reddates

my friend is a kind, intelligent, even thoughtful person, but if i have something really close to my heart to express, i can count on her not understanding it.
not in the sense that she "doesn't understand my pain" or anything -- there's hardly any pain for me to have when the whole range of emotion and experience are so joyful and wonderful, because one level below the feeling, it's just grand that i get to have feelings and experiences, and all the time -- anyway, if i have something i'd love to convey to her, it's probably a very happy thing. and she'll respond appropriately enough, "thats so sweet!" or "that's very nice" or "i really love that" but it's always truuuly a nonsequitur response.
i'm not sure how to explain it in a way that makes sense -- and maybe that's the problem, that my words, or words in general, can't carry what i mean to share, but it seems like she and i especially are separated by an insurmountable barrier to this kind of communication.
but she's who i would call my best friend, if i had to assign such a title, so it's my instinct to run to her with good news.
younger me would say, better to keep it to yourself then, so it isn't tainted by someone's ignorance, even someone's well-intentioned platitudes. younger me was a piece of work.
present-day me is more inclined to say better to share no matter what, and joy is an ultimately renewable resource. you still know what the thing is to you, even if other people don't quite see it; you still know you even if other people don't quite see. buuuut present-day me is still built on a foundation of infinite younger-mes, so i can never decide. better to be alone or lonely? is there such a thing as the former without the latter?

it has something in common with being synesthetic -- i've long realized i am utterly useless at conveying the colours of things with any accuracy at all, so i've long given up trying (with the exception of the very simple ones like the number 4 -- lilac-coloured and the texture of a loose shag carpet. but how could i ever describe the colour of sunday? like some otherworldly taffeta or satin? at some point my vocabulary runs out). but that feels different, and easier somehow. maybe because i know it's unusual to be synesthetic, and other synesthetes see different colours than i do. but i know joy and love are not unique to me!!
i can't tell if it's lonelier not to tell or to tell and not be understood. or i guess that's an unfair representation. the real choice is between not telling and therefore not being understood, or telling and still not being understood. all roads lead to not being understood. but im usually so ok with that!! it's such a middle-school affliction, it seems to me, the "no one understands me". why should anyone need to?

scratch all that, maybe -- i think the real bit that irks me is that she thinks she's understood. even though she has no reason to think she hasn't understood. i wouldnt tell her that, what would be the point in that???
sometimes i want to marry a good fellow who understands nothing about me at all but knows it, and doesn't mind it. and we understand each other's most basic needs and inclinations, and we tell each other about the things we see and read, and neither one of us needs to try to know anything deeper than what we say to each other, and we love each other very much. he likes to read the gardening column and drinks his coffee black. i study my languages and take two creams unless its real good coffee. we could say things like [i can't know why you're upset about this today but] i can bring you something good to drink and you can cry into my shoulder, if you want. and we could say i love you and you are skipping with joy today so i am too.

what a silly ramble this is!!!!

what i wanted to tell my friend is that today i saw an email a former and very favourite teacher of mine sent me nearly a month ago, on my birthday, and she wrote it in our native Russian and she called me дорогой. and she remembered my birthday! i don't know hers.

when i told my friend, she said "well, facebook tells her your birthday, but still." i told her no, she's not on my facebook, and my birthday is private there anyway.

in english that word means "dear" but with a different sort of connotation, although i guess you would use it in all the same relationships. it also means "expensive", a role for which "dear" is somewhat antiquated, and i guess дорогой feels more like "treasured one", "important one to me". count on me any day to analyze some poor word into the ground.

my friend speaks only english. maybe it's just hard to convey to a monolingual what it is to write someone in a native language you share, instead of the english you both most frequently speak, and to receive that message.

when this teacher first had me in one of her classes im quite certain we couldn't stand each other. it was in the online school era and i was definitely an awful student to have to deal with -- i don't think i was rude per se but lockdown was pretty rough for me, and im sure it was always obvious i didn't want to be in class. i wouldn't hand in any assignments for months at a time, my camera was invariably off, the works.
in hindsight, im sure i only convinced myself that she couldn't stand me. in all probability she was doing her utmost to engage me. at the time that was probably an impossibility, considering where i was at. but still i was sure when i started in-person class with her she would loathe me, mark my work unfairly, find any excuse to fail me, etc. and as it turns out she is a spectacular teacher, marvellous person, and i want to be her when i grow up (to her age). and she really never did hate me but i think she did end up liking me, as a student.

far, far too long a ramble! but sometimes you have to say things out the whole way and that's the only way to stop thinking about them. once you've said something it doesn't really matter anymore.