On Solitude: ти си моят влек
Puff, puff.
The slopes are empty. I felt like doing something that I haven’t done in a long while and the good thing about having a cigarette between your fingers is that people leave you alone. I asked my 24-year-old instructor for a cigarette. I don’t remember when was the last time I smoked. Our gear guy was carrying the boards inside when he stopped and said something to me while I was puffing outside his hut. I could only recognize a few words: beer, cigarette and a question about music. I replied yes I want. He smiled and walked into the gear hut and turned the music on. He always speaks to me in Bulgarian as if I can fully understand him but I don’t. Sometimes you cannot ask for more, a mountain view and someone who would turn the music on just for you. That was the closest I could get to a party after sipping my Stella Beer.
Sometimes I crave solitude.
A five-year-old boy was saying не мога while lining up for the button lift. His ski instructor was standing behind him instructing or, I guess, encouraging him. The boy repeated не мога several more times but successfully grabbed the button lift and slid away from my sight. Не мога means I can’t, one of the few phrases I can recognize in daily conversations. I don’t have anyone to whine or to encourage me. So I positioned myself and quickly pulled the lift and put it between my legs (even though I like to say “put it between my vagina”), hoping I could slide away smoothly without falling the shit out of myself. My Bulgarian language learning has reached the point where if it’s a relationship you have to decide if you’re going to marry this person or break up with them. It seems like everything has this threshold where you either get through it or quit. It always took me a few seconds to answer the question “how did you end up in Bulgaria” as the answer changes every time when I try to respond.
Not sure about other snowboard beginners but I struggled with button lift for two days. The thing about button lift for beginners is that it’s like Russian roulette: once you get on with it, you don’t know when and where you’re getting off. It could either be all the way up to the place where you want to be or you lost it after three seconds and ended up questioning your life in the snow. How exciting. A Russain roulette but you don’t blow your head. I fell out of the lift for the I-lost-count-how-many time and decided to try again. One of the ski instructors who I’ve never spoken with came to me and said “come here.” He stood behind me and positioned his ski boards around my board. I could tell he doesn’t speak much English but sometimes body language is more than enough. We got on the button lift together. He held me in his arms, the secured kind of hold. For a moment I wished everything in my life can be this way: still figuring out how to deal with it but I was held in someone’s arms. Because when you struggle, you don’t want to struggle alone. He got me to where I wanted to be and carried on with the lift. I shouted thank you and he said for nothing. There’s something precious about the moments before you acquire a certain skill. Because once you’ve learned it, you cannot unlearn it. Just like riding a bicycle, getting on a button lift or knowing your heart is breaking into pieces. How did I end up here? I don’t know. But isn’t it a bit boring if you always know where will you end up?
I positioned myself and quickly pulled the words but sometimes I need the fall.
It was never difficult for me to commit once I’ve decided. It was never difficult for me to quit once I’ve decided. It seems to me that making choices was never difficult because no one seems to care. Everyone thinks you know what you’re doing. Does it really matter what choices I’m making when I’m so far away from everyone I know? Does it really matter when everyone has been telling you “you’re responsible for your own actions?” My instructor joked that he sounds like a broken radio repeating the same instructions over and over again. In fact, he has said it only 5 times yet I’ve been repeating doing the same things since I can remember. I’ve been getting on and falling off from that lift since I’ve decided to do something for myself, regardless of how bad or good I’m doing, regardless of what others are saying. It was lonely. It was lonely that sometimes I wish someone was holding me when it was lonely. Yet life doesn’t become less lonely if you quit or don’t quit.
Like that cherry-flavoured tobacco or the person on the other side of the phone who made you cry. We all need that fall. That turbulence in life. That to quit or not to quit. I kept thinking what’s the difficult thing here. We all know how to be diligent citizen or a fucking mess. In the end, we still live. We still drag our little body around and live in this world. Maybe it’s the solitude behind every choice that makes everything seems a little bit more difficult.
Before the slopes were empty, I finally got the hang of the button lift. Just the hang of it. I put the tar-stained cigarette butt in an ashtray and walked back into the hut. I thought about the fall, the language, how did I end up here. I thought about the day I decided to quit tobacco, all the commitments and the quits and I wish I could keep not knowing where will I end up. Maybe it’s all part of the moments. The moments before you acquire a certain skill. The moments before you know how to live your life. The moments when someone would still stand behind you and put you in their arms.
