Cold Borscht and Hard Lessons

I'm handwriting this entry (to be transcribed whenever I damn well feel like it) to the cold openness of Sibelius's Fifth Symphony. One among a handful of well-known Finnish composers, Sibelius writes music that evokes vast tundras of snowy firs in a perpetual twilight. Occasionally the listener will perceive a small Lapp child at play in the frozen landscape, her lips and thick coat displaying the tell-tale blood stains of recent reindeer consumption. I suppose it isn't quite fair to link Sibelius so closely with his homeland for no better reason than he's basically the only famous composer to have emerged from there; no one says, "Oooh, Mozart, what wonderfully Austrian music he wrote!" for example. I'm not sure where this is going, and will blame any rambling of thought on the fact that I'm working on my third beer in the space of thirty minutes.

After completing my last final exam of college on Monday, a strange nostalgic mood has all but consumed me. I think it was the odd fact that my last pre-graduate written thought was:

"Моя бабушка живет в Москве, и она часто идет на театре - она любит Чехова."

This means, in Russian, "My grandmother lives in Moscow, and she often goes to the theater - she loves Chekhov." As I wrote that, three things occurred to me:
1) My grandmother in fact does not live in Moscow.
2) If she did, she'd only bother to go to the Russian-language production of Cats (Кошки)
3) A short time ago, I hadn't envisioned myself doing 1/8 of the things I've done in college, including learning Russian.

I suppose the reason for going to college (which many don't realize until it's too late) is experimentation. Berkeley students see what it's like to not shave for a full leap-year cycle, and young women at Sarah Lawrence have been exploring their Sapphic urges for generations (translation: they try a little "lesbian" on for size). In my case, college was the scene of a number of firsts, of getting my feet wet, of blindly pursuing desire (or often, pursuing blind desire); and I think I'm all the better for it. Mom and Dad, your years' worth of wages didn't go to waste - behold the list of precious and treasured times (color-coded for your convenience!):

Year 2 - I discover that the Screwdriver cocktail is in fact a sentient being, whose sole aim is to climb out of your esophagus.

Year 4 - Beer can be delicious, and enjoyed beyond its capacity to have you passed out or make wretchedly ugly people rather do-able. In fact, with a good beer, the enjoyment is in the flavor, and the intoxication is merely a bonus. Wow!

Year 3 - I learn that if I need to find a bathroom, shelter, or food, I can be compelled to speak a foreign language pretty fucking well.

Year 3 - I learn the German words for "top" and "bottom" after being picked up at a bar by a man who looks like Miss Piggy but smells like Gonzo - "Aktiv oder passiv?"

Year 2 - After 7 months dating the self-same individual, CONTINUOUSLY, I prove to myself that monogamy is possible even for non-Mormons.

Years 1 & 2 - The "not-judging-a-book" rule hits home. After thinking him an asshole for knowing all the answers I don't know in theory class, Daniel Spaw becomes the closest friend I've yet had.

Year 1 - Just because you go to US News and World Report's #1 music school doesn't mean that everyone you meet really wants to devote his entire life to dead Europeans' music the way you do.

Year 1 - I'm as handy in a physics course as I am on a basketball court.

Years 2 & 4 - Not doing the reading for a class that's conducted in a language other than your mother tongue is a marvelous way to look like an idiot.

Year 4 - Despite my attempts to prove everyone I know over 45 wrong, I find that hard work and tenacity really do work.


Perhaps the best and most concise ('cuz we know I'm all about concise) way to sum all of this up is to say that I've come to see that one's life is not to be predicted - we're just not blessed with enough foresight to know what will happen to us, and the idea of positive correlation (that one event leads inevitably to a predictable other) isn't worth planning one's life around. Remember when I said I was going to be concise?

Anyhow, I'm most proud of one thing: I came here excited about change, and I think I'll graduate feeling the same way. I've come to believe that a fear of change is the most crippling and detrimental barrier to one's development, and so I'm glad that after 22 years, I'm still welcoming to the unforeseen and the unexpected. Bring it on, bitches - I took Russian, sang a role in a modern opera, made excellent friends and kept them, and came to better understand how I function in a romantic relationship. I'll weather the storms of life with my lean-to of confidence. Oh, and it seems I've learned how to write vomit-worthy one-liners as well. Отлично!

Finishing up with Tchaikovsky's Piano Trio in a minor. It sounds like Schindler's List, only more infused with genius. That Tchaikovsky, man, what a hero he is for me. Took the gayest music imaginable and made it timeless.

О Чайковский, как мы ты любим!