawled out of?

the first day of spring is next week

the view outside our home yesterday

...i'm not sure canada knows that

حرف میشم میرم تو گوشات

there is a whole night life in this city i've been completely blind to--people coming out at 11pm in fur coats, guitars, and glitzy hats (not necessarily in combination); raccoons running across the street, dodging cars; people walking their dogs; walking their children (???); running... god knows where; people standing in the middle of empty streets, texting; people clubbing; people closing up shop; homeless people, everywhere (some selling pants, i think); people who i'm quite sure are drug dealers; smokers; lovers; friends; people in sad, sad homes with the most depressing curtains

... and some people, coming home from a fundraiser with a bag of baked goods and a jar of jam; some people who can't understand why on earth everyone is streaming out of their homes into the noise

i told my parents that i spoke with emma--that she was ok, all things considered...

i didn't tell them how traumatic it was to hear her sounding so weak and how, for a moment, i couldn't stop the tears

Oh my god...is Russia really in the Crimea? What is happening..

ах, мамочка,
на саночках
каталась я не с тем.

... everyone until you.

how we never, never listen to our parents

it's ironic: they're unlikely to know why i feel such sorrow. whether it's the fact that i identify as russian or not--notwithstanding how complicated that identity is in my case--ukrainians may (rightly) see in me a kind of alien who can't begin to understand it.. any of it.

but despite all this, i feel as if they are my own. i hurt with them. i'm anxious...horrified.. unsettled. i understand the depth of russian hypocrisy, intimidation.. and how deeply that has affected their leadership. perhaps that's what worries me... what frightens me most.

друзья
мы с вами

the distance between our phone calls.. our emails.. is ever-widening.
i can't be the one to fix it. i'm tired

i don't feel worthwhile unless i've written... and i've been horribly, miserably stuck

my time in transit--a time to keep my mind blank; focus on the windows, the street, the people--is totally unproductive

baby steps forward only happen in the bath, in total silence...

on a day like this

 

with piles of this

we received an email to clean the snow off our rooftops as a safety precaution.

having previously neglected to purchase that essential canadian weapon--the shovel--the four of us ran to the roof armed with tiny kitty-litter buckets

where, faced with snow up to our knees and a snowbank at least 3 feet high, we toiled for a good couple of hours until parvaneh saved the day by buying two shovels at the hardware store--the very last ones, in fact, since 30 cm of snow always results in a stampede of desperation equally matched by the swiftness of the shortage.

we discovered, later, that we had outdone ourselves in the usual Rasitsan-Ashrafi fashion. the email, it seemed, had merely asked us to do our "best." but because neither of us had read it carefully--and because we take these instructions much too seriously--the result was something like this:

i really object to the feminine pronoun being automatically applied to all advocates of women's rights--and i come across it all the time

men should be proud to call themselves feminists and women should proudly see men as active members of the movement

in the age of smartphones, apps, and twitter, news of philip seymour hoffman's death reached us all in seconds. i wonder how he would've reacted to this..

probably with a hint of irony and a quiet smile

terribly saddened by his loss
RIP

terrified of all my past silliness and immaturity and everything it's cost me

f's text of the day

in a matter of 10 minutes:

doon doon ate her lunch, meowed incredibly loudly, played with me, went to the bathroom, dropped as many items as she could to the ground, came down and played with some of those dropped items as well as the bath mat, and is now sitting on one of her 'hunted treasures' a.k.a my floss