Fondue and Friendly Faces

Here I sit, watching the time tick by as I await the hour of departure, like a condemned man I feel both short of time and like the world has slowed its rotation. Things are good here, it has gotten a little cold and a thin blanket of slow gives the trees a soft and friendly disposition, but at the same time I dream of seeing the sun shine over the rolling Kentucky hills, being received with a friendly smile and thank you after patronizing a store, simple organization, and being shown that ever taken for granted American respect for one another's space. America was founded on space you know. Moscow, Russia is definitely a fun place, but I rarely feel welcomed around the city, the exceptions being when I visit a friend's. Last night was such an occasion. Karsten, his girlfriend, Q-Murder, Juliet, and I were invited to Irina and Evelyn's for a fondue party and found it to be most enjoyable and hospitable. I myself had never been to a fondue party, but found it a lot of fun; it was fromage (cheese), chocolate, and an abundance of wine; of course I was going to like it. Now the hangover from said wine lasted well past noon today, which was truly a blessing in disguise. For it was around 2 o'clock that I managed to drag myself to the 5th Circle to retrieve my passport/visa. And after a 45min wait in the hot, crowded, and stuffy hallway I got into the office to get my stuff, after which I hurried away never minding the 2 snobby, whored up skanks who entered after me, snaking the entire line who had been waiting-- it was not my job to deliver their return for such inconsiderate acts, that is Karma's job, but judging by the respect they gave to themselves, it was no surprise they showed such respect for everyone else, and I believe their turn will definitely come. But my wait ended up being for the good, for on the way home I happened, by pure chance to meet the other (previously only rumored about urban legends) Americans that are here on campus. I was just walking down the sidewalk and heard the sound of well spoken, real English, complete with terms like: "those motherfuckers can fuck theirselves with that shit." "Americans!" I thought excitedly. Turning around I saw the faces of two self-respecting African-Americans (there are many Africans on campus, but you could see the American in these guys' eyes) laughing and smiling as they walked. "Are you American?!" I asked. "Yeah! You?" they responded in equal surprise and excitement. They're from Boston; good Sox and Celtic fans, and had a friend with them from "the good part of Jersey." It was, and they agreed, great to speak freely with another Americans, aside from the d-bag tourists you find on Red Square or wherever. The one even said, "it's wild to just meet somebody and not have to speak slowly to assure their understanding."
Either way I feel that my mission to Russia is now complete and I can go home happy (I still have 19 days) since I met the fabled "other Americans." My French friends have begun their exodus for the Christmas holiday, Celine left this morning, a few others this afternoon, and Juliet will on Saturday. It is really sad to see them go, knowing that more than likely I will never see them again, yet they meant so much to me, and did so much for me over the past few months. But I guess life moves on, and if we still saw and talked to everyone we ever befriended our lives would be too busy and crowded to spend time with those we are truly lucky to be close with. Everybody plays a role in the scripts that are our lives, some have bit parts, some cameos, and some have their names in the opening titles; but either way we all have our roles and influence one another. Not to mention the great differences which keep us separated: with some it is true, measured distance; some it is the impossible to measure distance of death; and with others it is not physical distance at all, we can be just mere feet from one another, looking into one another's eyes, but by various motives we refuse to have anything more to do with one another, regardless of what we meant and did before. I believe that anyone can be strong with a good, strong friend by his/her side, but to march on alone after your friends and comrades are gone takes true strength and courage; and it is this courage that finds the next friend and the next scene of our lives. Sometimes we must be the one who falls out and goes our own way, and sometimes we must be the one from whom is departed, but either way we must be strong and never forget that which we were given by those of our past.