God I love it here. I love it so much.
I don’t know what happened today that made me realize how much I love it, but I am so incredibly happy. I was thinking about the stories I’ve made, the people I’ve met, the classes I’m taking. I’m just in love with everyone here.
I started thinking at some point of every persons experience. Each person has this epic written around them, and the infinite creation of stories is almost overwhelming. I catch myself tearing up just thinking about it. Every person has this intense joy and sadness. How many epiphanies has each person had? Im constantly falling head over heels in love with humanity. The joy we bring out, but even more the pain that we endure. I hate thinking about all of the stories Ill never hear and all of the incredible people I will never meet, but the idea of it is so humbling. I wish I could remember that Kobo Abe quote…something about feeling small next to the diet coke factory, but feeling large in sight of a glove covered with dew. Its something like the feeling of that. Its feeling small, but important. Altogether insignificant but incredibly necessary.
I think its mainly a few people who brought this out in me. One is an incredible boy I met a few weeks ago. He is…indescribable. Something you’d read in a Dickens novel. Hes Princess Cassimassima. Almost unreal and too big for the world. Seeing him makes you feel like the world is perfectly as it should be, and any trifle is insignificant. He moves constantly and is exactly the definition of bohemian. Everything he says is so slick and cool, but hes not unapproachable. Being with him for a night makes you feel singled out in the best way. Not better than anyone, but…whole. I met him about a month ago I was working at Brno 16. He was the couchsurfing host of my friend when she first got to Brno. I went pubcrawling with him and a French couple, and it was one of the best drinking nights. It felt like a whirlwind, by the end of the night…like a dream (of course, this was partly because I had been drinking). We were laughing, taking pictures, running around. The other girl we were with tried to steal a stool and was stopped by a bouncer as an almost-naked stripper walked past. The boys peed onto a castle. We blew bubbles in a medieval bar with an LED screen. We went to a geriatric pub where an old man played accordion over the music in the background. I left at 3am, barely knowing where I was in the middle of the city. It was incredible. Viktor (the boy) has people over at his house every day. Usually theyre couchsurfers, sometimes just friends. His major is Philosophy of Art, but when I asked him yesterday what classes he has he said he was learning languages, but on his own from books. He didnt believe in classes. His worst fear is to have a job, so he makes a living by buying and selling things…anything at all. Drugs, cars, furniture. Right now hes mostly selling paintings and cameras. He hold business meetings in the mornings which he usually misses, because hes still hungover from the night before. If he manipulates you, its not without your consent, and you cant help but love him for it. Hes a mess. He eats anything in front of him, will drink anything but prefers beer, his clothes are always wrinkled, and he never brushes his hair. If theres anyone that has the light of the world in them, its him. His smile can make your heart drop. I asked him to sleep with me, and he told me he couldn’t because he was in love, then talked to me the next day about couchsurfing with the airiness Ive never seen in anyone, and I loved him even more for it. The fact that hes so young is almost unbelievable, so he usually lies and says hes older. Hes out of a fairy tale. How could someone ever measure up to someone like that?
Then my professors…its so hard to characterize. They all seem so fictional, and I keep being afraid that I’ll wake up. My Czech language professor is so sweet and tries so hard. She dresses like what you would expect a French teacher to wear, with a scarf tied tightly around her neck and neatly buttoned sweaters. Shes modest and laughs to herself. Her little confusions are charming, and she has an impulse to be constantly reassuring. Her whole personality is endearing. My Children’s Lit prof is entirely the opposite. Shes awkward, impatient, and not dominant enough to take control of the adult students who are all too pregnant and hormonal to care much for her. She loves me because Im from America, which she is obsessed with. My Ethics professor is young and sweet. Strong, tall, incredibly intelligent, and very much a philosophy student. The back of his neck is unshaved, and for some reason that is the most out-standing physical thing about him. He speaks English almost better than me, but his accent is wonderful. He is finishing his Doctorate with two daughters back home. He is either divorced or widowed, and it shows very clearly. He talks to me about philosophy, my studies, and Los Angeles. I have an enormous crush on him. My Czech Drama professor, too, has something incredibly attractive about him, but hes the opposite of my Ethics prof. Hes short, round, slightly balding, and has the glasses and the smile that make him unmistakably in the field of theater. We never have class, because he always forgets that we’re supposed to have one and never plans for it. His voice is like a whisper, but stronger. Just…gentle I guess. He uses too much tongue in his speech, but somehow its incredibly attractive in that you want to listen to him speak for hours. My Czech film prof is rumored to be legendary, but he doesn’t speak English well so he rarely does much for the class except for a brief introduction to the film. My Anarchy Lit prof is fighting to be my favorite. The class is useless if I want to learn something concrete, but the professor is way too ambitious, meaning we have to read a absurd amount of literature in almost no time. Oliver Twist in two weeks along with the Rape of Lucrece and five other long poems is normal. Yesterday I read 350 pages to try to finish our assigned reading, but was unfortunately unsuccessful. Its hard, but I love being forced to read. The class itself is useless. We talk amongst ourselves while he goes for a smoke break, then when he comes back in we tell him what we were talking about. Each small group takes their turn, and he replies with a 20 minute rant which usually ends in his hatred for America or Margaret Thatcher being a Nazi. Today his furthest point was a rant about Mel Gibson and his films—specifically the American need for gore. He’s a British man who hates America, and has finally started pointing directly at me (in a class of 20something Czech masters students) when he talks about America’s ills. As a person, I think he likes me because I have original ideas and can hold my own in an academic conversation, but as a concept he despises me. Any American is ignorant. As he said “America claims to be a civilized country, but with a state like Texas I don’t understand how anyone can believe that’s true.” Hes a genius and an asshole, and I cant help but love him too.
The newest influence is a boy named Tom. I met him on Halloween (he was a Scotsman--dressed like himelf, but with an accent), we flirted over Facebook for a few days, then he saw me off the night I left from London. He and his friend took me out to a few pubs, and he kissed me whenever his friend looked away. He took me to my hostel to pick up my things, then took me to the bus stop and kissed me in the rain until he had to leave an hour later. I didn’t realize how cold and wet my things and I were until I got out of the rain. Tom is a heavy metal bassist son of an English teacher who is a chemist during the day and a poet between times. He thinks museums are for elitist twats, but agrees that they are good in the long run. He tells the most fucked up jokes Ive ever heard. We talk about music all the time, and told each other our favorite poets. We related slam poets and I introduced him to Shel Silverstein. He likes me, but I like him more. I think we both know things would happen if I ever saw him again, but I wont. He told me bluntly that he took a girl out last night, and it ended well. I told him bluntly that I was jealous I wasn’t her. Also, he looks like the spawn on Abraham Lincoln and a leprechaun.
Then miscellaneous people. A homeless man in England who was maybe the nicest person I met who asked if I had change. He made a huge influence on me, and I wish I had given him some, but I barely had any myself and was, at the time, looking for a place to sleep on the street. Then the man who worked the night shift at a booked hotel, who called all around London to make sure I had a place to stay for the night. He spelled my name right without asking how, and called me his friend when he booked the hostel for me. Another guy, the friend of the man who physically wrestled me to get me to stay in the bar on Halloween in order to get me to sleep with his friend, was really sweet. He was modest and embarrassed for his drunk friend. He was sincerely apologetic. I would have talked to him if I didn’t have to fight off his friend. Peter, my newly unemployed librarian, who fought off this guy for me, had me for the night but was too in love with his best friend to stay. A performance artist who lived in England but was going back to her home in Spain for a few months talked to me about art, education, and museums at the bus stop after Tom had left. I was too happy to keep to myself. She seemed a little elite, but was wonderful when we got into a real conversation (the first hardcore art convo Ive had for months). I wish I got her name. The Italian man I couchsurfed with who has been to every country in Europe and told me where the best places were to surf. Then a Roma woman who I pushed out of the way while she was reaching into my friend’s bag. They all kinda stuck with me.
I think what Ive fallen in love with so much here is the passion in which people throw themselves. Theres a man who hands out papers from a bookstore that I pass every day, and I would recognize him anywhere. Maybe its not the passion, but that each person is so individual. Maybe Im just realizing it. Its like…finally theres an original character. Ive seen so many Juliettes…so many stereotypes and repetition. In reality though—that’s where the best story is. Imagination couldn’t possibly create this. No artist is omniscient enough to be able to conjure up something like this. Theres so much depth to it.
Im exhausted. Every day is tiring, and I have so much to plan. Next weekend is Prague, then Vienna during the week, Berlin over the weekend…after that, who knows. It looks like Ill spend Christmas in Prague, Florence or Venice before that, and Dublin or Amsterdam for New Years. I have to figure out my internship for summer, but at least I have a job. Tomorrow I have Czech Language, which is good but torturous. I wish I could learn better, faster though…without having to suffer through it. Im thinking of maybe moving here in five or six years for a while.