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some of my formative memories as a child were watching my mom cry to my grandma at my grandmotherās house. theyād huddle and pray that my dad would change. treat her better. treat us better. and that some day heād marry her. she wanted to marry someone who treat us the way he treat us. I donāt know why. I just know I wasnāt supposed to be here, but she wanted a baby and didnāt think she could have one, which is probably why Iām here. my grandma would soothe her, or try, and theyād just do what they knew to do, which was pray about it. I remember being very angry. just leave. why donāt you just leave? get us out of there? and what are you praying for? what are you waiting for? itās not gonna happen, it would have already. whatās God waiting for?
I canāt tell you why one day in 2018 I became devoutly religious. like my illness a few years later, and the pain one morning in March 2025, I just woke up one day and it was there. something fell out of the sky, and I had the very human impulse of reaching back into it. crying and calling into the sky, and I didnāt know if anyone was there, or if so who, all I knew is what I was taught, that is someone was there, it was God, and if there was a god, he was the Christian God.
I remember being in place I loved ā St Petersburg, Russia. In a rented room in a communal apartment on Ligovskiyy Prospekt. Ligovskiyy was a busy street and saw commotion all through the night and I often couldnāt sleep. But it was a great location and a cute room in a cute apartment. There was a window. I remember one night looking out the window, down onto the street. I had heard a lot of noise. It was a mass bike ride, most people were naked. āThat looks fun,ā I thought. I probably would wear underwear, though. It was summer, and Petersburg was like a swamp, humid. The air didnāt move, it was thick to breathe. The room had been furnished. I slept on a soft couch, and Iād stay up all night, too hot to sleep. Iād be in my underwear with a sheet draped over me, window open. Ambient light coming in off the street, a little too bright, but kind of nice. Still dark. Eventually Iād fall asleep.
And one morning I woke up. There wasnāt much in that room, just my clothes and shoes and some electronics. I had a little electric kettle and packets of instant coffee. Iād fire up my little electric kettle and stir in the coffee. The window was always open, and the breeze would come in and blow around the translucent purple curtains.
The bathroom was communal, but there was no one ever in there. Donāt remember having to wait. The kitchen too. I remember making my little lunches in there. I donāt remember what I made, I just remember what the kitchen looked like. A little narrow strip of hallway almost, with a small, old burner, a refrigerator, some spices that belonged to one in particular. There was a window, and it looked onto the dvorā, the courtyard of the apartment. I never really had to wait for the kitchen, there was only two other women who lived there. One was rarely home āthe ownerā and one was an Uzkbek woman who worked all the time and was rarely home either. I just remember her knocking on my door one day and asking if Iād watch her manti (dumplings) on the stove while she went out. I said sure. She rewarded me with three giant manti. I donāt think I even knew her name. I donāt think she knew mine. Even if we talked now and then.
People who werenāt always there, werenāt always in my way, I wasnāt in theirās. But there sometimes. Sharing food now and then, words sometimes, sharing presence at night, from separate beds and separate rooms.
I was there doing research. I was a student at my dream school, on a full ride, funded by a grant to do research on a topic that interested me. My only job was to walk around, think through ideas, read, collect information. The writing would come later. I was just there to observe, read, think.
It was everything I wanted, and yet I felt so empty. It hit me ā I could have everything I wanted, all of what I needed, could be where I wanted to be doing what I wanted to do, but there was still something missing. That made me cry, burst into tears. That made me not want to be here at all. Here, there, anywhere. If thatās how it felt at my version of the top of the world, I didnāt see a point if I felt so empty and alone.
So one morning I woke up, sat up. And I didnāt know what to do, how to carry on, carrying this emptiness, this ennui that I didnāt understand, this dissatisfaction, discontent, none of which should be there.
I just remember that me, a reluctant Catholic, then a militant atheist, then a humanist, then an agnostic, then not someone who thought about religion or God at all, I found myself saying, out loud,
āI donāt know if youāre there. But if you are, I need help.ā
I donāt remember anything beyond that. Just that I needed help. I needed a reason to keep going. I needed help getting there.
The only thing I remember is that the first thing I really prayed for, after myself, was for someone. Someone I didnāt know, but wanted to.
āI pray for my future husband. Heās out there somewhere. I just pray that he isnāt too lonely, that he waits for me, and that we find each other soon.ā
I just remember feeling profoundly at peace. And wanting to stay in that peace. I wasnāt alone anymore, and I wasnāt the only one looking out for me.
That was in summer 2018.
I met my ex-partner in Fall 2018.
āIs this him?ā
I donāt know why I jumped to conclusions so fast. I wasnāt impatient. I was just tired of waiting.
I looked up some old Instagram stories a friend sent a while ago from my private Instagram I canāt access anymore. There were more than 3 manti. The curtains werenāt purple. They were light blue. The couch was purple.
It was a long-term Airbnb rental. The hostās review is still on my profile. 5 stars.
āKristin is nice, sweet, responsive, clean, speaks Russian very well. I'll be glad to meet again.ā
Van Helsing and his crazy friends, from my novel Unholy, sequel to Holy Fool.
"The resident philosopher is not easily distinguishable from the court fool."
- Aldous Huxley, 'Eyeless in Gaza'
alyoshka . <3

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Owner Reveal a la TikTok meme
soliloquy of a scorned brother , bunny pyre
The more I read Dostoevsky and understand how articulates the dangers of rational/logic centric values of belief, I feel that the only correct āintellectualā answer is to be the fool; The holy fool, the āIdiotā.
These tie into The scriptures I think about the most are from Paulās letter to the Corinthians:
āFor Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.ā - 1 Corinthians⬠ā1ā¬:ā17⬠āESVā¬ā¬
And
āWhere is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe.ā - 1 Corinthians⬠ā1ā¬:ā20ā¬-ā21⬠āESVā¬ā¬
Paul and Dostoevsky are introducing this intellectual tension, Augustine himself worded it in my favorite way:
āFor just as that man who knows how to possess a tree, and give thanks to thee for the use of it--although he may not know how many feet high it is or how wide it spreads--is better than the man who can measure it and count all its branches, but neither owns it nor knows or loves its Creator: just so is a faithful man who possesses the worldās wealth as though he had nothing, and possesses all things through his union through thee, whom all things serve, even though he does not know the circlings of the Great Bear.ā Confessions, book 5, chapter 4
I believe these words were written for this time, this time of an over intellectualized soul, that forgets the proper uses of reason. Where logic is praised more than wisdom, cynicism more than curiosity, traditions more than the a growing culture, and systems more than justice. When everything is categorized, the only thing that is left is to be the Panio key or join the underground.
Christians have fallen into that trap, so has every soul in some way. Then, I believe, the freedom and liberation for this generation will be a nameless moving of the Holy Spirt to do something foolish again⦠maybe thatās why I look at Asbury so fondly.