Young Vision

Moved to Wordpress

2009-07-11T18:37:00.001-07:00

Like many other blogs, this one too moved to Wordpress. I like their lay-out and tools better than Blogger's. Now, you can read about my discoveries and adventures on SoupOfMedia. Hope to see you there!

And Here Goes My Vote

2009-07-05T18:42:00.000-07:00

Voting today felt like passing a language oral exam. I followed the printed signs reading Elections (Izbori) to the second floor of 2285 Mass. Avenue, Cambridge. There, anxious Bulgarians were waiting to enter the quiet room and cast their vote for their party of choice. And as they left one by one, they sighed with relief. I almost felt like asking, "How did it go?"

It went well for me. It was my first time voting in the Bulgarian parliamentary elections and I tried to absorb every scent and sound. Actually, the sounds were pretty synchronized as light-haired babies laughed and jumped on their parents' laps. Most of the voters were young moms and dads or to-be parents. They greeted one
another happily and promised to meet up for coffee or dinner soon.

The more I approached the quiet room, the more nervous I became. Then, a lady with unruly dyed blonde hair showed me the way, I took out my Bulgarian ID and received the voting bulletin.

Like at an oral exam, the room wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. There was a chair and several pens spread out on a wooden table. I looked around and cast my vote quickly. Unlike at a language oral exam, there was no 100%-right answer here.

Anna Karenina in the subway

2009-06-29T19:55:00.000-07:00

Sitting next to me in the Boston subway today was a lady. Her activity represented the biggest turnoff for me next to seeing my name spelled wrong. She was blowing gum bubbles and reading Anna Karenina on her iPhone.

Anna Karenina must be read in print. It is probably one of the world's few books that you need to hold and whose pages you need to list impatiently. Actually, I am taking this back. All of my favorite books--Lolita, A Hero of Our Time and Me Talk Pretty One Day among others--have to be held and listed page by page. I just can't bear to see it happen any other way.

And this is coming from someone who gets all of her information online. Reading BBC news and the Onion is very fulfilling. Yet reading a book that makes you laugh or cry on an electronic device seems unsatisfactory. And unproductive. Mostly, because you can't afford to get the device wet with tears.

Photo Credit: Pensiero

Twitter: Can You Be Popular But Not Mainstream?

2009-06-15T19:09:00.001-07:00

I have always aimed at being popular but not mainstream. I want to be part of a growing conversation only when I can add a unique perspective to it. This goal of mine is becoming increasingly difficult with trending topics on Twitter.

Tonight, for instance, everyone is tweeting about the elections in Iran. Keywords #IranElection, Tehran and Iranians made it to the top ten trending topics. I logged on to Twitter and thought about how great that was. It instantly prompted me to get more educated in the issue and before I knew it I was reading BBC articles and simultaneously following the discussions on Twitter.

Election followers were giving their support for the Iranian protesters. They were advising one another to change hashtags not to be tracked by the Iranian government. I felt inspired by the togetherness of the international Internet community.

Half an hour later I looked at the Twitter discussion again. It consisted of the same tweets and, worse, same retweets. Actually, every other tweet was quoting what someone else had said. And then the thought occurred--I could so easily become part of this growing conversation. But I wouldn't add anything to it besides another link to a Boston.com photo or a BBC article. Suddenly, this felt so much like the trending topic about swine flu.

Online users want to feel connected and part of a conversation. I have no doubts about their good intentions to bring positive change. It still inspires me. Yet, as I couldn't see a genuine (and original) discussion about Iran take place, I tweeted my actual current activity--listening to Fun Lovin' Criminals.

Today: Bazaar, Next Stop: Babushka Deli

2009-06-14T14:29:00.000-07:00

If you have ever entered a Russian supermarket in the U.S., you probably know why the whole delivery thing can't work there. No one visits these stores just for the food.

A Russian supermarket is an adventure in itself. In order to enter the space you might have to wait for a couple of minutes at the entrance until the white-haired babushki there finish their chat. Then, as soon as you open the deli's doors, you can hear oldschool tunes--either Russian music from the 80s or some Boney M hits. "Daddy Cool" is what I heard today when I went shopping at Bazaar, one of the several Russian supermarkets in Brighton, Boston.

Black caviar, classic Baltika 3 and kefir stared back at me from the supermarket aisles. Customers also stared back at me in search of signs to reveal whether I was American or Russian. Here, every product, let alone a human, could be a conversation starter. If the Polish cheese, the Czech beer and the Ukrainian flour were all worth paying tons of attention to, so was I.

The cultural immersion wouldn't have been complete without a shelf devoted to authentic Russian cosmetic and pharmacetical products. Just above that shelf were hanging birch branches used for visits to the Russian public banya.

In that Sunday morning, I could buy tree branches to go to the sauna with but I couldn't purchase my Baltika 3 beer. In accordance with state laws, the lady at the cashier said, they couldn't offer beer before 12 p.m. "Massachusetts is very conservative," she said to chase away the surprise in my eyes, and took the beer behind the counter.

Sad day for British politics

2009-06-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

Apparently, today is a sad day for British politics. That is how Sir Robert Atkins referred to the British National Party's (BNP) success at the EU elections.

Why so? Because the BNP is a far-right party with no non-white members. It won two seats in the EU Parliament at an election whose preliminary figures suggest the lowest turnout ever. In other words, the small percentage of people who cast their votes today supported the BNP's extremism. Wait, that sounds familiar.

The National Union Attack, the far-right party in Bulgaria, has been winning a big percentage of the popular vote. It has openly expressed itself against the rights of Roma minorities. According to Novinite Ataka holds three seats in the 2009 EU Parliament with three far-right deputies elected as MEPs.

Interestingly enough, the 2009 EU elections saw great gains in far-right votes across Europe. According to the Telegraph centre-Right parties constitute the biggest group holding 276 seats out of 736 in the European Parliament. It wasn't just the U.K. and Bulgaria. It was anti-immigrant and far-right groups from the Netherlands, Austria, Hungary, Denmark, Slovakia and Finland.

Not sure about the U.K., but could it be a sad day for EU politics?

Auf der anderen Seite

2009-06-02T19:51:00.000-07:00

Turkey and the EU--an inexhaustible topic these days. It has started a conversation on which Europe cannot seem to agree. While European nations are still discussing the circumstances around Turkey's potential accession to the European Union, radical Bulgarian politicians already expressed their strong opposition.

In a recent interview Nikola Rachev argued that the Turkish values and religious views are completely incompatible with the European ones. Although 25-year-old Rachev is a student at Sofia's Medical University and speaks three foreign languages, his argument is hardly the most convincing for a well-educated young individual.

Turkey is a modern secular democracy that has been developing at a fast pace. It will, undoubtedly, contribute a diverse perspective to the established EU mosaic. After all, one of the EU's goals is to help make different cultures and values compatible with one another.

Moreover, EU support will mitigate Turkey's political persecutions. The award-winning Auf Der Anderen Seite clearly reveals the need for such type of implementations.

Turkey and the EU--will we exhaust this topic by the next round of EU accession talks?

Pay for information? No way.

2009-05-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

"Information is not air," I remember reading in an article for my New Media class this semester. I stopped reading in surprise. "What do you mean it is not air?" I thought.

Then I realized that with the abundance of free information online I tend to think of it as air. In addition to my most visited web pages, I am actively using bookmarks, RSS feeds and Google alerts to keep up with latest news and emerging trends. Information on the Web is free and necessary. It is exactly like air.

Yet some sources limit that air. A couple of days ago I found a Wallstreet Journal headline featured in my Google Alerts. The link redirected me to the WSJ page and I saw the story's lead. But to read on, I had to subscribe.

Some reliable Web sources like the WSJ and Encyclopedia Britannica require paid subscription. When I encounter such a challenge, I just close the page and look for the same information elsewhere. The chances are that I will find it on the NY Times or Wikipedia.

Information is not air because one has to be selective when choosing sources. But the choice becomes easy when one of two competing sources is free and the other one paid. So despite your high-quality content, WSJ, I guess I will have to pass.

Lock your rooms, girls

2009-05-27T18:15:00.000-07:00

If a friend called you crying to say that someone had gotten into her college room and gone through all of her belongings, you would think the economy is in bad shape. At least, this thought came to my mind when I heard the news.

Yesterday I learned that someone had entered my classmate's room on the first floor of our dormitory in search of valuable items. The burglar had gone through all her suitcases scattering jewelry, family pictures and underwear all over the floor. After a brief discussion with the college's public safety officer, we decided that the violator must have been an outsider. At this time of the year students prop the dorm's doors open to move in and out of school. That must have given the robber a perfect opportunity to sneak in and look for valuables.

Today I found out another friend's belongings violated. This classmate had left her sealed and labeled cardboard box in front of the student storage area where international students are allowed to store during the summer. Two days after she had placed the box there someone had decided to help themselves to her clothing and computer monitor.

These incidents, together with the many student emails announcing thefts, scare me. Stealing has definitely been on the rise on campus and the most obvious reason for it seems to be the economic downfall. Right?

Best things in life are free

2009-05-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

I had spent the whole day helping people to pack, carry suitcases and move out their dorms. It hasn't been my first time doing it and, I hope, it won't be my last time. After all, this is what friends are for--to sit on suitcases while you zip them and to push cardboard boxes down the stairs while you catch them from underneath.

Late in the afternoon a graduating friend needed my assistance moving out. Only she didn't put it this way. She wanted me to help her track down a pair of brand-name boots she had lent someone. The boots were worn only three times, forgotten in the room and probably thrown away by the cleaning staff. She went berserk when she didn't find them. We looked through about seven trash bags full of rubbish and liquid wastes. The expensive boots were nowhere to be found.

Then, she decided, it would be funny but plausible to find the boots in the basement of some other dorm. So, she dragged me from dorm to dorm in search of the pair of boots while picking up other abandoned items there. Soon she acquired a fancy scarf, Armani Code perfume and a pair of black shoes. I went home to take a shower and wash away the dirt from the trash dive.

Less than two hours after we had parted, she asked me for help again. Only she didn't put it this way. She offered to meet me in one of the dorms because it had lots of new and expensive things. There was this brand new CD player that I needed to check out. Oh, and also, she was almost done packing and ready to move out. Although I was not interested in the CD player, I was still interested in helping her move out. So, I went, sat on her suitcase while she was zipping it, and carried her bags across the college campus.

A couple of minutes ago she thanked me for all I had done and offered me a bag of scarves. "I really don't need any of this," I responded and my heart sank as I realized she really didn't get it. I needed no objects to be her friend.

You say goodbye and I say hello

2009-05-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

Tonight I said my first goodbyes to the graduating seniors from the Class of 2009 and realized the time for Kleenex tissues has come. Tomorrow morning they are all leaving to London, France, Germany, Spain and other faraway corners of the Globe. And we don't know if life will meet us again.

Graduation is a time to celebrate education, successes and friendships. Yet this graduation for me is a difficult and sobering experience. It marks the moment when everyone takes her path in life and jumps into new adventures individually. It marks a goodbye to the past I was part of and a hello to a future I will be absent from. What can be more difficult to accept than this reality?

A friend told me tonight she didn't understand why I was crying. She said I should be happy I got to meet all those people. But that is exactly my point. I can't help holding back the tears because of memories full of happiness and togetherness. Indeed, I am happy I got to have such classmates but I also understand the extent to which I will miss them.

Now they are off to a new beginning away from the college life that we shared. And I can only repeat the words of Mary McAleese, the President of Ireland, told at the Commencement speech today to the Class of 2009: "A good start is half the work. Enjoy the start of the other half."

Rock The Shocker

2009-05-18T19:06:00.000-07:00

"Cuz I wanna take you downtown," sings Peaches in her first single from the album Impeach My Bush. And she definitely took us downtown with her show last night at the Paradise Rock in Boston.

Our tickets indicated 7 p.m. as the time when doors opened for the long-waited Peaches performance. Yet we were not allowed in before 9:30 p.m. Opening for Peaches was the London beatmaker Drums of Death wearing intense black and white make-up. By the time he started playing, the public was ready to rock on and welcomed his electro-pop mixes.

It wasn't until sometime after 10 p.m. when Merrill Beth Nisker got on stage. But what an appearance that was. Dancing on top of the stereo equipment and jumping on and off the stage, she infected the whole crowd with her energy. Peaches changed several times into insanely elaborate costumes. For photos please check out my friend's blog.

Eurovision without vision

2009-05-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

If your TV screen is showing half-dressed performers juggling fire clubs and singing “everybody move your body” to Armenian folklore beats, then you must be watching Eurovision.

Eurovision has been around since May 24, 1956 with ABBA as its most successful contest winner so far. The purpose of this international show is to celebrate diverse cultures and talents. Yet, by the end of the show, spectacular special effects and exotic costumes seem to be the only things celebrated. Aside from recent kitsch trends, through Eurovision viewers can't learn much about the musical heritage of the represented countries.

On May 17 Norway's Alexander Rybak became this year's winner at Eurovision with his song Fairytale. Rybak sang "She is a fairytale even though it hurts," while dancers around him performed a traditional Norwegian halling dance. This song perfectly exemplifies the unwritten rules of Eurovision--to win artists need to combine upbeat music, English pop lyrics and some native folk elements.

"You make me feel so special," sang Turkey's Hadise, "no one can kiss like you do." Her song Düm Tek Tek ranked 4th and incorporated sexual belly dancing moves accompanied by fire effects. Similarly enough, Azerbaijan's Always performed by AySel & Arash ranked 3rd in the contest. "Always on my mind, always in my heart," repeated the fast pace chorus of their song. The performance included a short instrumental segment busy with folklore rhythms as if to compensate for the sugar-coated lyrics.

The one country that presented a simple and catchy tune, Georgia, wasn't allowed to participate in this year's Eurovision. Artists Stephane & 3G performed "We don't want to put in" which was interpreted as a protest against the Russian government of Prime Minister Vladimir Putin. The word play in the song title and Russia's former President's name was not welcome in a politically correct show like Eurovision. According to the European Broadcasting Union's terms no political lyrics or gestures are allowed at the Eurovision Song Contest. As a result, Georgia did not partake in the show.

As the world's most watched singing contest, Eurovision aims at celebrating the diverse cultural mosaic of Europe. What its structure ends up producing, however, are homogeneous and cliched performances.

Really? We don't need no education?

2009-05-09T18:01:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago I had a dream in which I owned a school in Varna. I had hired the brightest international professors to teach. My students were occupied with various extra-curricular activities. It felt great until I woke up in the morning and checked my e-mail.

My friend had forwarded me a link to a YouTube video of Bulgarian high school students in an English class from March 2008. They were yelling, insulting and even beating their female teacher. They were, what seemed to be, celebrating the cultural decadence and lack of values of their generation. The video was more than shocking.

I browsed through YouTube only to find an abundance of similar videos. During high school classes, students were demonstratively talking on the phone, dancing and playing games. By the teachers' faces, I could see this was the routine and not an exception.

I went back in time to remember my personal experiences in high school. Yes, students were chatting, passing notes or eating in class. Yes, they were napping, arriving late or leaving early without any valid excuses. Yet to me it seemed they were not paying attention in a respectful manner.

The student behavior that I saw online, however, exceeds all norms. After watching the video, I instantly put the blame on the students. Then, I decided, it was the home environment that played a major role in shaping such identities. Parents, who work until late at night (or even abroad) to provide for their families, don't exactly have the chance to be role models. More often than not, what they bring home is bitterness and anger. So, when it comes down to it, the governmental inefficiency is to blame the most for the current state of the next generation of young people in Bulgaria.

Naturally, this is no surprise for anyone remotely familiar with the Bulgarian government. But what I, personally, found surprising in my realization was its possible universality. I can easily picture the same situation taking place in other countries in Eastern Europe and the Caucasus. Another YouTube browsing and I discovered similar aggressive and degrading behaviors in schools in Romania, Russia, Serbia and Greece.

The implications of a such broader trend are truly scary. They even make me dream of not getting into academia but in politics.

Finish college in diapers

2009-05-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

You are standing in the middle of the piazza, dressed in an absurd superhero costume or stripped only to your underwear and diapers. You are reading a scroll that tells a parody of your life in a poetic form. The public is throwing eggs and flour at you. Congratulations, you have just graduated from the University of Padova in Italy!

The graduation ritual of the University of Padova is one of a kind. The moment after their thesis completions, the students are officially exposed to all types pranks from friends. They include hyper-sexualized scrolls, singing, public embarrassment, alcohol and, undoubtedly, a great deal of laughter. Aside from the fun part of this unique graduation ritual lies something fundamental-the ability to laugh at oneself. In the end of the day, a degree in agricultural biotechnology, comparative law or technical physics doesn't guarantee life will treat you seriously. Continue reading

Swine flu reached Amherst

2009-04-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

I was riding the Five-College bus on my way back to Mount Holyoke when I saw a friend from Hampshire College. "Claudia! I haven't seen you in ages," I exclaimed and hugged her. "Well, yes, that is because I just came back from Mexico," she responded. Yes, I did freak out.

My mom called me early on Sunday morning to warn me about the flu. She had heard the news in Italy, knew the symptoms and informed me about precautionary measures I needed to take. I had to take a lot of vitamins and wash my hands non-stop. I told her not to worry, hung up and went out to socialize with people.

Now that "at least two, and perhaps six, students have tested positive" for swine flu at Amherst College, I am not sure I am going to the same tomorrow. Today, the president of Amherst College released a campus-wide e-mail announcing the possible swine flu containment. "We are asking that students with compromised immune systems, serious heart, lung, kidney or liver diseases, and diabetes contact Health Services for advice regarding precautionary measures," he wrote in the email. Minutes after I read about this on 22News, I received an email from Robert Holub, the University of Massachusetts chancellor. "This remains a rapidly evolving situation and we will continue to update you as new information becomes available," he wrote.

Although the rapid spread of the flu is scary enough in itself, there is a lot more to it that adds to the student panic. With graduation coming up in May, international students won't be able to invite family and friends from Mexico to their commencement celebrations.

Moreover, there will be further complications with those who tested positive for the flu but had planned on leaving the U.S. for the summer. Infected individuals must be put under a 7-day quarantine, which will undoubtedly prompt change in their travel plans.

To all this I say, I hope my mom is not watching the news.

Keep the conversation going

2009-04-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

If you had entered my 300-level sociology seminar two days ago, you would have seen a 86-year-old African American student talking about jazz. Good Dues Blues and Shoo Shoo Baby playing in the background, Luora was presenting her final research project on jazz music in front of the class and the professor.

Studying with diverse individuals has proved to be a highly valuable experience for me. And when I say diverse, I refer not only to the students' race, ethnicity, religion or political affiliation. I also refer to their age.

Mount Holyoke College runs a program (Frances Perkins program) for women of non-traditional age. Every woman over the age of 24 can earn an undergraduate degree on a full or part-time course schedule. Each year approximately 140 diverse and intellectually curious women enroll at Mount Holyoke as Frances Perkins scholars (FPs). And I was lucky enough to have Luora, the oldest African American FP student, in my sociology class Black Cultural Production and Consumption.

"Let me tell you mine experience," Luora started answering a classmate's question about the given jazz presentation. Everyone in the classroom beamed and listened attentively. We love her stories. We love it when she makes the abstract theories about, for example, black authentic identity, real for us.

Born in 1923, Luora is not only an active participant in our class discussions but also a carrier of her generation's worldview. In the classroom, she enables a discourse between at least three generations--her Civil Rights generation, our professor's Generation X and the students' Generation Y.

"Jazz is a conversation," she said in conclusion to her presentation. "It continues a tradition of communication." Undoubtedly, having her and other FP students in my academic program also continues a tradition of communication.

Social media and indigenous people

2009-04-20T22:15:00.000-07:00

In today’s global society, the maintenance of cultural heritage and celebration of diversity have become especially relevant topics. In this context, new media technologies definitely contribute to the communication rights’ expansion of indigenous people.

Firstly, they allow greater access to alternative sources of information. For instance, there is a wide range of blogs dedicated to the causes of indigenous people. (Indigenous Issues Today, Ushahidi, Noongar) They offer personal perspectives about the distinct realities of many indigenous people. As a result, these blogs play an important role in raising cultural awareness and recognition.

Similar is the function of news and music podcasts for indigenous people. For instance, Michael Kickingbear, a member of the Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation, narrates and hosts a podcast titled Indigenous Peoples Music. This is a show that features Native American Indian artists and allows listeners to “experience traditional as well as contemporary styles of native music.”

Free and open-source projects like Wikipedia can also positively influence the expansion of indigenous people’s communication rights because they foster collaboration. By being open to constant improvement from experts as well as from the public, Wikipedia encourages valuable participation and social activity.

The Internet video portal for indigenous filmmakers Isuma TV brings positive change to the Inuit population. In addition to encouraging more independent filmmakers to tell their stories in a creative fashion, Isuma TV works on restoring “old videos whose irreplaceable cultural information is in danger of being lost forever.” Thus, it aims at reinforcing the Inuit collective memory and cultural heritage in a well-structured and widely accessible space.

Iraqi Refugees: The Hidden Crisis

2009-04-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

"These refugees wouldn't have existed if we hadn't invaded their country," said Maureen White, the co-chair of the Board of Overseers of the International Rescue Committee. She was referring to the two million Iraqi refugees who fled their country in search for shelter in Syria and Jordan.

Tonight, White gave the Mount Holyoke community a public lecture titled Iraqi Refugees: The Hidden Crisis. She made the point that it was time for the U.S. to accept its obligations toward the war victims of Iraq. White noted that most European countries, with the exception of Germany, Sweden and Denmark, have ignored the intensifying situation with the Iraqi refugees. These countries believe the crisis should be solved by the ones directly responsible for the war in Iraq. That would be the U.K. and the U.S.

In Iraq, the International Rescue Committee works to upgrade water services, renovate schools and improve public health institutions. It has launched humanitarian programs in Syria and Jordan where the majority of Iraqi refugees are now living. The committee has been also supporting organizations that provide "outreach services and aim to bring together and improve relations between the overwhelmed host community and Iraqi refugees."

Although the IRC is fully devoted to mitigate the humanitarian crisis with the Iraqi refugees, White acknowledged that the committee faces many challenges. "Even if you want to help them, they are afraid to come out. It is a tiny number of people that we are reaching," said White.

Role of remittances in the immigrants' lives

2009-04-10T07:37:00.000-07:00

First, there are the complicated immigration documents. Then, there is the purchase of the cheapest airfare ticket. Finally comes the fulfillment of the American dream with a pinch of nostalgia. This popular view of the immigrant's life, however, often ignores immigrants' reality in the long run.

The "Shifting Places: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Migration" panel took place last week in Shattuck Hall and discussed the role of remittances in an immigrant's life. The panel participants included Ana Croegaert, visiting Assistant Professor of Gender Studies, Luis Jimenez, visiting Assistant Professor of Politics, and Lynda Pickbourn, Ph. D. candidate in economics at the University of Massachusetts. Although the three researchers took approaches on migration from different disciplines, they left the audience thinking about the same thing-the power of sending money and ideas back to a home country.

"Money, how to manage it and how to get more of it was a common topic," said Croegaert about the family affairs of the Bosnian immigrants she interviewed. Croegaert graduated from Mount Holyoke in 1997 and has been working on a research project entitled "Balancing Debts: The Bosnia-Chicago Migration Circuit After Yugoslavia." Through her fieldwork interviews with Bosnian immigrants residing in Chicago she learned about the symbolic significance of the "kucha," a Bosnian word for home. She found out that Bosnian immigrants helped their parents maintain the kucha back in their home country. But at the same time, they were also building a new kucha in Chicago where their children would grow. After all, the kucha is, as Croegaert put it, "a site for identity creation." As a result, Bosnian immigrants invested in more than one household by regularly sending remittances home. This is how, Croegaert explains, the immigrants got introduced to the U.S. "debt-driven industry." Often times, this debt and real estate mortgages led to mounting pressures in the immigrants' family affairs. Continue reading

Souvenirs--cultural appropriation or treasured memories?

2009-04-10T07:33:00.000-07:00

When I visit a new country, I make a note for myself to enter at least one museum, taste at least one traditional dish and purchase at least one authentic souvenir. After all, what can be a better keeper than an African mask, a traditional wooden handicraft or a tribal bamboo necklace? Many things, actually.

Exotic souvenirs and primitive art have long attracted both tourists and collectors. For some reason, it seems people are attracted to the thought of capturing the authentic and taming it by incorporating it in their modern, 21st-century lifestyles. But rarely do we see this practice as a cultural appropriation.

For most of us the purpose of souvenirs is to evoke memories. Even the meaning of the actual word souvenir in French corresponds to the act of remembering. It is fascinating how a mere look at a physical object that is associated with a given experience can make a person travel back in time and space and relive that moment. "The marvel of souvenir buildings is that the identical miniature sparks in each of us extravagantly different webs of remembrance," writes cognitive scientist Donald Norman in The Design of Everyday Things. But souvenirs in the form of native art are not simply carriers of sentimental value--they are the cultural products of indigenous people. Continue reading

Plants may die but objects rise

2009-03-27T07:17:00.000-07:00

My mother is crazy about houseplants. She buys them from flower shops and collects them from friends. She waters them regularly and uses them for decoration for every corner of our apartment in Varna. Every corner, except for my room.

Although I appreciate the beauty of houseplants, I cannot take good care of them. Even the cactus, which I bought for my mom and whose growth was under my supervision, died. I just give houseplants what they need the least. As a child, I tried bandaging the ficus in our living room. As a teenager, I put wine in the flower pot because someone had recommended it for the plant's growth. Finally, I started talking to them because I had read an article claiming that flowers needed attention. Nothing helped.

That is how I decided to stick to inanimate objects designed as nature's gifts. A chair in the shape of a leaf, a bench with the wings of a butterfly--I can handle this. Nature-themed furniture relaxes me and has the ability to survive despite my negligent care. Wood decorations, lotus flower candles and tree paintings bring me the same vibe of nature houseplants bring my mother. But then again, they don't bring the same feeling of comfort. No one will want to sit in my flat, wooden leaf chair.

Welcome the People's Car

2009-03-22T07:50:00.001-07:00

I am 21 years old, don't own a driving license and haven't even tried driving. But I just experienced one of the rare moments in my life that prompt me to change this reality. Tomorrow, on March 23rd, the world’s cheapest car will be officially launched.

The Tata Nano is designed by Tata Motors in India to target the mass of consumers with its highly low price. The People's Car will cost around 100,000 rupees ($1,950). Although it looks quite small, it actually has the capacity to seat four passengers. What is more, Tata Motors is working on Nano's eco-friendly electric-version, the E-Nano, whose design is believed to include solar panels.

The Tata Nano will not only bring convenience to Indian consumers, but it will also undoubtedly influence India's economy. According to statistics of the rating agency CRISIL, "Tata Nano’s launch could expand the Indian car market by 65%."

The main critiques of the cheapest car model address the correlation between safety measures and the rate of car accidents in India. The Nano won't include airbags and antilock braking systems because they are not mandatory safety-features in India. "India has 8 per cent of the world’s vehicle fatalities and less than 1 per cent of its cars, with more than 90,000 people killed on the country’s roads every year," writes Catherine Riley, The Times Motoring Editor.

Radio dilemmas

2009-03-16T14:00:00.000-07:00

When I came back from my study abroad semester in Russia, I realized how much I had missed Pandora. The interactive yet simple online radio offered me all the music I had forgotten and helped me find some new performers matching my taste. But now I find myself bored with Pandora's suggestions and actively looking for alternative music Web sites, streaming live radio stations and podcasts.

Most of my friends use Pandora or Last.fm for background music while studying, cleaning and yes, even partying. These Web sites are indeed an indispensable part of the student life I know. The opportunity to create personalized radio stations was immediately heralded with excitement and enthusiasm.

However, I recently realized that Pandora was somewhat limiting my music experience. I am already 99 percent familiar with the songs I listen to and even though I create new stations and mix play lists, I still end up listening to Silence by Delerium at least five times a day. I discussed this with a couple of friends, users of Pandora and Last.fm, and they admitted that they sometimes also feel limited to certain genres and musicians.

Naturally, one can go beyond these two Web pages to look for further music explorations. For instance, some great online tools are Songza, imeem and Musicovery. But will one ever feel the element of surprise the traditional radio can bring?

When years make sense

2009-03-12T00:20:00.000-07:00

Whenever I encounter a year in my readings I tend to measure it according to my mother's year of birth. Roosevelt was first elected a president 28 years before and the Watergate scandal took place 13 years after my mother was born.

Last week I had a lunch conversation with a Belorussian student about our respective families. She is now a junior and had not been home, in Belarus, since her arrival at college. She told me that she was the only child of her parents. She told me that she missed sitting at the kitchen table while her mom was preparing dinner. She told me that her mom was her best friend.

How can you take someone away from her nostalgia and loneliness when you know how pure and real these feelings are? They bring images of warmth that the mind freezes and idealizes. They guide you through what is important in life and what will be kept forever virgin.

The Belorussian girl told me that she missed her parents but did not miss her country. She, like many other citizens of ex-Soviet republics, recognizes two distinct concepts of home country--the beloved one associated with parents, childhood memories, and friends, and the hated one associated with bureaucracy and corruption. It is the motherland versus the government.

Although I left the Belorussian girl to her nostalgia, I did tell her something reassuring during this lunch conversation. I told her that my mother had a birthday in a week, on March 12, and that I was about to send her a postcard.

Work in Tanzania? Why not!

2009-03-10T19:27:00.000-07:00

No doubt the economic downfall is threatening the living standards of millions of people worldwide. But could it lead to any positive results?

My friend Yana visited a non-profit career fair held at Columbia University last week. She told me that the administration there was highly overwhelmed with the number of people who showed up. This was, apparently, their biggest turnout in a long time.

Most of my fellow college students are actively looking for summer internships and post-graduate job positions on Idealist, an interactive Web page for non-profit organizations, volunteer opportunities and various causes with international dimensions.
Honestly, I think this is wonderful. Now that many students realize Economics, Finance and Business majors won't necessarily lead them to stable career paths in prosperous industries, they start to approach alternative professions.

I am witnessing a massive expansion of minds. Spontaneous questions and quick answers circulate in the college atmosphere: "Public education policy? Why not!", "Work in Tanzania? Why not!"

The economic crisis brought job losses in many industries like banking and investment. But maybe it also brought employment options for all those people unsure about their future careers.

Salt it before you taste it?

2009-03-03T21:13:00.000-08:00

In Russia, people insist on having their three-meal courses consisting of a soup, a main dish and a dessert. As soon as we received our soups in the Smolny school cafeteria, I would reach for the pepper and my Czech friend would reach for the salt. It was a habit, a mechanical action that came before we had gotten anywhere near touching the spoon. "You are being prejudiced," accused us laughingly our American friend sitting at the other end of the table.

We were being prejudiced against the soup. We hadn't tried it but we already knew it was lacking something. You might laugh over this incident but I took it very seriously and applied it to life, in general. If one salts a dish before tasting it, then what prevents one from judging a person without knowing him/her?

The principle behind this practice of adding salt and pepper to a meal was important. I admit that, even though I try to be as open-minded as possible, I do judge people prematurely. I still approach many life situations with preconceived notions. But as much as I want to taste the soup before I put pepper in it, I know it can always use some more.

Russia not immune to the crisis

2009-02-27T12:15:00.000-08:00

"We are not afraid of the financial crisis, are we?" asked the showman at a club in St. Petersburg, Russia, one November night. "Ne-e-et," responded the young crowd and continued swaying to the techno music.

Although the global economic recession causes morbid consequences to the rest of the world, it prompted Russians to invent new, themed jokes and have a nice laugh over the crisis together. During my fall 2008 study abroad semester in St. Petersburg, I encountered widespread media banter about the economic recession that ridiculed investment bankers and made fun of the whole industry. Still, the majority of the Russian people remained indifferent toward news about the economic downfall. It seemed like they were immune to it.

However, Russia is impacted by the recession and to a great extent. "In the current crisis, Russia is confronting virtually all the negatives at once-sharply declining export earnings from energy and metals, over-leveraged corporate balance sheets and a chorus of bailout appeals, a credit crunch and banking failures, a bursting real-estate bubble and mortgage defaults, accelerating capital flight, and unavoidable pressures for devaluation," Stephen Sestanovich, a George F. Kennan Senior Fellow for Russian and Eurasian Studies, writes for the Council on Foreign Relations. Continue reading

The Mount Holyoke News

Where the chalk-faced children play

2009-02-22T20:20:00.000-08:00

Tonight I was reading Charles Edward Russell's article The Tenements of Trinity Church and I encountered the wording "where the chalk-faced children play." I stopped reading, looked away from my monitor and thought about how much I miss seeing chalk-faced children play.

The first thing I do in the morning after my bathroom visit is turn on my lap top. Whether I need to check the weather forecast, play a song that has been stuck in my head or respond to an urgent e-mail, I reach for the Acer. Then, the rest of the day is almost entirely spent on Gmail. The scariest part of all, however, is that my current lifestyle serves as an example for the lives of most of my friends, fellow students and, surely, millions of young people worldwide. Where can I see chalk-faced children play?

I was happy with my childhood spent playing hide and seek in the neighborhood or domino on the beach. I have stored these memories in my mind and enjoy returning to them, idealizing them and putting them away as washed linens to be used in the future by someone dear. But what if the time comes when no one uses linens any more?

Recently I talked with a friend about the correlation between technological innovation and human happiness. I argued that my childhood wouldn't have been truly happy if I had spent it in front of a computer monitor instead of outside in the street. My friend, however, pointed out that modern social needs determine happiness in our childhood activities. So, if the society you live in holds certain values and skills as valuable, you want to capture them and you surely don't think you are missing out on other distractions. For instance, I certainly never thought I was missing out on travel opportunities because I had never left Bulgaria before the age of 18.

Even though I find my friend's argument logical, I cannot help but put away another set of clean linens in a back drawer of my memory. Tonight I am storing the image of chalk-faced children playing.

Valentine to my grandfather

2009-02-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

When Danielle, my French-Canadian roommate from college, came to visit me in Bulgaria for the winter holidays, I took her to the countryside to visit the village where my grandfather lives. He was excited to meet "a real American." As soon as we got off my father's white van to enter the house backyard, my grandfather approached Danielle with shaking hands, hugged her with a wide smile and kept petting her on the shoulder.

This scene well epitomizes my grandfather's character. He, like many old people in Bulgaria, does not believe in personal space and life without spontaneous affection. He, unlike many old people in Bulgaria, does not understand village gossip or intrusion in the family matters of other people. I would like to think that I inherited these traits from him.

My grandfather loves talking to his domestic animals. He tends to choose hard topics, too. Born in 1923, he feels especially passionate about historical and political events during the Second World War and the Cold War. I often think that if he had the chance to receive a good education, he would have become an excellent historian. But more often than not, he will just think aloud about the pursuit of happiness in family life. Sheep and goats stare him back with their humid eyes when he pours out his soul.

I called my grandfather tonight. Every time I call him, my eyes get teary from my physical inability to be in the countryside with him, hold his shaking hands and let him pour out his soul to me.

Czech it out

2009-02-06T11:13:00.000-08:00

If you're wondering how one piece of art can offend 27 countries simultaneously, then hire a Czech artist under the name of David Cerny, sit back and watch. He will surely take care of this task because he has the necessary background after angering the lares and penates of the European Union with his newest sculpture Entropa.

Officially launched on Jan. 15, 2009, Entropa constituted of a map of geographic symbols representing the 27 EU member states in a comic fashion intended to provoke Europe's sense of humor. The sculpture was supposed to honor the European Union member states, celebrate diversity and officially mark the Czech presidency of the EU. It was intended to artistically illustrate and complement the words of the Czech Deputy Prime Minister Alexandr Vondra spoken at the sculpture's launch ceremony, "Freedom of expression is a founding principle of democracy." Its effects, however, couldn't have strayed farther away from these goals and what it ended up provoking was mostly Europe's strong criticism. The exhibit proves that when a vision of art is placed in a highly sensitive political context, controversy can hardly be avoided.

The mosaic of European geographical shapes assigned stereotypical and prejudicial symbols to the 27 European Union members. The territory of France on the map is covered with a poster saying "GRÃˆVE!" that translates into "On Strike!" Romania is portrayed as a Dracula-themed amusement park with special sound effects. Spain is an empty construction site with a concrete mixer placed in the country's northern part. Luxemburg, a golden chunk, carries a For Sale tag with a telephone number to contact. The United Kingdom is the missing piece from the mosaic. Greece's territory is covered by a completely burnt forest. Worst of all, Bulgaria is depicted as a series of white squats (Turkish-style toilets).

Although Cerny saw the installation as an opportunity to learn to laugh over stereotypical images and transcend cultural boundaries, the rest of Europe was displeased with such unfavorable representations. But then again, the rest of Europe doesn't have Cerny's crude humor. Though not put on display at the European Council building in Brussels, the artist's previous works were equally controversial. In the garden of Futura Gallery in Prague, Cerny designed two nude sculptures that visitors can climb on a ladder situated between the figures' legs. They can peek into the figures' arses and watch a video showing Czech President Vaclav Klaus and the head of the National Gallery Milan Knizak feeding each other slop to the soundtrack of Queen's "We are the Champions."

"I seriously, we seriously expected that this will be taken as a joke, as a nice piece of work, as a nice installation, and nothing else," said Cerny about his latest project in a speech in Brussels. Unfortunately, the artwork was taken as something else by many who viewed it as humiliating and reinforcing negative stereotypes instead of eradicating them. Moreover, the production of this "nice piece of work" cost EUR 375,000.

After receiving complaints and widespread criticism about the exhibit, the Czech government officially apologized to the offended member states. "This is not how the Czech government or the Presidency view EU or any member state," said Czech Deputy Prime Minister Alexandr Vondra. This is, however, how the EU understood Entropa's political message masked in an inexplicable art form.

Source: The Mount Holyoke News, A&E

Brainwashed

2009-02-05T20:56:00.000-08:00

Next week's edition of my section in the college newspaper will be on St. Valentine's Day. A relevant, time sensitive and entertaining enough topic, you would think. Still in the process of editing the articles, I get the same odd idea from most of them--my writers have been brainwashed.

When they write about love and romance, they immediately associated it with the same vision--Mr. Right who plans a romantic dinner, surprises them with a pompous bouquet of red roses, treats them to a gentle massage with lavender oil and whispers sweet nothings to them. This couldn't have gotten closer to Hollywood's teachings and marketers' goals.

Naturally and unfortunately, this scene could be every 15-year-old girl's dream. But we are not 15 any more. On the contrary, we are enrolled in a higher education institution to learn to think critically about exactly that kind of media messages. Although the younger crowd doesn't have the necessary knowledge to filter such brainwashing visions, we are equipped with the adequate skills to do so.

Then again, maybe I am exaggerating and generalizing. Maybe it was just a word, a phrase, or a sentence that threw me in that train of thoughts. Certainly, it was another realization about media's enormous influence over our mindsets.

Here Just For the Credit

2009-01-27T22:06:00.000-08:00

"So, I don't want to do all of the talking myself today. I want to give you a chance to introduce yourself and say a couple of words about why you are taking this course," said my new professor teaching New Media Technologies and Social Change. "And don't be afraid to say you are here because you need the credit," she added with a smile.

My first communications classes for Spring semester began today in the University of Massachusetts (Umass), Amherst and confirmed my opinion about this school's culture. It consists of a rich selection of Communications courses, big classes, resourceful professors, and immature students.

Answers to my professor's requests varied from "Yeah, I am here for the credit," and "I am taking this class because it fits into my schedule," to "I saw the word 'media'" and, my personal favorite, "I want to do TV and stuff."

Naturally, every professor will want to receive a clear picture of her students' level and ambitions but to me this experience today was absolutely disillusioning. I am certain that there are people truly interested in the topics and materials for discussion, and would love to occupy one of the seats in the classroom. Moreover, they will make the most of it. I just regret that half of my class doesn't include such individuals but is interested in simply receiving their diplomas without applied knowledge to support these otherwise empty of meaning pieces of paper.

Hold On to the Rail

2009-01-23T21:35:00.000-08:00

Tonight in Springfield was the second time I set my feet on an ice skating rink and tried to balance my body weight with zig-zag movements. The first time was in St. Petersburg after midnight. So, in your mind you are probably already begging me not to compare these two experiences. But I will, anyway.

I would lie if I said that I didn't have any expectations from ice skating in St. Petersburg. I paid the equivalent of $20 to rent skates and buy a ticket and had put the stakes high for the night. Dance music was playing loudly and I felt pumped up and ready to go. Until I fell once, twice, three times.

After a while, my friends and I concluded that this is an alternative club culture for the younger Russian crowd. Upbeat music, fresh outfit combinations, hidden alcohol in the lockers, flirty games and lots of awkward dance movements.

I would lie if I said that I didn't have any expectations from ice skating in Springfield. The cost for both the skates and the actual skating was less than $10 but the poor state of the lobby and broken bathrooms instantly lowered my anticipation to skate. The song "I believe I can fly" by R. Kelly well epitomized the DJ's interesting music choices. Although no one flied, people had fun falling down, throwing themselves at the transparent walls and holding on to the rail. Most charming, of course, were the youngest little guys wearing their black and yellow hockey outfits and racing around swiftly like bullets.

I guess what I tried to say with this comparison is that I am glad my first time ice skating was in Russia, and that it will be really beneficial for the Springfield ice skating rink to hire a new DJ.

Malls Represent Culture

2009-01-22T21:22:00.001-08:00

Today I made a quick trip to the Holyoke mall for a long-hesitated lap top purchase. I arrived there at 5 p.m. and was already holding my new Acer at 5:17 p.m. The rest of my time in the mall I spent observing consumer practices and comparing them to those in Bulgaria.

In the US the purpose of malls is to provide a rich product selection in a consumer-friendly and practical way that adequately responds to the clients' needs. In Bulgaria, however, the role of malls is different. People visit them not so much to buy stuff but rather to immerse themselves in a social environment. That is why the structure of the malls in America and Bulgaria also varies to fit its customers' characters.

In the Holyoke mall, for instance, the food court is located on the first floor where you go once you get hungry from all the shopping you have done. Dressed in sweatpants and baseball hats, people examine the information signs to find out the exact location of the store they need.

Though smaller in Varna, malls are full of cafes, restaurants and entertainment centers on every floor. Priority here is not the actual shopping experience but the activities before and after it. People like to show off their new clothes and shiny shoes, and could spend a whole day in the mall watching movies, having coffee and playing pool or bowling.

I find these shopping practices representative of two distant cultures and descriptive of the different character of their targeted audiences.

Candle for Gaza

2009-01-20T16:04:00.000-08:00

It took me a couple of days after I arrived back on campus to feel intellectually at home again. I was in a circle of people, holding a candle and staring at the Pakistani girl in front of me reading a prayer for the victims of the war conflict in Gaza. That was my first time holding a vigil.

"Let us not be too late for this crisis, let it not take the same trajectory that many did in the past, let it not be simply an object of intellectual engagement to be analyzed ex post facto, with people wondering where the conscience of the international community lay while the atrocities were perpetrated," she read. I was trying to listen but my eyes were glued on her breathing pattern and brown eyes, in which tears welled up. Then I looked around the room to recognize the emotion coming out of her voice communicate itself to the other participants.

There weren't more than 20 people in the chapel but they were all from diverse ethnic backgrounds and carrying the same hopes and dreams. Although the reason for keeping this vigil is truly horrifying, the actual event brought me inner satisfaction and humbleness. I felt proud to be sitting next to people who care and believe in peace. I was proud to share the flame of my candle with the next person in the circle.

Goodbye Adventures, Hello Routine

2009-01-14T07:27:00.001-08:00

For the first time in my life, I think, I experienced culture shock. I am sitting at the Boston bus station and waiting for the Peter Pan bus to take me to Amherst, MA where I will transfer for the last time before reaching South Hadley.

For the last couple of months I visited so many places and gathered such vivid impressions that the stagnation I found here seems unbearable. As soon as I arrived I encountered the same tedious images -- same bald Customs Service employees at Logan airport who are not rude but can never be truly friendly; same disproportionally fat people eating huge amounts of McDonald's food; same monotonous voices coming out of the speakers to announce that there is a public parking available outside. No one is making eye contact except for the giggling Chinese ladies sitting behind the Fung Wah Bus line information desk. Right now the Magnificent Wind seems to be the only thing I have missed here.

I am experiencing this culture shock maybe because I headed back to the States with preconceived notions, or maybe because I am too weak to fight against the routine, or maybe because I am not in the best of moods. Whatever the reason, right there at the South Station in Boston I felt my soul slowly emptying.

Next Destination: London

2009-01-14T06:52:00.000-08:00

When I arrived at 4:30 pm in London's Heathrow airport, I was mentally prepared to spend the whole night here, waiting. My connection flight to Boston wasn't until next morning and I had the laziness to not check my flight details carefully beforehand. Fortunately, I decided to explore the city and remained totally blown by the beauty of this Western European capital.

I guess I have always underestimated London, Paris and Berlin -- the western European cities everyone visits. As my former roommate once said, "France is for pussies," and she chose to study abroad in Lebanon. But in my attempts to avoid the mainstream, I realized I had neglected some wonderful sightseeing destinations.

I was charmed to see the colorfulness of London, which as opposed to New York, wasn't reflected in people's street fashion but in other, more creative forms. Refreshing were the small car models, classical building architecture, red telephone booths and famous double-decker buses. Attractive were the diverse passers-by with their British accents. The city was rich in cultural heritage, filled with humid warmth and open for explorations. Somehow, it seemed to present the perfect amount of public and personal space. Go in a pub or to the movie theater, and you will be surrounded by people. (A huge crowd had gathered and cheered in front of the cinema across from the Leicester Square Garden. I think it was the movie premiere of Chandni Chowk to China.) Enter an antiquarian bookstore or walk along the romantic Hungerford footbridge, and you will find privacy.

London definitely charged me with positive energy and prepared me for the hours of waiting left at the airport.

Top 5 Photos Taken in Russia

2009-01-11T05:04:00.000-08:00

These are my top five pictures I took in Russia during the study abroad program in the Fall.

1. near St. Peter and Paul Fortress
2. Gatchina
3. Tallinn, Estonia
4. Pavlovosk
5. Арка Генерального штаба at Dvortsovaya Square

Gas Crisis in Bulgaria

2009-01-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

These days on the news in Bulgaria you can hear about two main stories -- the gas crisis and the crisis in Gaza. Though the word play is kind of funny, the last thing we can do while watching the news is laugh.

Nevertheless, the news story that shook us directly was the first one.

On Thursday 21 schools were closed in the capital due to the low temperatures inside the class rooms. Classes were cancelled in other regions of the country. Students living in dormitories in Sofia had to either move in with friends to escape the coldness in their rooms, or study and shower by candlelight. Factories throughout the country faced big losses because they have been forced to shut down for four days now.

The low winter temperatures, Russian-Ukrainian gas conflict and Bulgaria's poor governmental response to the gas crisis resulted in bringing more misery and stress in the lives of ordinary people.

Never Again, AlItalia

2009-01-03T03:21:00.000-08:00

You would think an air carrier has a limited number of screw-ups. For instance, they can lose your luggage once or cancel your flight, or not serve you lunch, or forget about the English translation of their on-board announcement. But, let me tell you, Italy’s AlItalia definitely breaks the record and wins first prize for most screw-ups.

On 27th August I arrived at St. Petersburg Pulkovo airport with only carry-on luggage and had to live for three days with the several clothing items I had in my backpack and lady’s purse. On 21st December I arrived at Sofia airport with these same belongings for 3 more days. Both times my red suitcase was wandering somewhere without me in the unknown company of AlItalia staff.

Of course, lost luggage is nothing new and, when eventually found and returned, makes for a good story. Cancellation of flights, however, is truly scary. When my friend residing in Italy called me the night before her flight to St. Petersburg to inform me that AlItalia had cancelled her domestic flight “with no alternatives available,” I thought she was joking. Less than 24 hours before her actual flight, she had received an email notification about these urgent travel changes. Apparently, it was “due to protests by Alitalia employees opposed to the carrier's takeover by Italian businessmen.” (www.fxstreet.com) Nearly 100 AlItalia flights were cancelled in November due to the same reason.

On 20th December when I was already standing in line for the security check at the St. Petersburg Pulkovo II airport, I looked up at the digital departures board only to see that my flight to Rome was cancelled. Panic. After a good amount of stress, I ended up flying to Rome though Milan where I had only half an hour to transfer. I hadn’t received any lunch or decent snack besides two thumb-size biscuits.
Having arrived in Bulgaria, exhausted, hungry and without my baggage, I sighed with relief, “Never again, Alitalia!”

A Goodbye That Really Counts

2008-12-29T10:49:00.000-08:00

I have left a lot of places. I left Bulgaria for the U.S., I left the U.S. for Russia, and now I have to leave Russia for Bulgaria and the U.S. This is my hardest goodbye.

It is the night before my flight tomorrow afternoon—I am packing my luggage, listening to my “no title” music folder on iTunes and suppressing the lump in my throat. I get distracted and start going through my “Russia” pictures. Green picnics and careless walks in welcoming parks, orange, red and yellow seas of falling leafs, frozen lakes with sleeping ducks, unafraid of the snowflakes’ play. I go back to those same sceneries colored by the birds’ songs, the smell of freshly baked peanuts and the invigorating touch of the wind. And I cannot make myself leave this place.

All my other goodbyes were more or less easier. I used to prepare myself mentally for the next adventure and start making plans for my first food choices. But when my father called me 3 hours ago and asked me about my dinner preferences on Sunday, I just shrugged my shoulders and responded, “I don’t really care. Really.”

This goodbye is different because it might be my last goodbye to Pushkin’s motherland. Even if it isn’t, I will never again relive these same moments, that my 21-year-old naïve self experiences now. Naturally, this moment of realization holds true for every single place I visit. Although I leave a piece of my soul everywhere I go, I am now leaving most of it here, in the Soviet-time apartment buildings, in the shapeless Christmas light decorations, in the Neva river and in the hot borsht soup.

Good night, sunshine!

2008-11-24T03:45:00.000-08:00

Since the age of eighteen, I have changed several housing situations. In Bulgaria, I lived with my family in a big apartment in Varna and often visited my grandparents in the countryside. In the U.S., I have lived in a dormitory in Massachusetts, shared a house with strangers in New York and had the fortune to stay in the fine apartment of a wonderful alumna. I have never, however, experienced such a complex living situation as the one I am enjoying now in St. Petersburg.

The study abroad program arranges it for all its students to live with host families during their stays in Russia. Home stay, you would think, is as old as the world and shouldn’t have surprised me at all. Well, probably that holds true for home stays in Paris, London or Vienna, but is definitely a new and all-engrossing experience here, in Russia.

My host mother, or so-called hazyaika, is in her 50s. She loves cooking, solving crossroads while sipping her favorite black tea and watching musical TV shows. She also loves putting on make-up, reading educational books and feeding the ducks with her 3-year-old grandson, Ilyosha. In short, she combines so many different nuances of Russian culture that simply knowing her is enough to become fully acquainted with Russia.

Nina Anatolievna prepares my breakfast and dinner, does my laundry, gives me advice about life and blesses me before I set off on a trip. She shows me the gifts she bought for Ilyosha, offers me a warmer scarf or rainproof shoes and tells me stories from her youth. She is a good cook, half-insomniac, very well educated and my personal bridge to smoothly cross from one culture to another or, better yet, from the outside world to my understanding of it.

I will be leaving Russia in a month and know exactly what I will miss most about it. I will miss going to the kitchen, telling my hazyaika, “Good Night,” and her responding softly, “Спокойной ночи, солнышко!”

Alice in the Wonderland needs space

2008-11-21T06:01:00.001-08:00

After having lived in St. Petersburg for three months, I thought it just natural to turn around in a city and see tall apartment buildings and streets crawling with seemingly busy passers by. Certainly, I thought it natural to hear the sad engine roaring of past-their-time vehicles. My new comfort zone in Russia, however, had to be disturbed by the efficient organization I found in Helsinki.

I arrived in Helsinki last Tuesday at around 1 p.m. and it was already getting dark outside. It seemed to me that this gloomy weather and lazy drizzling never left my week vacation. Already sitting in the orange Finnish metro with my friend Nikolay, I was slowly getting disillusioned by the empty spaces and rural areas I saw through the window.

“I read in the newspaper that a week ago someone threatened the metro passengers with a bow and arrows,” Nikolay warned me. I thought about the guy who pulled out a gun from his plastic bag in the Russian metro in September.
“Yeah, that sounds crazy,” I said and kept staring at the hypnotizing orange of the metro doors and seats.

On the next morning I was ready for a more eventful day. I took the same orange metro line and decided to get off at a random stop nearby the city center. I had never felt more like Alice in the Wonderland before. I had entered some mini land where the streets were mini, and the buses were mini, and the buildings were mini, and the dogs were mini. This is when I decided I wouldn’t go to a restaurant in Helsinki to avoid being served a mini portion. Suddenly, I, who have always yearned to live in the open and see the sky, was getting suffocated by all this space. Against my will, this suffocating feeling prevented me from fully enjoying Helsinki’s modern trade centers, park monuments or cobblestone pavements. I couldn’t wait to return to St. Petersburg.

Today, the Petersburg metro was again packed with seemingly hurried strangers, wet from the snow outside. Nn the street I heard again this familiar and sad engine roar from a dark blue Skoda driving by.

Sob at the Movies

2008-10-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

Movie theaters give me a great deal of privacy. Having been seated among friends only 10 minutes into the new Russian movie, “The Admiral,” I realized I could sob away during the dramatic scenes. The comfortable embrace of the darkness and the loudness of the special effects worked together to hide all visible and audible traces of tears.

The friend on my right in seat 25 told us that “The Admiral” was like the Russian “Titanic.” His words took me back in time to the premiere of “Titanic” in Varna. I distinctly remembered my strong concentration and persistent efforts not to cry. Drowning passengers, sinking hopes and the eternity of true love—none of that moved me. Clenching my jaws tightly and biting my lips, I looked at my mom sitting next to me. She was already wiping her tears and verbally attacking the villain, wishing for nothing else but Leonardo to kill him. My task had become harder but more challenging. How proud I would be if I could say that my mom wept at “Titanic” but I didn’t shed a tear! So, I held the tears in my eyelashes and reached for some popcorn to distract me.

I continued proving to myself the emotional stability that I lacked during various dramas, thrillers and even happy-ending romantic comedies. My movie partner would cry and I would just laugh, suppressing the flow of tears and the hurricane of emotions in my stomach.

It wasn’t too long ago when I realized I couldn’t help it anymore. When the saddest moment in the movie came and the music grew more dramatic and tenser with every second, the same well-known feeling started suffocating me and I gave in. Still hoping I could control it, I looked at my crying friend sitting on the beige leather sofa in our living room. Our eyes met, overflowing with tears, and we smiled. We smiled at our stupidity, our excessive sensitivity and at the realization that we had just shared and lived this moment to the fullest.

Why Russia?

2008-09-22T08:06:00.000-07:00

As my study abroad trip to St. Petersburg approached, I started having doubts. Why Russia? I could have chosen the lazy sunshine of southern Italy or the exquisite fashion of modern France. Instead, I chose the temperamental nature of Russian people. A single walk in a Russian park gave me all the necessary reasons to justify my choice.

If I don’t get on a mini-bus (marshrutka) but decide to walk from the metro station to class at Smolny Institute, I have to pass through a green park called Tavricheskiy Sad. Despite the strong wind, my freezing fingers and running nose, this is the happiest moment in my day.

First, I see small blond babies and their young siblings play on the grass, hiding behind the wooden benches and running around the purple flowers. They are all bundled up in pink or light blue outfits like little stars with funny hats and big gloves. Their smiling blue eyes follow each movement of the pigeons and, at any given point, they are ready to reach out and touch the birds.

Then, come their babushki to fix their tilted scarves and explain again why little kids shouldn’t chase pigeons. The babushki talk a lot and use every possible diminutive form of the child’s name they can think of. Ilya becomes Ilyoshka, Alexander—Sashinka and Ivan—Vanyusha.

I continue further on into the park to see a gorgeous bride posing in her wedding gown for a professional photographer. On the other side of the unpaved path, the groom is holding hands with about 20 other wedding guests. They sing loudly, sipping champagne and getting ready for another picture together. The babushki, the children, the young and the old—they are all holding hands and singing. This is why I chose Russia.

Mhmmm to Pirojki

2008-07-20T20:26:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite smells is that of salty sea water and hot sun on my skin. It is what completes the fun-loving beach time along with friends, volleyball and, of course, good food. Although my mother taught me that good beach food consists of fruit, crackers and water, I found myself leaning towards beach food that definitely consists of more calories.

Potato filled pirojki are something I discovered this weekend on Brighton Beach, New York City. They are freshly baked pies that can be filled with meat, jam, potatoes or cabbage. The pirojki would be perfect for any big meal of the day as well as any quick snack in between. When flavored according to my personal preferences, the potato filling would include pepper to bring a spicy taste and trigger your appetite even more.
In short, mhmmm to pirojki!

Go Vintage -- With Posters

2008-07-03T19:22:00.000-07:00

Diving into the past is like no other sensation. Watching black and white movies, listening to vinyl records and wearing antique jewelry put a charming spell of curiosity on us. And we try to envelope ourselves in this sensation by collecting authentic porcelain vases, retro comic books or even vintage posters. If you are also enchanted by the idea of decorating your home with vintage posters, make sure to visit the Chisholm Larsson Gallery.

Located in Chelsea, the 30-year-old Gallery is the ultimate resource for original international vintage posters. It offers over 35,000 authentic advertising posters published since the 1890s. Hang on your walls artistically designed posters that reflect social realities, historical moments and entertainment legends like Marilyn Monroe and Marlon Brando. The poster selection includes over 15,000 classic movie posters from Italy, France, Swiss and Poland designed by artists such as Lenica, Ballester, Martinati and Bass. Inside, you can also find original liquor, travel, fashion and political posters written in different languages with long-forgotten slogans complemented by popular images. The Gallery is open Tuesday through Friday, 11 - 7 and Saturday 11 - 5. Chisholm Larsson Gallery is located at 148 8th Avenue and can be reached at (212) 741-1703.

The Sound of Words

2008-06-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

I am an avid listener. Although I often don't exactly know what my conversation partner is saying and how she/he got there, I will be leaning forward with eyes fixed on the person talking. I will be following every tone change and word sound, and sigh.

The sound of words fascinates me. I realized that I had favorite terms because of the way they sound and not necessarily the message they convey. Yet, sometimes their melody and meaning seem to overlap. Two of my favorite words in English are soft and pure. But I am curious to learn what other people's favorite words are and why. Here is the beginning of this fun survey:

Rachel:
Favorite word in English: Bumblebee
Reason: It is fun to say.

Daniela:
Favorite words in English: voluptuous, expurgate
Reason: They sound sophisticated and are rarely used.

Karlene:
Favorite word in English: Onomatopoeia
Reason: I just like the sound of it.

Alex Trahan:
Favorite word in English: mop

Josh
Favorite word in English: Love

I was always dancing

2008-05-31T21:03:00.000-07:00

Recently I found a poetry book, The World Split Open -- Theatre and Writings by Women in Prison, written by women in a Massachusetts jail. Below is the beginning of one of the featured poems, I was always dancing by Margaret Robinson:

She gave me a computer printout
of her life, typos
and misspellings marked in ink.
"I'll do anything for a man,"
she wrote. "Dad, Hell's Angels"
tattoos on her arms.
Thirty, looking thirteen in the face,
she tossed her long dark hair
and lit a cigarette.
"I'm always looking for love."

The Movie Night

2008-05-08T09:43:00.000-07:00

Choosing a movie is never an easy task. One needs to consider so many factors: mood, weather condition, company preferences, food supplies and, of course, the activities before and after the film watching. It is almost impossible to choose the right movie at the right moment--especially with me.

Me and my friend, Crystal, like to watch movies in her pink, tidy and smelling-of-clean-linen room. We have a movie date at least once a month and we both anticipate the evening when we will sit on the soft round carpet on the floor in front of the TV and relax. The anticipation, however, is often sweeter than the film watching itself.

"Why? What happened now," Crystal would ask ten minutes into the movie.
"Sh-sh. Watch," I would respond with eyes focused on the screen.
Then, I really get into the movie and try to resolve the strange plot. Although not fully convinced, Crystal usually agrees with me in my resolution suggestions.
"Louis will now find the lighter in her handbag and realize what had happened," I exulted last night when we watched the French movie, "Apres Vous."
"Ohhh," responded Crystal in a contemplative manner. She was still having doubts about the plot development and considering other possible options.

But when I really, really get into the movie and become extremely amazed at the unexpected turn in the story line, I spontaneously reach for Crystal. And see that she has already fallen asleep.

More often than not, we will finish watching the movie with the same conclusion:
"This movie was weird."
"Yeah, right."

When Classes End

2008-05-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

Last night after work, I went to the Campus Center to have dinner with a friend. The weather was slightly chilly and very refreshing. We grabbed food, sat on a table outside and enjoyed the sight.

It was the last day of classes and students, mostly seniors, were dancing to the upbeat tunes coming out of the stereo system operated by two DJs. Everyone was singing loudly, congratulating one another and filling the night with laughter. You were welcome to approach anyone and hug her as a spontaneous expression of happiness. You could even buy a medium-sized transparent cup of beer, if you had 21.

It felt so much like home—the open-air dancing to "Around the World" by Daft Punk, the beer drinking and the sudden inexplicable excitement that seized us. This was just a quick demo for the endless summer nights ahead of us.

One Place - Everything But The Girl

2008-03-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

A summer evening; I walk past the window,
Baby's crying; Someone's cooking dinner;
There's laughter on the TV
Someone's learning the violin.
How at home, it heals
At times like this, I feel that...

I would like to live like anybody else
In one place
And I could be happy and fulfilled
In one place

So I get the map out
And draw a line of where we've been
It goes thru sea and sky
Twenty-five planes this year
And it's only July...
This is not some Bible, like on the road
It's just a song about coming home
And whether...

I would like to live like anybody else
In one place
And I could be happy and fulfilled
In one place

And you know that I have found
That I'm happiest weaving from town to town
And you know Bruce said
we should keep moving 'round
Maybe we all get too tied down, I don't know
Hell, I don't know
I'm happy to be home (Still alive)
Happy to be home...

In the end, if you take care
You can be happy or unhappy anywhere

And I think we maybe all rely too much
On one place
I know I never would deny the need
For one place

So I get the map out (get the map out)
Yeah I get the map out (get the map out)
C'mon, get the map out (get the map out)
Get the map out (get the map out)

source: http://www.lyricsdownload.com

Drifting Away

2008-03-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

Spring break was over like a breathe of fresh air after entering the white elevator of an old library building. But my rambling thoughts are still bringing me back to the dear moments I spent with close friends from back home.
I left the college on Thursday evening after work and headed to New York with friends from school. Napping in the car and holding the hand of my best Brazilian friend, Amanda, I realized how much I have missed traveling. It was like something that I had subconsciously sought but hadn't pursued after Christmas break. Since I had embarked on most of my trips alone, I had completely forgotten how it felt to have a caring company sitting next to me and drinking from my apple juice box.

After we were dropped off at Grand Central, Amanda and I headed towards the closest Starbucks. Having faced a couple of unsuccessful attempts to find seats in a decent cafe, we decided to rest in front of the Museum at Bryant Park. At 9 p.m. with suitcases and backpacks on the ground and wind messing with our hair, we couldn't have felt any calmer. We just stayed there, not thinking about anything in particular and absorbing every sound and smell. The kind of feeling that you get from knowing that the world is breathing with you and it is okay to pause and enjoy its breathing.
Actually, we knew that what awaited us after this moment was going to be wonderful. Amanda was meeting her boyfriend from another state and I was meeting with friends from high school and my hometown, Varna. We looked at each other with smiling eyes, slowly picked up the bags and left the park.

Take a deep breath

2008-03-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

I walked into the library hurriedly, took the stairs on the left and looked at the big clock in the reading room. It was 3:10 and I was late for work again. I continued skipping with a faster tempo and then it hit me. I felt the sweet fragrance of a familiar perfume.

I forgot that I was in a rush, late for work, or that I had to finish a comparative
essay by 5pm. I was frantically spinning in a circle to spot the source of this heavenly scent. Or rather - spinning in a circle in my mind to remember what this smell reminded me of. Was it the perfume glass bottle in light blue labels that I used the summer of 2005? No, I am sure it had a different fragrance. I used to be obsessed with it and applied it every time I went out at night.

My heart began racing in a whirlwind of emotions and memories. Was it the gentle odor of the fabric softener a friend from high school used? But I remember it so distinctly and I would have recognized it immediately! After all, we spent 5 years of high school together.

It is 3:15. Okay, okay - I think I got it. This reminds me of the air in the New York apartment I was staying at this January. Its mixed aroma of bath and beauty products, new furniture and coffee lingered quietly in all rooms. Nah, it wasn't that.

I looked at the clock again - 3:20.
"That's enough," I thought to myself and continued climbing a second staircase to get to my office. No, wait! Take a deep breath for the last time. The scent will be gone in a moment together with all those memories.

Roommate Affairs

2008-03-06T14:29:00.000-08:00

I have been sharing my small college room with someone else for two years. We have been studying different subjects, believing in different religions and going to bed at different times. It has been wonderful.
Last year I was a confused freshman who had just arrived at "the US oldest higher education institution for women" for the international students' orientation. Overwhelmed by the amount of new information I had to absorb, I closed the door of my half-empty room, pulled down the white plastic window shades, and went to bed. A loud knock on the door woke me up on the next morning, and I met Danielle - a French-Canadian horseback-rider with bubbling interest in politics and mellow blue eyes. Danielle also turned out to be one of the most absent-minded, intelligent, funnest and messiest people I have ever met.

Danielle quickly filled every empty space of our room with decorative pillows, elephant necklaces, posters of Bob Marley, and books about urban legends and ghosts. My rooming experience with her exceeded my highest expectations. At the end of the year I had to collect from the room everything that Danielle forgot, decided to leave behind, or asked me to keep in summer storage including her gray fridge, full-size mirror, CDs, and jewelry. Danielle and I missed the deadline for forming a moving group to room together for the next academic year, so we left room 314 with nostalgia and headed towards a new dormitory.
Luckily, now we live in the same building but on different floors. Danielle has a sweet spacious apartment which she shares with a Republican rugby player. I got a small converted double on the third floor which I later ended up sharing with our mutual friend, May.
May doesn't only have a spring-like name. She carries a pretty spring-like spirit that makes her cuddle, act goofy and ask many questions. If you enter our room at any point you will probably adopt a look of confusion because of the mixed odors in this small space. The smell of powerful Tiger balm, green tea, natural hair products and all kinds of herbs are very common here because May loves Chinese medicine. It is yet to be seen what I will find in the room when the academic year is over. Somehow, I am not worried.

Musical Autobiography

2008-02-12T19:01:00.000-08:00

I listen to a wide range of music genres including jazz, soul, folk, electronic and pop music. Different types of music carry a rainbow of emotions that I have learned to recognize. Jazz music evokes in me images of warm nights with its velvet saxophone sound. Sade introduced me to the gentle nature and spiritual world of soul music, and reinforced my love for the genre. Coming from Bulgaria to study abroad in the U.S., I developed a stronger connection to Bulgarian folk music not only because of its rich and beautiful songs, but also thanks to its cultural values. I use the term “electronic music” as an umbrella for techno, trance, ambient, and house music. Many eastern Europeans from my generation associate it with wild dance and total freedom. Along with all these genres, I have been raised listening to pop music due to world access to Western music channels like MTV and VH1. When I encounter a music style, to which I cannot relate, I know I lack the music background and criteria to help me appreciate it.

I have always wondered how I grew to love a band or a song that I initially found difficult to understand. My musical taste has been fundamentally changing over the years. I became open to more music genres and curious to explore unknown musical combinations. I think that the understanding of specific musics, just like literature or artwork, blossoms with one’s level of readiness to see the issues being discussed. When I was 12 years old I valued groups like Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys and N’Sync. Gradually, I opened my eyes for new favorite performers and developed a passion for exploring new music. Now I see that my musical preferences represent different periods of my life that can be characterized with peer influences, curiosity, melancholy, etc.

I know that my musical taste has been deeply influenced by my family’s musical preferences. My mother has always had love for Turkish music and belly dancing, and she was the person who introduced me to this music style. My grandparents insisted on my general education in Bulgarian folklore music, which they highly admire. Thanks to my father I became acquainted with contemporary Bulgarian pop songs. For most of my teenage years I was very resistant to all these musical influences because I wanted to be part of my school friend group that listened to popular Western tunes. Sharing the same family values and living space, however, subconsciously helped me to shape a rich musical taste.

Listening to a variety of music genres, I have noticed that the themes being addressed in them are very similar. One will always encounter songs devoted to the power of love, passion, loneliness, memories and beauty. Each performance is telling a story that allows me to be active in reinterpreting it. When I hear a song I can imagine the rhythm as approaching steps, the vocal as a tender whisper and the instruments as a background scenery. The issues discussed in the songs, however, can also differ depending on the audience. For example, an old Bulgarian folklore song can be about the sacredness of love during the Bulgarian slavery under the Ottoman Empire. In soul music I have often come across the idea of humble sorrow caused by poverty in the African-American community. Jazz music is mostly instrumental but its warm sounding and blues dancing can be again related to romance and love. Well-known pop music addresses issues like friendship, sex and happiness. Electronic music tends to challenge established authority and demonstrates independence and freedom. As a whole, I see many of the same themes repeat in various music genres because their purposes often overlap to offer people comfort, hope and thrills.

TriBeCa - the Place to Live in NY

2008-01-27T18:28:00.000-08:00

I am probably one of the last people who should be allowed to express an opinion on best New York neighborhoods. I have spent two months of the summer and one month this winter in the city but I can proudly say that I am getting acquainted with it, and we are slowly becoming friends. Thanks to TriBeCa.
TriBeCa is located in lower Manhattan, close to Canal Street and Hudson River. Living there means easy and quick commute to any point of the city.The neighborhood offers plenty of supermarkets, clothing stores and fast food restaurants. All this is essential for living in NY but is not what attracted me to TriBeCa.

The Hudson River Park refreshing ambiance during the day and blissful sight at night impressed me the most. Walking around the park, you encounter green sceneries, old architecture and contemporary projects, and the bluest sky in New York. You look around and see people absorbed in all kinds of sport activities starting with aerobics and running to skateboarding and bicycling. A night there is as calm as the river's blurred darkness from the reflected lights of the skyscrapers in the distance. The apartment buildings are well-equipped with all necessary facilities, including doormen, fitness centers and laundry rooms. I can only encourage you to check out the neighborhood and see how it suits your needs.

Long Vs. Short Hair

2008-01-13T18:41:00.000-08:00

Late Thursday evening I got out of the shower and started drying my warmed body with the pink towel I had brought from home. I stared at the mirror for a moment and then, with one quick movement, I cut my hair. It was time for a change.
Late Friday evening I took a trip to a Soho salon where a hairdresser was specializing in women's shortcuts. Although it was time for a change, it was time for a stylish change.

Leaving the "New York City's Salon For Womens Short Haircuts" Crops for Girls, I had never felt that liberated and open for the world. I couldn't stop smiling at the fancy billboards, populated streets and bright traffic lights. I couldn't stop touching my hair - it was really short in the back and a little bit longer in the front. And it is nothing like Victoria Beckham's style! My curls swiftly decided on different paths and the hairdo quickly resulted in a light-hearted chaos. How could I feel so free all of a sudden? Could simply getting your hair cut remove doubts and fear?
I have always loved my long, curly hair that gave me the look of a forest fairy. Now I loved the positive energy and playfulness this short messy hair stimulated in me. If each has its characteristics wouldn't then women with long hair have something in common, and those with short hair share something else? It felt like I had a new pair of eyes - clearer, observant and intoxicated with positiveness. Long Vs. Short - pick your style!

Mhmassage

2008-01-10T18:14:00.000-08:00

There is one thing I can never refuse - a nice massage. I always feel the need for experienced strong fingers studying the nerve points of my body and satiating my thirst for relaxation. I believe I am good at giving massages and plan to eventually gain an official certificate in massage therapy. Until then, I will focus on my feet.

According to a website on natural healing we have 7, 200 nerve endings on each foot. They all correspond to different parts of the organism and by exercising pressure on them one influences these organs. That is why you should take care of your feet!

This is also what the foot market says. The foot health network, http://www.foot.com/, "provides information on foot pain, foot conditions, comfort and performance footwear, sports injuries and foot health for diabetes." Of course, this information would be useless without millions of foot products to bring you comfort and energy. In other words, you need to shop.

It is a very interactive website with a Foot Pain Identifier feature that shows feet graphics and allows online guests to "click where it hurts." The solution to the problem is not a surprise - it would be a product called Hammer Toe Splint, or Gel Toe Cap, or Dress Orthotics, or some other smart-sounding name.

Don't get me wrong: I have never tried the products and don't know how efficient they are. Something tells me, however, that hot sea salt water, nice warm socks and tender massage will take away the pain for free.

A Private Park? You must be joking!

2008-01-08T17:12:00.000-08:00

My office is located at East 23rd Street in New York so I rarely think of my lunch time as a break. I walk out of the intimidating skyscraper and here I am again, surrounded by 20 even more intimidating skyscrapers. I need to make a fast decision where and what to eat, and calculate how much time I have left. Today, in the middle of that hassle, with a sandwich in my hand, I discovered an oasis.
The quiet park at Lexington Avenue looked like the perfect place for my lunch break. From across the street I saw a dark green fence, wooden benches, and jumping squirrels, enjoying the warm weather. "From now on I am having my lunch here," I thought to myself cheerfully. The strange thing was that I couldn't find its entrance. "Okay, there are people inside, so they must have entered somehow," I tried to unravel the mystery. Two of the doors that I reached were locked, and I continued circling around my quiet oasis. "Excuse me, where is the entrance to the park," I finally decided to ask a middle-aged man with grey hair and sunglasses, who was also looking at the park with a confused expression.
"This is it but it's locked. It is a private park - it belongs to the people who live here," he pointed to the buildings around. "Only they have keys for it. That's how it is today," he laughed.
I couldn't believe my ears. A private park?
"Now where am I going to have my lunch break," I asked myself and joined the other people sitting on the outside part of the dark green fence of the Lexington Avenue oasis.

Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights

2008-01-07T18:13:00.000-08:00

I just finished watching Dirty Dancing Havana Nights and my imagination is still wandering around Cuba and coloring the curves of wild dance moves. The movie gave me a small dose of the rhythm that pushes the boundaries of the known world and screams to introduce you to the intoxicating power of pleasures. It definitely pushes the boundaries of my lonely Brooklyn room.

Dirty Dancing Havana Nights is one of the movies that people discouraged me to see. "The first part is classic but this one is just weak," they said. Nevertheless, I wanted to see it. The story line is more than familiar - the impossible attraction between a wealthy white girl and a poor Hispanic boy during the revolution. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to the action. What I like about the movie are the vivid images of the Cuban life, its music and the spell that dance brings. My eyes always seek the same scene: how the light curtains of a colorfully painted house spread, gently touched by the wind, to show the calm green hues of palms. And under the palms tanned middle-aged people smile widely with their well-ordered teeth and dark olive eyes. Then you slowly step out of the wall-sized window to join the people and absorb their happiness, inspiration and sunlight.

Although you may not like Dirty Dancing Havana Nights' storyline and the way it is served, I still encourage you to see the movie. Because it can trigger hidden scenes in your mind waiting to be released to push the boundaries of your lonely room.

Moving Out, Moving In

2008-01-06T18:42:00.000-08:00

My eyes slowly investigated the old two-storey house at 747 Crown Heights, NY. This is where I am going to live for the next two weeks. I don't know the roommates, I don't know the neighborhood, I don't know what I am going to do.
"Think of it as an adventure," I tell myself.
I step in and try to unlock the door. Failure. I think the woman, who is renting me the room and who left for Argentina, lied to me and gave me the wrong key. It makes sense - I already paid her. The door is finally unlocked and I sigh with relief.
"I wonder what's next," I tell myself.
What's next is the absurdity of the room, in which I am going to live. I know I saw it before but somehow it looked different. Or at that time I had convinced myself that the cheap price and the short time period justified the living conditions.
"Well, it doesn't matter any more, does it," I tell myself.
Then, I try to drag my bright red suitcase Grand in the room but there is not enough space.
The room is with the size of a Camel cigarette box just without its soothing beige nuances. I laugh - it is like a funny sit-com scene.
"This could only happen in a movie," I tell myself.
There is a bunk bed, a shelf heavily packed with big Economics textbooks, and more books, and more books - all staring at me threateningly to remind me I know nothing about economics. I don't even need to turn around to see the other part of the room - it is a desk with an ancient Visual Sensations desktop and a closet behind it. The only way you can sit in front of the computer is to push your chair a bit into the closet. When someone enters the room (and the carpet doesn't get stuck at the process) he/she will see your arms, and feet, and maybe your nose. But half of your body will be actually in the closet. So this is how I blog right now.
"Two weeks," I tell myself. "Just two weeks"

America's Next Top Exploitation

2008-01-03T17:31:00.000-08:00

Putting my hand on my heart I say that I despise reality shows. Ridiculous is the least I could call them. But they are an excellent combination of strong marketing tools, cheap production and pop culture promotion. You have probably recognized some of that behind the immaculate styles of Tyra Banks, Tyson Beckford, Paula Abdul and whoever else you want. No matter how extensively I would like to talk about all that, I should stick to my theme: travel. America's Next Top Model is definitely corrupting my idea of travel.
This evening I was sitting in front of the TV with my two Chinese friends, who decided to take advantage and catch up on the show while VH1 was running an inexhaustible marathon for a couple of days now. As every girl, I immediately chose a favourite but changed my mind at least three times after the beginning of the episode. I also thought it was interesting and new to see that the models were in Thailand. Needless to say, I changed my mind about that, too.
The judges assigned the catwalkers a challenge to learn a Thai dance in one day, and reinterpret the art in front of audience. You can never have an exact idea of how long this process took but, judging from what I saw, it was not more than 4-5 hours. During this short episode, the emphasis was again on the models - their thoughts, personalities and arguments.
"Hey, you are introducing a new culture here! To thousands of young viewers," I wanted to shout out. They could have as well stayed in New York or Los Angeles and hired a Thai choreographer, couldn't they? Yet, they needed the authenticity of the environment and the exotic images your imagination can bring to life. The fashion icons conquer the elegant moves without knowing much about their history and meaning. So, are you familiarizing audiences with Thai culture, or are you presenting them with a distorted and limited perspective of the country's appeal? I think the answer is clear.

So Began My Obsession with Travel

2008-01-02T16:31:00.000-08:00

Travel for me used to mean only and entirely fun. I am glad to say that this word does not any more evoke in me images of luxurious hotels, Malibu cocktails and spa centers, decorated with Japanese symbols. It is more of an abstract term - I think of travel as the storm shaking the foundations of my fragile mindset.
And so I like to embark on travel adventures. I like to get on the cheap Chinese bus lines, take pictures of sleeping strangers in the subway, visit friends in new places and return to the secure feeling of my home. I also like to walk the lonely streets without fear of getting lost, to drag my red suitcase around small airports and stare at the unknown distance challengingly. My obsession with travel has expanded to the online world where I like to spend half a day following links, one after the other, to websites with fresh ideas and original design.
I hope that my young vision for travel will be enjoyable to you with discussions of hundreds of real and cyber spaces.

The Child of Eastern Europe

2008-01-01T16:58:00.000-08:00

I like to think of myself as the child of Eastern Europe. This thought would not have occurred to me if I hadn't come to the US. After all, my home country, Bulgaria, is the only place in Eastern Europe where I have been. Since my arrival in Western Massachusetts, however, I have never felt so close to the eastern European culture.
Now stored in my mind are the vivid images of techno music, ancient architecture, charming accents, cheap hostels and sophisticated fashion. Almost everyone who left that part of the world has the same images stored in her mind. Something more - these moments are not just silently existing in our subconscious worlds, but they grow and like to laugh provocatively in the face of every present encounter.

Leaving Eastern Europe's quirky appeal, I entered the serious world. And I developed the pleasant distraction, from time to time, to again escape into this expanding mind storage of mine. Have you noticed how your imagination starts playing tricks on you by creating new details to dear past experiences you like to go back to? That is exactly what happened to me - my fantasy still loves to add reminiscent smells, theme music and new conversations to scenes that have already taken place. It is quite amusing when towards the end of the flashback, I start asking myself if this really happened.