This was one of those days that seemed to have no ending. It started with a surprise text early just past noon from someone I'd given up on seeing. Although she works just next door, Yulia had maintained a silence for more than two months now. It's a long story, something I'd rather not ever relive but let's just say that she was the subject of one of the lengthiest bouts of emotional pain I've had in perhaps a decade. It all goes back to a very promising fortnight in January. It turns out, the first two happy weeks were lethally deceptive in the sense that they put me on blinkers, gave me false hope and boosted the bullheaded belief I had that I could provide my flagging faerie tale with its little happy ending by dint of sheer will. In the event I lasted a little over four months, rejecting every well-meaning advice almost to the point of endangering friendships because of a daft notion that the script I had written for myself should -as it ought to- soon recover from the minor unexpected (but definitely temporary, mind) downslide it was currently experiencing.
Anyway, two months of silence (not counting an e-mail attempt each to re-establish contact) ended with this SMS: "You have have time for coffee after work today?" I didn't reply promptly because I wasn't too sure I wanted to see her. But the thought that it would be better to breathe life into an unpleasant and sustained dead air won me over in the end. Still it wasn't all smooth sailing from there. I neglected getting back to my Inessa until very late in the afternoon about having to duck out for a while after work. That exposed me in a very ticklish situation. Unlike that in my birthday party on 15 May, this situation did not stem from a dilemma of choice. No, far from it. It was delicate because I had not yet told my macushla about Yulia, something I had kept from her until I ultimately closed this chapter of my life. Fortunately Inessa, understanding to the utmost as usual, agreed to wait for me at McCafé while I met Yulia at John Bull Pub. (It was at John Bull Pub in February where Borg bumped into Yulia and me meeting for coffee.)
In the end I made the right decision to meet up. Yulia actually apologised for making my life difficult. But that's how life is, I replied. There were gaps in the conversation but I didn't bother filling them up like before. Now there was this distinct absence of a desire to tell her about me or my life. She looked great as ever and spoke with the same air of melancholy, distraction and weariness that stirred in me a strong sense of protectiveness in the past. But things decidedly felt very different this time. I was the one who changed. Previouly I wished with every ounce of my being that she would be my future; now I am content that she is in the past. After around 1 hour and 40 minutes sitting with her in that corner pub, I walked her to the station and bid her farewell with
a hug. "See you again, I hope," she said. "Of course, of course, what are you saying?," I hurriedly demurred. With that, I walked back to McCafé and met my Inessa. A few more minutes later in the car, I drew all the dots for her by identifying Yulia as that unnamed person who was filling my life with grievous hope when Inessa and I first got acquainted in the second week of April in that yard in Usachova. With that disclosure, I achieved my much-awaited closure.
People might think this all bollocks but from a purely scientific and health viewpoint, it was good I got out when I did. That is, about three months ago when a relationship with my Inessa gave me an unexpected but very welcome soft-landing. According to the Beeb, I could've even got myself killed. An article early this year -just as I was about to begin my throes of despair- says lovesickness can be fatal. Of course, it all comes off as another case where science finds basis for some common-sense notion we've known for centuries. Still it's somewhat amusing to note -and confirm- that indeed despair and hopelessness can drive one to do distinctly unfunny things. The article goes on to say something else I can personally attest to: "Aspects of obsessive complusive disorder can also be found in those experiencing lovesickness, such as preoccupation and obsessively checking for text messages and e-mails."
By 9 pm we still didn't have any idea what time we would all gather for the evening's main event, the final farewell for Pang. She was flying out for Bangkok in the afternoon of the next day (today) so Faizal, still confined at home and whom we hadn't visited since that late night food delivery on 8 August, decided to invite us over for after-dinner aperitifs as a way of sending Pang off. However, there was still no call from him at this late hour. Pang herself said she'd be engaged in a dinner (as it turned out, at nearby Suzy Wong Café) until well after 10 pm. So Marina and I decided to grab a bite to eat near Faizal's place, a hole-in-the-wall called Lyudi kak lyudi. (Amidst le snobbisme of Moscow, this sarny joint is the sort where you can turn up in your pyjamas, as GO! Magazine writes, and the barmen wouldn't even blink. This place no doubt answers to a tee the Bohemian everyman's secret wish for a friendly neighborhood cafe where the barmen know us, where we can let our hair down and chat with them about the weather, the dog or relationships." One of the reasons the two ponds and Kitai Gorod are such popular districts.)
A couple of sandwiches and shakes later, my Inessa decided to just head on home. "It would be better if just the three of you get together among yourselves," she said. Wisdom beyond her years, truly. And so I turn up at Faizal's door at close to 11.20 pm. Pang brought her last bottle of Bordeaux for us to share. The first couple of hours, we seemed to have been in a state of denial, exchanging mild recriminations of future non-commitments and guarded reassurances of our continued mutual regard. It was somewhat a relief, therefore, that we all softened a little bit and became a bit more candid about how much we would all miss each other.
Indeed Pang's departure does mark an end of an era. Although I first met her in a party she put together in her old state-run flat sometime in September 2003 (my own colleague and senior had just arrived for her posting here at the time), which consequently led to my first night at the Bolshoi Theatre with Pang and her colleague Nipada, it was not until the Valentine's Day for Singles party that Pang again organised in February 2004 at her new flat that we all became as tight as Dick's headband. All unattached singles in a foreign city, we all went out for dinner, drinks or to the theatre at the drop of a hat. Of course in the beginning, with my Russian language classes it was difficult for me to just drop everything. But when the classes ended in late June of the same year, I was able to free myself more for our little regular jaunts. Too bad, actually, that Nipada herself had to leave for marital nirvana in Ottawa the following month. In our mind the quintessentially classic gathering was for an après-party Oreo milkshake at Starlite Diner in Oktyabrskaya at 3 am. By fall of 2004, we had taken to traveling together, first to Smolensk, then Tula, Pereslavl-Zalessky, Istanbul and Suzdal-Vladimir until the end of the year. There were also a number of skiing day trips to Yakhroma, Volen and Stepanovo that cemented our bonds while expanding our circle to include Vika's friends. Faizal and I eventually traveled without Pang to Murmansk and Kirovsk in the Arctic Circle over the New Year hols, while they went without me to Switzerland and France in April this year. We all became busy at work in the spring, but the friendship and affection held. Without doubt the joy I have about life in Moscow I owe a great deal to Pang and Faizal.
By 3 am, we had all broken down to tears. I guess it finally sank in that she was leaving. I was teasing the two of them that the evening broke the previous record we had of gathering very late on a weekday evening (until 3 am at Nipada's place, was it?). This time we took leave of each other at close to 4 am. Followed Pang to her Embassy to return the van she borrowed, then took her home.
Epilogue: I drove up to my driveway at 4, only to discover that I had lost my housekeys. Neither Pang or Faizal could locate it for me, and my ducky had to wake up for naught since she obviously couldn't have had my keys (although she kept a spare copy). Little choice but to sleep in the car. Only recovered them the following morning, when I went back to Faizal's and found out I had taken his jacket by mistake. Mine was still hanging over his kitchen stool when I got there.
Anyway, two months of silence (not counting an e-mail attempt each to re-establish contact) ended with this SMS: "You have have time for coffee after work today?" I didn't reply promptly because I wasn't too sure I wanted to see her. But the thought that it would be better to breathe life into an unpleasant and sustained dead air won me over in the end. Still it wasn't all smooth sailing from there. I neglected getting back to my Inessa until very late in the afternoon about having to duck out for a while after work. That exposed me in a very ticklish situation. Unlike that in my birthday party on 15 May, this situation did not stem from a dilemma of choice. No, far from it. It was delicate because I had not yet told my macushla about Yulia, something I had kept from her until I ultimately closed this chapter of my life. Fortunately Inessa, understanding to the utmost as usual, agreed to wait for me at McCafé while I met Yulia at John Bull Pub. (It was at John Bull Pub in February where Borg bumped into Yulia and me meeting for coffee.)
In the end I made the right decision to meet up. Yulia actually apologised for making my life difficult. But that's how life is, I replied. There were gaps in the conversation but I didn't bother filling them up like before. Now there was this distinct absence of a desire to tell her about me or my life. She looked great as ever and spoke with the same air of melancholy, distraction and weariness that stirred in me a strong sense of protectiveness in the past. But things decidedly felt very different this time. I was the one who changed. Previouly I wished with every ounce of my being that she would be my future; now I am content that she is in the past. After around 1 hour and 40 minutes sitting with her in that corner pub, I walked her to the station and bid her farewell with
a hug. "See you again, I hope," she said. "Of course, of course, what are you saying?," I hurriedly demurred. With that, I walked back to McCafé and met my Inessa. A few more minutes later in the car, I drew all the dots for her by identifying Yulia as that unnamed person who was filling my life with grievous hope when Inessa and I first got acquainted in the second week of April in that yard in Usachova. With that disclosure, I achieved my much-awaited closure.People might think this all bollocks but from a purely scientific and health viewpoint, it was good I got out when I did. That is, about three months ago when a relationship with my Inessa gave me an unexpected but very welcome soft-landing. According to the Beeb, I could've even got myself killed. An article early this year -just as I was about to begin my throes of despair- says lovesickness can be fatal. Of course, it all comes off as another case where science finds basis for some common-sense notion we've known for centuries. Still it's somewhat amusing to note -and confirm- that indeed despair and hopelessness can drive one to do distinctly unfunny things. The article goes on to say something else I can personally attest to: "Aspects of obsessive complusive disorder can also be found in those experiencing lovesickness, such as preoccupation and obsessively checking for text messages and e-mails."
* * *
By 9 pm we still didn't have any idea what time we would all gather for the evening's main event, the final farewell for Pang. She was flying out for Bangkok in the afternoon of the next day (today) so Faizal, still confined at home and whom we hadn't visited since that late night food delivery on 8 August, decided to invite us over for after-dinner aperitifs as a way of sending Pang off. However, there was still no call from him at this late hour. Pang herself said she'd be engaged in a dinner (as it turned out, at nearby Suzy Wong Café) until well after 10 pm. So Marina and I decided to grab a bite to eat near Faizal's place, a hole-in-the-wall called Lyudi kak lyudi. (Amidst le snobbisme of Moscow, this sarny joint is the sort where you can turn up in your pyjamas, as GO! Magazine writes, and the barmen wouldn't even blink. This place no doubt answers to a tee the Bohemian everyman's secret wish for a friendly neighborhood cafe where the barmen know us, where we can let our hair down and chat with them about the weather, the dog or relationships." One of the reasons the two ponds and Kitai Gorod are such popular districts.)
A couple of sandwiches and shakes later, my Inessa decided to just head on home. "It would be better if just the three of you get together among yourselves," she said. Wisdom beyond her years, truly. And so I turn up at Faizal's door at close to 11.20 pm. Pang brought her last bottle of Bordeaux for us to share. The first couple of hours, we seemed to have been in a state of denial, exchanging mild recriminations of future non-commitments and guarded reassurances of our continued mutual regard. It was somewhat a relief, therefore, that we all softened a little bit and became a bit more candid about how much we would all miss each other.
Indeed Pang's departure does mark an end of an era. Although I first met her in a party she put together in her old state-run flat sometime in September 2003 (my own colleague and senior had just arrived for her posting here at the time), which consequently led to my first night at the Bolshoi Theatre with Pang and her colleague Nipada, it was not until the Valentine's Day for Singles party that Pang again organised in February 2004 at her new flat that we all became as tight as Dick's headband. All unattached singles in a foreign city, we all went out for dinner, drinks or to the theatre at the drop of a hat. Of course in the beginning, with my Russian language classes it was difficult for me to just drop everything. But when the classes ended in late June of the same year, I was able to free myself more for our little regular jaunts. Too bad, actually, that Nipada herself had to leave for marital nirvana in Ottawa the following month. In our mind the quintessentially classic gathering was for an après-party Oreo milkshake at Starlite Diner in Oktyabrskaya at 3 am. By fall of 2004, we had taken to traveling together, first to Smolensk, then Tula, Pereslavl-Zalessky, Istanbul and Suzdal-Vladimir until the end of the year. There were also a number of skiing day trips to Yakhroma, Volen and Stepanovo that cemented our bonds while expanding our circle to include Vika's friends. Faizal and I eventually traveled without Pang to Murmansk and Kirovsk in the Arctic Circle over the New Year hols, while they went without me to Switzerland and France in April this year. We all became busy at work in the spring, but the friendship and affection held. Without doubt the joy I have about life in Moscow I owe a great deal to Pang and Faizal.
By 3 am, we had all broken down to tears. I guess it finally sank in that she was leaving. I was teasing the two of them that the evening broke the previous record we had of gathering very late on a weekday evening (until 3 am at Nipada's place, was it?). This time we took leave of each other at close to 4 am. Followed Pang to her Embassy to return the van she borrowed, then took her home.
Epilogue: I drove up to my driveway at 4, only to discover that I had lost my housekeys. Neither Pang or Faizal could locate it for me, and my ducky had to wake up for naught since she obviously couldn't have had my keys (although she kept a spare copy). Little choice but to sleep in the car. Only recovered them the following morning, when I went back to Faizal's and found out I had taken his jacket by mistake. Mine was still hanging over his kitchen stool when I got there.
