Best cure for the broken heart is work, so I spent entire Sunday cleaning, cutting and gathering apples, quince and chokeberries (why do they call them that? Aronia in other word). Starting in the morning and finished in the late evening. This gave me tons of time to think, too. That didn’t help me much as a whole new range of feelings game up instead.
One of tem being fear of loosing one’s home. Not through moving away to another country, but the way that while you were away, your country does not exist any longer. The Terminal would sound familiar if you know the movie. I avoided watching it, because I thought I couldn’t handle the emotions radiating from it. If there is anything in the world that hit me to the bones, it’s this. Same emotions woke in me when I watched Russia attack Georgia. Say what they want, but this was intrusion in another country and the West just looked away. To watch those Olympic sportsmen watching the news not knowing if their loved ones are still alive or if they ever get to return home… I felt like crying back then and it hasn’t changed. It literally is the worst thing one can ever imagine.
That reminded me how Buddhas of Bamiyan were destroyed in 2005 by Taliban. We happened to watch it in the BBC by accident that day (we usually don’t watch that channel at home) and I remember how we went absolutely silent during the lunch time. Thinking back to it now makes me so sick inside and though I’ve tried to put those emotions in words, I just can’t. For someone to destroy such heritage for religious intolerance is beyond anything I can comprehend. I only remember sitting and tears forming in my eyes, because such cruelty to their own history… It doesn’t suit your worldview right now perhaps, but this wasn’t just their history they destroyed, it was part of mine too. In an odd way that destructive action meant more to me than 9/11, though that was just as destructive and horrific, but at that time I managed to keep cool about it. But this hit my heart – this was my history just as much it was theirs. It wasn’t a building, it was art and I’m sure I’ve said it before and I will keep repeating it: Destroying art because it doesn’t fit your world view shows you are not worth anything. If you start with destroying, you haven’t learned how to build and, well, sorry to say, you’ve missed the lessons on life.
Bought myself a book today, Myth-ing Persons/ Little Myth Marker by Robert . that was cheep thanks to being out of fashion, though nothing wrong with it otherwise that I can take my pink pen and go through it searching expressions. Considering most of my reading still takes place in English, I am still slightly off with Estonian expressions. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my expressiveness, but sometimes I run cold when all of a sudden I discover that I’m yet again thinking and writing in English to put down the emotions that are harder to express in Estonian. Why is it so hard sometimes?
Altogether it has been odd day and even weirder week-end. “Time to snap out of it!”, like the advice from day-time comedy series Mad about you suggested.
New movie that probably won’t do well by critics, but includes list of my favorite actors and intriguing question how on earth did they all end up in one movie?!? and I will go see it when it comes out. You don’t always need the main characters to be world winners or have tons of gold hanging on their chimney tops. Sometimes all one needs is a familiar face doing what they love and representing what they have always been. The characters of life I gather.