Slovenia reloaded

Oh yes, did I ever mention in my previous posts that I was coming back to Slovenia for an exam? Yes, I did it, and here's the final result:

-  money spent- 100 euro +

-  exam grade- 9/10

-  time s pent in transportation- 17 hours/40

-  fatigue and getting sick on the night train back- priceless

-  extras- a professor trying to hit on me after he examined me for 40 minutes- totally free.

Well, here goes the story. After we left our Ljubljana apartment in the beginning of the month, we were left with one more exam to do on the 25th, which meant that we had to come back to Ljubljana on the 25th, have the exam, do some bureacratical stuff that we didn't manage to do in January and leave the same day/night. Well, simply put, it was terrible. We arrived in the middle of the night after having changed three trains, ran for the hostel (which actually was a nice surprise, as it was clean and warm and cozy), went to sleep, woke up, studied, ran to the faculty, ran to the institute where the exam was going to be, got examined for 40 minutes (Svetlana's exam was even longer- more than an hour, I almost fell asleep on a chair waiting for her), went for a drink with the professor, ran to the train station to get tickets, ran to the old apartment to pick up some books, then to the supermarket to buy Vegeta that does not exist in Italy, ran to the hostel to pick our luggage, ran to Natasa's place that's on the opposite side of the city, spent the evening there (still somehow I never managed to get rid of the feeling that I was homeless), took a taxi to the train station, froze waiting for the train and instead of defrosting in the train, got even colder. 

So far for the boring details. Now something more spicy. In fact, I am kind of disgusted. On my last exam a middle-aged professor, which I always had respect for, as he appeared quite professional, tried in a horrible way to hit on me. I am not of course, playing the virgin, I didn't get horrified, or insulted, or mortified, I just thought it was quite disgusting of him to do it so obviously. The first thing was that before he started examining me by accident he revealed some skteches of naked women that he had done on the back of a sheet of paper with a pencil. Well, I thought it a mere coincidence, in fact there's nothing wrong with drawing, right? However, later the details just started fitting in like parts of a jigsaw when he invited me and Ceca for a "freshly-squeezed juice" (the meaning of this phrase will never be the same afterwards) and started explaining about some beach, in which one might feel romantic also at daytime (exactly how?!) and luckily, does not even need a swimsuit. Then he also mentioned that his hobby was photography and that if we were interested he would show us the studio he works in (what? I thought he was very busy teaching on every continent of the world...). Well, isn't a professor supposed to be taking students to libraries and conferences and not to some darkened rooms...Then, to make matters even worse, I mentioned that I did not feel myself very photogenic and he offered to shoot me in his studio to prove me wrong. Adding this proposal to the fact that he was staring at Ceca's breasts made the whole thing a little more than we could digest.

 In any event, the whole story is funny. It is also sad though. I didn't want to say it before, but I think that the best academics to me are very lonely people. They are great brains, great public speakers, very informed, bright and composed, but they virtually cannot exist in the normal world, because they do not know how to fit in. In the classroom they are great. On paper too. But outside, on a glass of freshly-squeezed juice they simply do not know how to joke. And this is something I cannot contain, really. Or maybe I am mistaken. But I will stand up to what I said until I find someone to prove me wrong.

So yes, these are the thoughts I have this morning, after having 12 hours of sleep, two paracetamols, and a cup of herb tea. The rest is joy that this time I can really say I closed the Slovenian chapter. Right until I reopen it to start writing my thesis. But that could wait, and luckily, it will not bring any financial damage to my poor student account.

On Sacrifice..Kinda

If life abroad has ever taught me something, then this must be the art of making sacrifices. I regret to say it, but these are mostly financial. Sacrifice to me is something that one wants strongly, but you should give up eventually. Like the pair of shoes that you see in the shop and that you just drop as a hot piece of iron as soon as you see the price tag. Like a tempting piece of cake when you just went on a fruit and vegetable diet. Like when your child daughter asks you for a Matel's Barbie doll and all you can get her is a Chinese imitation. Like counting to 10 when someone makes you lose your temper instead of blowing it right away in his/her arrogant face.

Take an example. Since February last year, when all my friends but me went to see Venice's carnival, I was determined not to miss it the following year. In fact also this morning I woke up with the idea that I would be finally going there or tomorrow, or Saturday the latest. But when I was hit with a hard dose of reality upon checking my bank account and thinking of the extra money I need to spend next week because I should go to Ljubljana again to take my last exam, not sleep for two consecutive nights, needing to face a demanding professor who by the way is an old bachelor with a special interest in girls' boobs, combined with the fact that I am feeling already quite guilty that I spent all those money on clothes and accessories during the winter sales, I guess I will just skip it again  until next year. 

Until better times come. After I finish with the exams. After I find a job. After I become financially independent from my parents (and I am sooo grateful I always have them behind my back, really). After I find that job, despite the crisis. After seeing that most of the people I know are already settled and having cocktails after work, which I would only be able to pay for with the debit card my parents charge everytime I go back to Italy. After I start to get the results and their financial depiction of the hugeee investment of money, labour, nerves, etc. in the fund called "Lily's education". 

Well, I guess these are too many after's. The future might seem quite well planned and organized (and yes, I know that nothing ever occurs as planned). I wonder what's now though. Cause I feel I am feeling I am slowly marching at the same spot. Travelling without moving- this was the refrain of an old trance song by the Astral Projection. I guess that should do it for now.

Still sacrifice is good, isn't it? It makes you patient. It allows you to enjoy and be content with what you have. In the end, who needs all that crowd in Venice, and I am sure on Saturday it will be just hellish!

p.s. Oh yes, and I know what's tonight at least- a dinner to look forward to. Enjoy the small things in life! And this is not sarcastic!:))

Пиянството на един народ

Японският министър на финансите си подаде оставката, след като беше обвинен, че се е появил пиян на пресконференция на Г-7 миналата седмица. От 1974 Япония не е била в такава сериозна икономическа криза, това е факт. Че кризата е станала повод за не едно и две тежки напивания от мъка и безпомощност, е без съмнение. Дали пък министърът е бил пиян, или само замаян от неразумно количество лекарство против настинка, както обясни по-късно, не се знае със сигурност. Не ми се вярва, въпреки убедителните кадри, които вървят по интернет. Те всъщност не са даже и смешни. Обаче светът говори, и човекът си подава оставката. Каквато и да е била истината, станал е обект на присмех и на подмятания, че има проблем с алкохола, става, извинява се и си отива.  

Нека сега си представим същата ситуация, но в България. Георги Първанов изпива една бутилка домашна ракия от родното си село и отива в Русия. Да говори за стария дълг на СССР към страната ни и да иска старите архиви. Прави мили очи на братушката си Медведев. Завалва думите и говори неразбираемо...ами аз пък например никога не го разбирам какво иска да каже. Това значи ли, че е винаги пиян? И по- важното- значи ли, че ще си подаде оставката? И което е още по-важно- ние ли сме пияните, че избираме такива политици, които нямат нито срам, нито съвест, нито достойнство и не си подадоха оставката след нито една от всички изцепки?

Май вместо да пилеем грешни пари по чалга дискотеки и за лъскави дрешки, по-добре да направим една разходка до Азия. Но не за да домъкнем дотук контейнер с евтина китайска стока, която да изтъргуваме в някое забутано магазинче. А за да се опитаме да разберем какво точно представляват понятия като чест, срам, достойноство, чувство за отговорност и имат ли те почва у нас. 

Anger Management in Ljubljana

Well, I'm back from Ljubljana...actually I missed the whole part of writing my impressions from my stay there, but it's OK, in the end it was not anything special...actually it was disappointing, madre Italia makes me feel better about myself. The only things I actually did in the Slovenian capital could be described in a short paragraph. They were:

- get angry at my flatmates, who never cleaned and left all their garbage, hairs, WW I- oxygen masks, pizza boxes, Q-tips, etc. anyhwere...and I mean anywhere;

-get angry at the organization of the whole "mobility" thing, courtesy of the lovely MIREES and the University of Bologna, as well as of the even lovelier University of Ljubljana...if you wanna learn how not to organize student exhchanges and how not to treat foreign students who have no clue of what courses they are allowed to register, please contact the abovementioned univesities and they'll tell you all about it;

-get angry with the rain...and yes, in Ljubljana it does rain a lot, and the sun practically stopped shining in November and never came back until I left the city on February 1st...sometimes rain would be replaced by snow, which was cool, but it never lasted for a long time. But yes, at least unfriendly weather was an excuse for bad mood and total unwillingness to socialize;

-get angry with myself for not doing anything and not having any desire to change that. There's nothing more depressing than reading on the lower bed of a bunk bed in poor light..totally impossible...but watching Sex and the City instead is just great;

-get angry with my owner, who never showed the utility bills that we needed to pay, and instead always asked us to pay 40 euros with the excuse that he forgot the receipts at home. Obviously he had also forgotten that you don't enter in people's rooms without knocking, even though t's his apartment...in the end by paying the rent I am allowed to have some privacy, am I not?;

-get angry at people complaining about anything. Well, yes, life sucks and then you die. But I cannot stand when people complain. What's wrong? Since when did people become obsessed with trying to prove that they're doing bad in life, that they feel uninspired, sick, their teeth hurt, their sex life sucks, their partner does not appreciate them enough, that they ate too much because of PMS and now they feel like balloons, that they are cold, unsatisfied with what they're doing, worried...and most of all- money is not enough? Well, if the whole complaining-thing is some kind of a contagious disease, I just hope not to get it...or is it too late yet?

Well, that's about it. That was my life sequence for the last four months of my life. In the end anger became so overwhelming that I even had difficulties breathing. Or maybe this was not anger's fault, or my own helplessness. In the end, what did I do to change the situation? Nothing, just escaped to Italy a few times. To spend time with my beloved ones. I am grateful for that though.

There were some good exceptions, of course. Sometimes Ljubljana did not seem so bad. But this was always through the prism of a Joe Pena's margerita. And I am thankful for that.