Category Archives: Everyday Stuff
Once Upon Another Time – Alexandre Baev (CineDoc Tbilisi)
Fingertip Tootbrush, Market Bitch, Give Me 20 Lari
Alexandre Baev’s documentary, Once Upon Another Time, was one of the films featured at the 1st International Documentary Film Festival in Georgia. I wanted to get an authentic feel for the city and this film provided a depressingly realistic view to the dark culture of another Tbilisi.
The film begins with the faces of the people set against a backdrop of colorful poverty and stark realism. After a quick meal, a woman is witnessed intensely cleaning her teeth with her fingers. Should it be expected that women who live in such conditions should not want to be hygenic? Was she only doing this because she was being filmed? Stray felines. Layered wooden walls. Nature nursery. Whenever I see a multitude of cats, my eyes immediately travel to their respective corners to scan the environment for those pesky little sneaks otherwise known as mice. Though none were seen in the neighborhood of Another Time, my eyes did fall upon the basic living conditions of the people. Makeshift homes, old appliances and crowded living arrangements were in abundance as were the felines. The children, of which there were also a fair amount, entertained themselves with sticks and the adventures of the world outdoors. On the rainy days, the children squatted in the doorways of their homes with eyes pleading the rain to take a vacation. When nature failed to live up to her expectation of childcare provider, the children played with one another.
Attacked by education, little boy fights back – finally. 2 little girls and a little boy are playing together outside and the little girls decide to amuse themselves by hitting the little boy over the head with a book. He takes it, he takes it, wait, he’s had enough and hits the little girls back. As a mother and teacher, I wanted to jump through the screen and tell them to READ instead of hit, but I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there and observe and wander if they actually knew how to read and if anyone had ever read to them. That question was soon answered.
Market Bitches don’t need an education. Minutes after the beating by book (gotta say that it looked the weight of a coloring book) a woman and girl are filmed sitting on a chair in the middle of the neighborhood reading. #Oneofthemostpoignantscenesofthefilm? Probably. My reactionary depression decreased a bit at this point as I saw small bullet holes of hope beaming through this seemingly hopeless situation. Yet, dark reality reared it’s ugly head and the cameo appearance of the “market bitch” was soon to be seen. Camera pans to little girl washes clothes in a basin, camera pans out to a man standing there watching her wash these now water-weighted clothes, man does nothing to help, girl is seen carrying a nearly 5 liter bottle of water to rinse the clothes, she struggles with the heavy bottle, man labels her a market bitch, presumably due to her incompetence. Really? Really. Reality? Reality.
So, then, who asks for the 20 Lari? Who needs it? I’ll let you guess. Is it the woman who sells fabric from her home to the community? Is it the little children who want to buy sweets? Or, is it the man who wants to go back to his village and needs the 20 Lari for transportation costs? If I told you that someone exclaimed, “She is not normal!” could you then figure out who asks for the 20 Lari (which is roughly 12 US dollars)?
“A man should not take money from his wife.” Soooooooo? Yes, it was the man who asked for the 20 Lari. Though he had no job, no money and seemed to not be concerned with finding employment or a source of income other than his wife, the woman was referred to as not normal because she was so adamant about not giving money to her husband. That’s it. That’s the culture. That’s the reality. Now, I know it. Not so sure if I really wanna know now. It’s too dark, really dark, really sad, really depressing. Once Upon Another Time, I didn’t know.
Going Toe to Toe with That Green-Eyed Monster
THE Unimpressive Standout
Getting academic – preparing my daughters’ homeschooling assignment in a Georgian hostel.
Here goes – “Having the power to excite attention, awe, or admiration” (Merriam-Webster said it, so it’s true).
Sitting in this hostel a few days ago, I had the pleasure of hearing the following: not impressive, just standout. Now, considering my eternal sense of paranoia and anxiety, the male who uttered those words could have been referencing a number of things. I, of course, took it personal as I was the only other person in the room at the time and they were looking in my direction. Tammi, the Hulk, wanted to tell these ignorant bastards where they could shove their blatantly inflammatory comment but then Logical Tammi stepped in. What if I took their words to heart and absorbed the true essence of An Unimpressive Standout.
Standout – to be prominent or conspicuous; to steer away from shore (Y’all know who said it)
An Unimpressive Standout – a prominent loner which does not evoke awe or admiration. This individuals claim to fame is that they steer away from shore taking the roads less travelled (hey, it’s my blog and I’ll translate how I wanna).
OMG, that’s SO me…I can dig it. Can you? This is how I translate this…
I am travelling with my 10-year-old daughter throughout Europe and Asia and have been for nearly 4 years. My daughter is fluently bi-lingual and becoming multi-lingual as you read this, as am I. She is able to interact with her peers and well as those in other age and social brackets.
I survived an abusive childhood, was a 17-year-old runaway, graduated high-school on time, with honours, was homeless, became a single mother, became university-educated, worked at a prestigous university, left all that to give my daughter a global education, have taught in 2 countries so far, ran an English summer camp, and am now in Georgia (the country, not the state) on my way to an even broader cultural intelligence. If that’s not impressive then that must make my life commonplace.
And, if my life is commonplace, if any individual can come from something to nothing to become an amazing rarity, if THAT is not impressive, if THAT is commonplace, normal even, then I welcome this reality with open arms. You know why?
If any and everyone can live this life, then the future can be nothing but great. If you can have individuals all across the globe not only surviving but succeeding, if the reason we standout is because we just put a novel spin on an ancient phenomenon, then I’ll take the title of an unimpressive standout and I’ll run with it.
I’ll be THE Unimpressive Standout – for now.
(I look forward to meeting other Unimpressive Standouts along my journey).
Ciao 4 Now, Y’All 🙂
Same ol’ ———- A-GAIN!
Yes, sooooooo, today was one of those days, A-GAIN! Out n’ about in Kiev with my brown skin and scaring children and adults along the way. YUP! Well, that’s what the reality would be if I actually believed all the blatant and ignorant comments I heard today. A little girl pushed me in the clothing store today. When I went to the cosmetics store, they said I was scary, then on the way up the escalator with my friends, a strange man called one of us a prostitute. Why? Who cares? ‘Cause as long as I’m brown, as long as anyone doesn’t fit the norm, their definition of normal and beautiful, then that person should be expected to be made fun of and ridiculed constantly. Welcome to the new world order. Happy times all around. NOT!
The real work starts AFTER the revolution
Next Emotion – Honest Strength
Sometimes, the wars we fight are within ourselves, against ourselves
So, we’re back from London and I couldn’t be more stressed. Why? Because tomorrow we’re off, again. I couldn’t be happier. In London, there was so much diversity, so much so that I felt comfortable just being myself. I felt so free, so welcomed, so un-judged. We went to Buckingham Palace, Canterbury, Folkestone, all around, it was so nice. But, then, of course, you can’t have all that loveliness without someone or thing taking the piss.
Oftentimes, people ask me why I travel. I answer them. They shrug, feign interest or show their surprise and then the conversation is over…well, between the two of us it is. If it isn’t the look they give me, it’s the actual questions (not asked to me directly, of course): How is SHE able to travel? What does she DO?
What’s amazing to me is that women/girls of European descent/background travel all the time. In fact, such experiences are encouraged. So, then, why is it so unusual that my daughter and I choose to do the same?
Honestly, I hear the sly comments about how the only way I could afford to travel is throgh illegal and/or sexual means. Yup, I’m SO tired of beating around the bush. No, I am not a prostitute. No, I am not a criminal. Yes, I travel and will continue to do so. Will THEY continue to whisper and conjure up lies of fantasy and criminal behavior about my life? Yes, of course. Because a single mother of color who travels could ONLY be a prostitute or criminal. Or could she?
The Man Upstairs is Perfect
So, I’m up this morning, thinking, I’m just not a “do what someone says” type of chick, for the most part. Then, I think over my life and all the times that I have just done what someone has said, without question. All of those times involved some type of love – love for the person who brought me into this world, crazy love for someone I had come to love or soulmate love, which I haven’t come across that often. The last kind of love is Love that, with the very thought of it, brings tears to my eyes – The love for The Man Upstairs. My life has been more like a devil’s rollercoaster and less like heaven on earth. But, somehow, someway, The Man Upstairs has found His way in and He has shown me that love is actually not blind like most believe, it sees everything, He sees everything. And, so, I can trust Him and do what He says, just because, well, actually because He sees and knows everything – and that gives me peace in this rollercoaster I call life.
Okay, so like a baby, I refuse to eat my vegetables sometimes (don’t judge me) 🙂 …but He knows that when it rains, for some reason, I turn into a vitamin leech and want to eat every vegetable in sight. Well, it doesn’t rain that much during the summer months but for some strange reason, it’s been raining a lot here, in Hungary. And, guess what I’ve been doing? Yup, eating servings of delicious, fresh vegetables on a daily. He knows me. Now, that I’ve been using so many vegetables in my meals, I can go weeks without meat, if I want, SERIOUSLY! Fresh vegetables, great for the body, easy on the wallet, and super delicious. I said all that to say that, in His own way, The Man Upstairs speaks to me, we communicate and I trust Him. He sends the rain, I listen, I get what I need, I’m better because of it. For me, that’s huge because I rarely trust wholeheartedly. But, the “messages” He sends me are quiet and subtle and so I have to really be tuned in to hear them, that too, gives me peace. So, I can be a “do what someone says” type of chick without losing my rebel status, ’cause that important, don’t cha know!
#The Man Upstairs is perfect.
Daily LIfe as an Expat – Stuff
Daily LIfe as an Expat – Stuff
Need to catch a train in Hungary?
At the train station in Hungary but can’t understand the word “KÉSIK”?
Homesick in Hungary and just want to see a KFC, BK, or MIckey D’s?
In the grocery store trying to buy oranges but don’t know how?
STAY TUNED……….
I Give Up, I’m Done
See, this is the thing about trying to do good in a world full of bad – it pushes you to your limits, tests you. When I was younger, I was always labeled an idealist, a dreamer. After leaving home at 17, surviving abuse, homelessness, and coping with single motherhood, I thought life had beaten all the idealism outta me – I was wrong. Those same ideals, those same dreams are still there. But, in this world, at this time, in this place, I’m defeated – and the idealist in me realizes this.
The dreamer in me wants to keep going, wants to regroup, wants to keep hoping. But, at this point, I’m so beaten down, so mentally and physically drained, that I have to give up to keep going.
Who cares, right? Noone really. And, that’s the God’s honest truth. THIS is MY dream and I’m the only one who truly gives a damn about it. Loner, rebel, dreamer, those are my paths in life. Whatever. No, not whatever. Why? I don’t know. I do know that I’ll never be understood and rarely respected but that somehow and someway, I have to be okay with that, I have to accept that or I’ll forever be in a fight – with life, with people, with myself, with The Man Upstairs.
Yesterday, hope was dangled in front of my face like a glimpse of a mirror reflecting the sun’s brightness. That hope was quickly stolen when I was advised that my safety may be in jeopardy due to those who have a deep-seeded hate for those of a darker persuasion. I was shocked to hear those words and even more shocked to be confronted with such fear by someone I had began to trust. But, dem be da breaks, y’all.
So, I’ll do what I do, except this time, I’ll go at it with a lot less trust and idealism, much more caution, and with the knowledge that hate and hope will be my constant companions.
Life Travels With Timbo 