polinka22malinka

One Bumble with grapefruit juice, honey and espresso – and I never mix the layers, I like it better that way...

Random shots from I wanted to say Friday, but realized it's Thursday... It still feels like Friday, though, because tomorrow's a day off.

*My second coffee and white peonies and thoughts that the morning is over, the problems have been sorted, and I’ve survived.

*My 19 albums, three heavy bags and me, waiting for a taxi on a park bench...

*On the way to another park in the evening, with the twins, I caught myself thinking that I wanted to burst into tears and have some McDonald’s french fries... To be honest, I don’t know which I wanted more...

*Our meeting with Masha, a bit of paparazzi and the beautiful evening light...

I love/I don’t love... Or the game of ping-pong I play with myself...

I don’t love how quickly the sun sets at dusk... But I do love twilight and the light evening sky. It’s so unusual to see a dark street ahead of you, but the moment you look up, you’re mesmerised by that shade of sky, as if it holds within it all the shades of your soul from your day...

I don’t love it when it hurts... You know that muscle ache you get if you’ve accidentally chilled it? It’s not sharp, but you know for sure it’s there, and it’s exhausting.

Actually, the pain from the cold is strange...

I don’t love it when I don’t want anything sweet in the shop in the evening. Not when I can’t decide, but when I look at the shelves with indifference... Still, I make a choice anyway, knowing that a night-time cup of tea is coming.

I love May, when everything in my city is in bloom and there’s such a wonderful scent... Apple and cherry trees give way to lilacs and wild jasmine, and then peonies...

... But I don’t love the sudden realization in the quiet of the evening, under the sound of my own footsteps, that May is over, it’s June outside, and I’ve forgotten to wish a happy birthday to one of my close people. I didn’t forget on purpose, of course, and tomorrow morning I’ll definitely fix the situation...

Morning, and there was a time when I used to sit in the park with a book...🥲

It seems you know so much about my grandmothers (and grandfathers), but all day today I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t told you everything, or about everyone...

I had a grandmother who was a crane operator, and a grandmother who was a linguist, but there was another one too, a third one. I did tell you that as a child I used to boast about how many relatives I had ☀️

How can I explain it to you... When my own grandmother lost her mum at the age of 10, her aunt took care of her. And her aunt had a daughter of her own. Her name was Nina. They grew up together, and when my mum was born, Nina became her godmother, and when little me appeared, she became my grandmother 💗

What can I tell you about her... So much, so very much...

She was so kind to me and never (I swear, never) raised her voice at me.

She worked night shifts at the factory, and in the mornings she’d come to look after me as a little one, because my mum had to work too.

She always (always, even when I was a grown-up!) had my favourite sweets at home.

Next to her, I fell asleep, tracing patterns on the carpet with my finger.

She was the one, the only one, who didn’t turn her back on me when I left home, and while the others communicated with me in secret (even my dad), fearing my mum’s anger, Nina said clearly that, "She is my granddaughter and will come to my house whenever she wants!"

Of course, as an adult, I didn’t just come over for tea. I helped her with chores, like cleaning the floors or windows, or simply to be there with her. It was a place – that safe haven I no longer have, but which I am creating for my boys. A place where you are accepted just as you are. Where there is no room for your mistakes, but there is room for you. Where there is unconditional love.

I remember this with gratitude...

Yes, she didn’t have children of her own, I know she had a dramatic love story in which she couldn’t bring herself to forgive the betrayal. But she had grandchildren anyway, as if by magic...☀️

Yes, she was the only one of all the grandmothers who saw her great-grandson, and in fact, she was the first to find out that I’d had a son. She kept ringing non-stop, even though she didn’t even know I was in hospital. I’d like to call it a "motherly bond"☀️

The words on the T-shirt I ironed this morning, "Be the reason for someone's smile today"☀️

"Try smiling with your whole body..."

I think I took the instructor’s advice a bit too literally at the first meditation session of the season...

The night before, I got home just before midnight. That’s what happens when events overlap... The boys were already asleep, but I left them a tasty treat for the morning, knowing I’d be leaving early, and sat down to work on my reports.

I nearly overslept that morning, but I got ready in a flash...

A delicious, strong coffee afterwards is a special treat...

That was yesterday’s sunset at the lake...☀️

"You have such eyes..."

"Like what?"

"Like a baby deer on a busy highway."

I was reminded of that conversation when I opened my Kinder with my coffee...☀️

That morning I was finishing off the photo albums; there were 24 of them in total... I’d planned to get everything done over the last weekend, but ended up working through the nights for most of the week, sending batches of the photo books off to be printed.

The night before, I’d burst into tears... It was nearly 4 am, I was finishing the design on the website and at the payment stage, the site froze and didn’t save my work... I burst into tears not because it would be difficult to do it again, but because I’d been working on this album for a couple of hours, simply falling asleep in the process...

I’ve spent so long thinking about how to write this post that it feels as though so many words have been lost, and as if the dish has been left on the heat a little too long, but I’ll try anyway...

Since last fall, or rather since the very last day of summer, I’ve had the feeling that I’d been kicked off the ship. As if I needed to sail a different course, towards different shores.

But instead of stepping into a lifeboat with half the provisions, I felt as though I’d been thrown overboard and was drifting on a log alongside the ship, occasionally catching a flask of water thrown over the side.

Drifting was terrifying, as I’m terribly afraid of the deep, but there was no turning back, and the gentle waves would sometimes wash up little pieces of driftwood for me, which I gratefully accepted and tried to keep, for I needed to build a raft—small, but my own.

You know, it’s like that saying, "For some reason, when you’re always looking for a reliable man’s shoulder, you stumble upon a caring woman’s hand..."

...And so, after so many months of fear, tears and quiet despair, a resolute and powerful wave washed several sturdy logs up to my log, so that I could build a raft not just for myself.

What can I tell you about today? It wasn't easy at all, but there were moments when I found myself smiling...

*After my boss said, "Polina, just fill in this document for me and sign it yourself, okay? Then we'll send a scan to the bank..." Oh, the counterfeiter at work!😎

*After watching a video about residents of the capital who don’t understand why they’re considered "capricious", yet they have special robots driving around, currently sucking up poplar fluff from the roads. It’s so funny, just yesterday I was admiring that fluff and reminiscing about childhood mischief.

*In the evening, at a performance based on Pushkin’s novella *The Snowstorm* (we have lots of events, music concerts, performances, poetry readings and lectures to mark the poet’s birthday in the first week of June. I don’t follow it, but thanks to Masha!), we found ourselves in a cozy concert hall, just perfect for a chamber performance. And it looked just like a place I’d once seen in one of my funny dreams! But I’ve never been there before, so how is that possible??

Once I told my mother that I didn’t love her. I must have been about four or five at the time and… I have absolutely no memory of it myself. There are only my mother’s memories. She told me this story so often – how, as a child, I got angry because I wasn’t given something sweet (she’s been a sweet lover since childhood 🙃) and shouted it at her. She talked about it so often that her memories of it became my own. It’s strange, isn’t it? When you have memories, but they aren’t yours...

I don’t remember myself at that moment, and it pains me that those words hurt my mother. I also know that children don’t say such things on purpose.

My boys say things like that to me very often, but I know they’re trying to hurt me because they’re scared themselves. They’ve simply chosen the safest way for themselves to relieve the tension, knowing that I won’t believe them anyway and will stay...

Recently, I told my mother that I love her. Calmly, without any drama... But she left a few minutes later, and I stayed again.

I still very much hope that those words of mine will also find a place in her heart.