Still here. Still studying Russian. Still a nurse. Still writing - sort of.

The Russian language motto: say what you know how to say, not say what you want to say. Memorize, repeat. As an amateur writer and professional feeler of feelings, and one who loves to indulge in the dramatics every now and then, the motto is painful. It makes me feel indignant and stupid. But, it is essential. Russian requires paying attention to all endings of words (especially adjectives and nouns) because they determine the structure of a sentence and its meaning. I could give examples, but after two glasses of wine, I can only say that remembering which ending goes where, becomes a difficult task especially when shooting the shit. Unless you are a case-ending nerd with no life, it's really hard to reproduce on the fly. 

Anyway.

My point is, I have been diligent, sticking to memorizing rules and set sentences to get me through the beautiful pit of Russian language. It really is a cool language to study and I am blown away by its sophistication. I want to be one of those people who can string together coherent, intricate words and I study like it's going out of fashion. Then I open my mouth and it feels like I never cracked open even one of the 25 text books I have amassed so far. The process is humbling and annoying and I am trying to enjoy it as much as possible.

I study and make tiny chips into the Russian granite, leaving no time for other diversions, such as writing blogs, stories, or anecdotes. I miss using my true voice. 

Rewind to December 2019: my friend Remy (and though he doesn't know it, mentor,) wrote me an email asking if I was planning to submit a story to Doek! his online literary magazine published in Namibia. It is his baby. Through Remy's insistence and overwhelming vision, he put together a first edition, and just TODAY, a second edition of stories written by a menagerie of personalities and talents mostly based out of Namibia. There's fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. When I lived in Windhoek, I was part of the first tranche of aspiring writers. We met a few times a month, usually over wine to share and critique pieces of ourselves like that of a cheese platter. 

I moved away, but my heart never did. God - I loved living in Namibia. The writing group was one reason why. In the group, I didn't write about travel much like I do here. Instead, I revisited rusty memories from my nursing career and I forced myself to reveal parts of my life I was horribly proud of, fabulously ashamed of, and a few other emotions in between. 

I was part of Remy's first publication of Doek! where I wrote about a tough nursing decision I had to make (read here, it involves Vicodin) and now the second publication about dealing with my own realization of what real nursing care meant to me (which you can read here, it involves a butt hole - not mine). 

Perhaps more interestingly than my typical notion for bald forthrightness and slapstick humor, are the stories my fellow writers have to share. Their stories and poems gave me the feels of loss and vulnerability, wonder, hope, and creepiness. I highly suggest reading them. The photography of course is bold- they are stories told by a couple of photographers that showcase corners of Namibia that you would never know or see as a tourist. They are... awesome and unique, for lack of better words. Check out Shawn's Dry Dock series here. It totally "gets" what Walvis Bay is all about.

I am so proud of the group and I am proud to be part of it. Please check out the stories and share. Also, Remy successfully wrote and published a book, The Eternal Audience of One, which is something I have never done. Buy it and read it. 

I will keep writing here and elsewhere. For now, I return to obsessing about a different kind of writing - the kind of writing I fantasize about to knowing its Russianic curves, deepness, and punch lines. But probably never will, because the language is so damn hard! Спассиба.

Light reading.