Off to Argentina

Today I accomplished nothing, speaking in academic terms. Got a B+ for my film midterm – B+, what a shame, my mom would’ve said, but we don’t have A’s or B’s or whatever in Russia – our grades go from 2 to 5. Hugged the uke for a while – boy am I sure our neighbors hate me already – went to a music class. Had lunch. Read a bit more of Coelho. And then it just hit me, and I put away everything, went up to deck 7, bent over the rail and spent a decent amount of time watching the sea, and the waves, and the foam on the waves.

Did you ever notice that the foam on the wake from the ship can look like bacon, or some raw meat? And then it just transforms, and you get a different perspective, and it all miraculously makes sense. I kept watching till I got enough – am I even able to ever get enough – and dived into a surreal feeling of unity with the world, with the sea and its waves, with the wind, with the wood under my feet. My mind wandered off on its own, and brought me to places, and took me away, and showed me things; and the pictures I’ve seen will stay with me, in me, within me. It was a beautiful day after all. The rest of it I just spent talking; almost like in the beginning of the voyage. I circled around and started conversations; and conversations went on for quite a while. People I knew, some that I barely knew; I kept talking till my throat got sore, and even then I kept talking – and listening – and sharing. I felt like I had something to share; some warm, warming energy given to me by the world, and I went on until I was empty. I slept so well that night.

Last two nights were clear and starry. Especially the day before yesterday. It reminded me of that night in the Sahara, I think I even saw a bunch of distant shooting stars. It’s hard to stargaze on the ship; all the corners are lit, and the light interrupts the other, original light, silver starry light. But I found a way: you need to walk to the edge of the deck and pretend your hands are binoculars, like in the childhood. Look through them; they cover some of the artificial light, and suddenly in the monotonous darkness of the night you see a whole glittering pattern of the shapes, figures, images. It’s like adjusting the camera’s focus; it’s all suddenly so close, so bright and so clear. I could bet I saw a smiley face among the stars, and it kept smiling through the night. A part of that face were three stars, perfectly aligned, perfectly bright; they stood out in their sudden perfection. I stood there, freezing, for a while; then rushed back to my cabin, put on some warm clothing, wrapped a scarf around my neck and hurried back. I think I was afraid all the stars will be gone by the time I came back. But they were still there; I kept watching them, almost never blinking – blinking seemed just inappropriate, unacceptable. I let the starlight fill me in until the map of that sky got imprinted on my mind. There were so few people outside; no one knew or no one cared. Just the rare splashes of laughter, and the drumming of footsteps, and the shadows shooting by. I realized it was one of these things I would never be able to do at home – to have the sky with all these stars at my disposal. I rarely see any stars back home. It makes me sad.
I let the wind flow through me, barely acknowledging the cold – it was of no importance. My mind was empty; I let the images of the night flow through it as the wind did. I wonder how I haven’t caught cold yet, with all the lunches and dinners outside, and swimming in the freezing pool, and stargazing in the wind. I guess it is all luck. Or maybe the nature doesn’t want me to fall ill and be unable to watch its waves and clouds and stars. Who knows. Who knows. I guess I’ll just keep going.

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