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if i look back, i am lost
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@eulerist
for the best experience I recommend reading from oldest to newest
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"Speak English, twat."
"...what?"
"You heard me. English."
"I was just saying hello. It's a hello. I asked if you were new."
"You did not say hello. You said zdravstvuyte. This is not English. This is Russian."
"Yes, I—I was being friendly. I thought—"
"You thought what. This is not Moscow. We are not in Moscow. We are in Canada. Use the language of the country we are in."
"Okay. Fine. Hello. Are you new."
"Yes."
"...Are you going to tell me your name."
"No."
"...Right. Okay. Great first meeting. Really warm. I can tell we're going to get along."
"We are not going to get along. We are going to share ice time. That is maximum."
"So what, you just— what's your problem? I said hello. In a language I thought you'd understand. That's it."
"My problem is not your problem. Speak English. That is all."
"You're going to be like this the whole time?"
"Like what."
"Like a— never mind."
"Like a what."
"I said never mind."
"You were going to say something rude. Say it."
"I was going to say 'like a dick.' There. Said it."
"Mm. Honest. This is better. Yes. I am going to be like a dick. You are also going to be like a dick. We will both be dicks. Together. On this ice. In English."
"...Fine. Fine. Share ice time. Hello, No-Name. I'm Mikhail. I'm an ice dancer. What do you skate?"
"Singles."
"Oh. Cool. Cool. Me too. Well, not anymore. Ice dance. But I started in singles. So. We have that in common. Kind of."
"We have nothing in common."
"Okay, you don't know that. You don't know anything about me."
"I know you opened your mouth and Russian came out. That is enough."
"That's not—you're judging my entire personality on one word."
"Yes."
"One word. One greeting."
"Four seconds. The zdravstvuyte was one second. The rest was confirmation."
"Oh, fuck you."
"Fuck me? You are the one who walked onto my ice and addressed me like we are compatriots. We are not compatriots. We do not share a language. I am not your comrade. I do not trust you. If you want to speak to me, use English. I will not let you bring that language onto my ice."
"Your ice."
"Yes. My ice."
"This is a public rink. It's not your ice."
"It is my ice because I am standing on it. Alice assigned me this ice. You are the one who came over. You are the one who spoke Russian. You are the intruder."
"Intruder. Okay. Sure. I'm an intruder on public ice in a country I also moved to. That makes perfect sense."
"Good. You understand. Now go back to your side and do your twizzles. I will do my jumps. We will not speak."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"...For the record. My name is Mikhail Ignatik. I'm an ice dancer from Minsk. And I think you're a complete asshole."
"...Yuriy Kozlenko."
"What?"
"My name. Since you asked. Two times."
"Yuriy."
"Yes. Now go away."
"..."
"Six AM, Ignatik."
"...What?"
"The ice. It is yours at six AM. Since we are sharing."
"...Fine. Six AM."
"Good. Now go away."
Team Dinner
🍂 alice fournier:
Team dinner at Jun's apartment. Attendance mandatory. I sent an email. Yuriy replied "I do not eat dinner." I replied "You will eat dinner." He replied "This is coercion." I replied "This is team-building."
Mikhail brought wine. Expensive wine. He said it was a gift for Jun. Jun said "you're trying to bribe me to go easy on the pair spin." Mikhail said "is it working." Jun said "no but keep trying."
Jun made too much food. He always makes too much food. There is a dish on the table that looks like—I don't know how to describe it. Meat jelly. I said no one will eat that. I was wrong.
🌱 jchiddy:
Alice told me nobody would eat the pork jelly. She said "that's an acquired texture." She didn't eat any. She has no sense of adventure. She has a key to my apartment but not to my culture. It's fine. I'm fine.
Yuriy stood by the jelly the whole night. Didn't sit down. Just stood there with a plate. Eating. Not talking to anyone. He didn't even sit down. He just stood at the counter with a fork and worked his way through the dish like it was his job. I asked if he wanted to sit and he said "I am fine here." That was three hours ago. He's still standing there. I think he's eaten half the dish. I'm not going to stop him. This is the most validated I've ever felt as a cook.
Mikhail drank too much of his own wine and started explaining the difference between a tannin and a flavonoid to Alice. She listened for four minutes and then said "I don't care." He said "you should care. this is a 2015 bordeaux." She said "it tastes like wine." He looked like she'd stabbed him. He's now explaining terroir to my dog. Xiao Tangyuan is listening more attentively than Alice did.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
The jelly was good. I had four pieces. Maybe five. I did not count. Jun's dog counted. He is a good dog. Big. White. Quiet. He does not bark. He just watches. Like me. We understand each other.
Jun said the dog is called Da Pang Pang. This means "big fat fat." This is a good name. It is descriptive. Like Ryzhyk. Jun names things correctly. I respect this.
Alice said no one would eat the jelly. Alice is French. The French think they invented food but they are wrong. They invented sauces. Sauces are not food. Sauces are what you put on food to hide that the food is boring. Pork jelly does not need sauce. Pork jelly is honest. Alice does not understand honest food because she grew up on butter and condescension. She did not eat the jelly. This is her loss.
Misha brought wine that cost more than my grocery budget. He told Alice about tannins. Alice said "it tastes like wine." This was the correct response. Wine is wine. Tannins are not personality. Misha was upset but he deserved it.
🧸 m:
IT WAS A 2015 BORDEAUX. it retails for eighty-five dollars. it had a wine spectator rating of 93. "tastes like wine." i'm going to hear those words in my sleep for the next six months.
also yura stood in the corner with a samoyed eating meat jelly the whole time and didn't speak to anyone except the dog. jun said the dog's name is Da Pang Pang which means big fat fat. yura said this is a good name. of course he did. of course the man who named his cat "ginger" thinks "big fat fat" is peak nomenclature. they're the same person in different fonts. compact ukrainian font and chinese soundcloud rapper font.
also also jun's dog sheds. i'm still finding white fur on my coat. i don't know how it got inside my coat. i was standing across the room. the dog has range.
🌱 jchiddy:
Da Pang Pang has decided Yuriy is his new best friend. He followed him to the door when he left. Sat down. Whined. Yuriy looked at him and said "you are a good dog. You are big. You are fat. You are correct." That's the most I've heard him say to anyone who wasn't Mikhail or Alice. I think my dog is in love.
Mikhail looked genuinely wounded when Alice said the wine tasted like wine. I almost felt bad for him. Almost. He spent twenty minutes explaining tannins. I don't know what he expected. He's met her.
🍂 alice fournier:
It was fine. The wine tasted like wine. Yuriy ate pork jelly and looked almost happy for approximately four seconds. Mikhail talked about grape varietals until I wanted to throw myself into the St. Lawrence. Jun's dog likes Yuriy more than me. This is a successful team dinner. I am putting it in the training notes. "Team cohesion: adequate."
“You know Yura, I think I have found a good alternative than staying away completely from the juniors. You should do the sandwich method. Or a reverse version of it. When you look at the juniors, critique what they do wrong, may be a little harsh, but finish off with the positives that they did and what you liked in their formation or balance, etc. I think it might put you in a good relation with the juniors. I think they could trust your judgment regardless of what Alice the fisherwoman says.”
“Misha, the big M, back off that hockey junior, that’s my man.😂😂”
Sandwich method. I know this method. Alice uses this method also. But her sandwich is different. She puts critique between critique between critique. Three pieces of bread. All of them criticism. "Your arm position is wrong. Also your edge is flat. Also you are late." This is not sandwich. This is bread tower of suffering.
Also the juniors will recognize this structure. They are sticky but they are not stupid.
Also I am not allowed to talk to juniors.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
—
okay first of all, back OFF mathieu. i haven't even—there's nothing to back off from. i'm not ON anything. i'm standing at a very respectable distance appreciating his cool-toned roots from across the rink. that's a public observation. he was in public. i was in public. we were both in public.
second of all, the sandwich method is real and it works. but alice's version is a war crime. she does "good speed" then "your arm position is garbage, your timing is off, you switched your edge, your extension is a crime" then "but good speed." that's literally just speed bread with nothing in between. she just says "good speed" twice to meet the structural requirements. it's a loophole sandwich. a tax evasion sandwich.
— m 🧸
Hey, just curious, what’s your type? And how do you identify, if you don’t mind me asking?
I like women. This is not a secret. I have always liked women. Feminine women. Soft hair. Good laugh. Someone who will tell me when I am being stupid but not be cruel about it. Someone who understands that I am not good at words but I am good at actions. I will fix things. I will carry heavy objects. I will remember how she takes her coffee. This is how I show attention.
I liked a girl in Kyiv when I was seventeen. She had braids and she was very good at math. Nothing happened. I liked Oksana from the rink. She played Eurodance in the locker room and I still liked her. This is how you know it was serious. Nothing happened. There was a girl in Warsaw, at the shelter. She shared her blanket. Nothing happened. You see the pattern. Many women. Nothing happens.
My type in women is competent. Competent is very attractive. If she can fix a sink or do her own taxes or land a double axel, I am interested. If she is also funny, I am in trouble. If she is also kind, I am lost.
My type in men is not a type. It is a statistical anomaly. It is men who are too tall and too loud and too much and who do not leave when I tell them to. Men who bring me coffee without asking. Men who remember my appointments and write them on the calendar in my kitchen without telling me. Men who call me Yura like it is their right. This has happened twice. Both times I did not ask for it. Both times I did not stop it. I am not discussing this further.
I like women. I also do not like women exclusively. This is all I am saying. I do not know what this makes me. I do not like labels. Labels are for food products. "Best before." "Refrigerate after opening." I am not a yogurt. I am Yuriy. I like who I like. I will not be taking follow-up questions about the men.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
---
i've dated women. i've dated several women. they were all very nice and we had nice times and it was fine. it was always fine. i don't know why everyone keeps asking me this. i don't have a preference. i don't have a label. i don't think labels are productive. i think we should all just exist and not put names on things. names are for skating elements. a twizzle is a twizzle. a death spiral is a death spiral. i am not a death spiral.
i don't want to talk about this anymore.
— m 🧸
i have a headache. it's from the invisalign. i clench my jaw when i sleep and now i have a headache and also plastic in my mouth. i'm supposed to wear the elastics twenty-two hours a day. twenty-two. that's basically always. except when i'm eating or brushing my teeth. the elastics are bright blue. they match my hair. this was not intentional but it's the only good thing about them.
i had braces before. in almaty. when i was sixteen. metal brackets, wires, the whole thing. i lost my retainer somewhere between almaty and minsk and my teeth shifted back. slowly. over a decade. not enough that anyone noticed but enough that i noticed. so now i'm twenty-nine with invisalign like a teenager whose parents have good dental insurance. except i don't have parents with good dental insurance. i have debt.
the elastics launch. you're supposed to hook them onto these little precision-cut buttons on the aligners and they stay put. that's the design. that's the promise. in reality if you open your mouth too wide or talk too loud or sneeze they become projectiles. little blue rubber bullets. i have hit yura in the face three times. three. once in the eye. once in the forehead. once directly into his open mouth while he was mid-sentence explaining why switzerland is the only neutral country left. he didn't even stop talking. he just pulled the elastic off his tongue, looked at it, and said "you are shooting me with your ortodontiya. this is a new low." and kept going.
i have to take them out to eat. i have to brush my teeth after every meal. i have to track my wear time on an app that sends me notifications like "great job, mikhail!" which feels passive-aggressive. my aligners are currently in a case in my bag next to a half-empty bottle of armagnac and a protein bar i stole from yura's apartment. this is what twenty-nine looks like. plastic and debt and shooting your skating partner in the eye with a rubber band.
— m 🧸
—
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You attacked me. With your mouth. On purpose.
🧸 m:
i did not attack you. i was explaining the step sequence and my elastic achieved escape velocity. it was an accident.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You were talking with your hands. Your mouth was open very wide because you were being dramatic. "The line, Yura, the line must extend through the fingertip—" and then SNAP. Elastic in my cornea. I was blinded by your orthodontia.
🧸 m:
you were not blinded. you said "agh" and blinked twice and then told me my arm position was wrong.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I can be injured and correct simultaneously. These are not exclusive.
🧸 m:
this has happened four times now. four. i've started keeping backup elastics in my skate bag. alice calls them "mikhail’s missiles." jun asked if he needed safety goggles for choreography. claude laughed. claude never laughs.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are a hazard. Your teeth are a hazard. Your elastics are a hazard. Your headache is from your own body attacking itself. This is karma. For my eye.
Misha is on the phone with someone from before. Old friend. From Minsk. Now in Vilnius. I know this because Misha said "Vilnius, really?" in his phone voice. They speak in Russian. I do not listen. I am not listening now. I am just in the same room. The room is small. Sound travels.
His phone voice is different from his normal voice. Higher. More charming. He uses it for people he has not talked to in a long time. It sounds like his media training but looser. Like media training had glass of wine.
I can tell the friend is old because Misha is laughing at things that are not that funny. He keeps saying "no, no, tell me more" and then not letting them tell him more because he is interrupting with his own stories. His hands are moving. He is doing the thing where he talks with his whole body even though the person cannot see him. This is how he is with people he used to love.
Ryzhyk is on the counter. Ryzhyk is not allowed on the counter. I have told him this many times. He does not listen. He is a cat. Cats do not respect verbal agreement.
He is trying to put his paw in Misha's soup. Misha does not notice because he is saying "no, you're joking" in his phone voice. The soup is getting cold. The paw is getting closer.
"Ryzhyk," I say. "Remove yourself from the counter."
Ryzhyk does not remove himself. Ryzhyk has never removed himself from anything. He is orange and without remorse.
I say: "Keep doing this and you will become shawarma. Third pot will be for you.”
Misha covers the phone with his hand. He does not use his phone voice on me. "Did you just tell the cat you're going to cook him."
"No. I told the cat he would become shawarma. This is different from cooking. Shawarma is a process. There is marination. I did not specify marinade."
Misha stares at me for a moment. Then he goes back to the phone and says, "Sorry, sorry, the cat is staging a coup." His phone voice is back. Higher. Charming. Ryzhyk is now on the floor. Ryzhyk has chosen survival. This is the correct choice. Cat shawarma remains hypothetical.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
Little Misha at Sunday School, watching the other kids line up for traditional folk games outside: "these games are stupid. i don't even want to play them. i'm going to hide in the bathroom and read my comic book and no one will notice."
The teacher notices.
Little Misha, now doing double worksheets inside while the clapping and singing drifts through the window: "this is fine. i am winning. i have successfully avoided cultural enrichment and also fun. nobody has ever been smarter than me."
“Does Alice just train you two, or are there any other ice skaters who get trained by her?”
🧊 y.kozlenko:
We are the only senior pair. The only pair at all. The other senior skaters left or retired or moved to different rink with the better Zamboni. Alice has junior skaters also. Young ones. Very young. They are sticky. I do not know why children are sticky. It is not jam season. There is no jam at the rink. But they are sticky anyway. Alice said I am not allowed to talk to juniors anymore. The child asked me a question and I answered honestly and then there were tears. I do not understand why honesty produces tears. But it does. Consistently. So now I wave. That is all I am permitted. I wave at the sticky juniors from across the ice and they wave back and everyone is safe. This is fine. I did not want to talk to juniors. Alice is correct.
There is the hockey player also. Not trained by Alice. But always in the rink. Always using Misha's shampoo. Misha knows who he is.
🧸 m:
i have SUSPICIONS. i don't KNOW. there's a difference. there is an epistemological gap. i am living in the gap.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You know because his hair smells like your blue toning shampoo. The expensive one. The one you complain about running out. The one you buy from specialty store in Mile End.
🧸 m:
his hair smells VERY good and also maybe like my shampoo but that doesn't prove anything. lots of people use toning products. it's a very popular category. also he's blond. naturally blond. i can tell because his roots are cool-toned, maybe a level eight or nine. the ends have this faint green cast but that could be from anything. pool water. a bad dye job. maybe he bought his own toner and got the wrong one. purple cancels yellow, that's what blonds should use. blue cancels orange, that's what i need—i'm brunette, mostly, the parts that aren't dyed. and the blue part underneath, the blue shampoo keeps it from going green too. it's a two-in-one situation. which is ironic because blue shampoo on blond hair is exactly what turns it green. which his hair is. slightly. at the ends. but that doesn't mean he's using mine. it's a very common mistake. lots of blonds buy the wrong toner. it's practically an epidemic. probably.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You said the bottle was disappearing faster than you could use it. You said maybe there is ghost. Shampoo ghost. I said there is no ghost. There is hockey player.
🧸 m:
maybe i'm using more than i think. maybe the bottle has a leak. maybe the atmospheric pressure in the locker room is affecting the viscosity. maybe the ghost is real and the ghost has green hair and we should be investigating paranormal activity instead of accusing teenagers—maybe i should just leave an anonymous note. hypothetically. a note about toner. with no return address. that's normal.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You diagnosed his undertone situation. From across the rink. This is not investigation. This is attention.
🧸 m:
it's an investigation that REQUIRES ATTENTION. that's how investigations work. i'm detail-oriented. alice says so. she puts it in my training notes. "mikhail is detail-oriented." this is a professional strength.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are not detail-oriented about my undertones.
🧸 m:
your undertones are fine. neutral. there's nothing to investigate. your hair has never once looked green. you are not part of the investigation.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are protecting him because he said your catch camel was good.
🧸 m:
he said it was sick. he said my catch camel was sick. and that's not—that's not relevant. to the shampoo. that's a separate data point. it's not a—i don't have a—it's not a crush.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I did not say crush.
🧸 m:
you didn't have to. you implied it. with your face. your judgy silence. your everything.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I was only going to say you are easily bought. One compliment from teenager and you give away your expensive hair products. This is not crush. This is poor financial boundaries.
🧸 m:
...oh.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
But now you have said crush. And you are worried about things I did not accuse you of.
🧸 m:
i'm not worried. he's nineteen. i'm twenty-nine. that's exactly a decade. the prefrontal cortex isn't done developing until twenty-five. i read that in a pamphlet. in the clinic. it was about adolescent risk-taking and substance use but the principle applies. i am being developmentally appropriate about a colleague who happens to have nice hair and good taste in camel spin appreciation. this is not a crush. this is me being responsible.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are interested. In hockey boy with the wrong toner.
🧸 m:
i hate this conversation. i hate this rink. it's raining. i'm leaving.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are not leaving. You have ice time in twenty minutes. He will be there. With his green-tinted temples and your blue shampoo. You can investigate further. Forensically.
🧸 m:
STOP USING HIS NAME. YOU'RE MAKING IT WEIRD.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I have not used his name.
🧸 m:
YOU KNOW IT. CLAUDE TOLD YOU. CLAUDE TELLS YOU EVERYTHING. I KNOW YOU KNOW.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
His name is Mathieu.
🧸 m:
OKAY. FINE. MATHIEU. THE HOCKEY PLAYER WITH THE GREEN-TINTED TEMPLES AND THE GOOD CATCH CAMEL OPINIONS AND MY VERY EXPENSIVE BLUE SHAMPOO THAT IS MEANT FOR BRUNETTES. MATHIEU. ARE YOU HAPPY.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I am not unhappy.
🧸 m:
i'm going to the rink. i'm not talking to you for the rest of the day.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You will talk to Mathieu.
🧸 m:
I WILL NOT TALK TO MATHIEU. I WILL SKATE IN SILENCE. ALONE. WITH MY CATCH CAMEL. WHICH IS SICK. ACCORDING TO SOME PEOPLE. WHO I AM NOT TALKING TO.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Alice banned me from talking to juniors because I made one cry. You are leaving anonymous haircare notes for a junior. With no return address. This is worse. Maybe Alice should ban you also.
🧸 m:
HE'S A HOCKEY PLAYER. HOCKEY JUNIOR IS DIFFERENT FROM SKATING JUNIOR. THE CATEGORIES DON'T TRANSFER. ALSO I'M NOT LEAVING NOTES. I'M CONSIDERING NOTES. HYPOTHETICALLY.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You researched his brain development. You told me his brain is not finished. You researched this. For investigation.
🧸 m:
I—
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You have no defense.
🧸 m:
I KNOW. I KNOW I HAVE NO DEFENSE. I DID THIS TO MYSELF. I’M THROWING MYSELF INTO THE BOARDS. TELL JUN HIS LEGACY CONTINUES. TELL ALICE I DIED DOING WHAT I LOVED. BEING TORMENTED BY MY OWN PARTNER.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
I will tell her you died of shampoo. And poor boundaries. And nineteen-year-old with green hair. She will understand.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
— m 🧸
Have you ever had a McMigraine and does it work
🧊 y.kozlenko:
McMigraine is not a real thing. It is not a diagnosis. It is not a treatment protocol. You cannot go to a doctor and say "I have McMigraine" and expect to be taken seriously. They will refer you to a nutritionist. Or therapist. Or they will stare at you like you are speaking another language.
Fries and coke is not medicine. You are eating a Happy Meal without the toy and calling it treatment. The salt does nothing. The caffeine does nothing. If you have a migraine, take medication. If you cannot take medication because you are nauseous, take anti-nausea medication first. This is what the medications are for. This is why they were invented. So we would not have to sit in parking lots eating cold fries and calling it science.
Also the name implies neurological event. McMigraine. Like McDonald's gave you a brain injury. This implies the migraine is caused by the McDonald's. Which is probably true. You eat the fries and the flat coke and your head hurts and you think it is the migraine but it is just the sodium and disappointment. You have invented the treatment that is also the cause. This is circular logic.
Also I do not eat McDonald's. The texture is wrong. The fries are good for four minutes then they become cold and stiff and taste like old oil. I cannot eat fast enough to beat the four-minute window. I have tried. My jaw does not move that fast. This is not a dysautonomia thing. This is just a Yuriy thing.
—
🧸 m:
okay so. yes. i have tried it. fries and coke. the salt, the caffeine, the cold, the carbs. it's not a medical treatment, it's a desperate measure when you're in a canadian tire parking lot at 3 PM and your brain is trying to exit your skull through your right eye socket and you're too nauseous to take actual medication because you'll just throw it up. the coke settles your stomach enough to keep the fries down. the fries give you enough salt and substance to survive the next hour. does it work? sometimes. sometimes it just makes you full AND in pain. but when it works, it works.
also yura is wrong about the four-minute window. mcdonald's fries are good for at least seven minutes. i've timed it.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You have timed fry degradation. This is what you do with your time.
🧸 m:
i'm a scientist.
yo could lil y actually achieve orbit
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Misha says I cannot achieve orbit. He says I am too heavy for the throw. He says physics does not allow for a person of my mass to exit the atmosphere from pairs lift. This is incorrect.
My people put Sputnik into orbit. We put Yuri Gagarin into orbit. We built the rockets. We did the math. Korolev was Ukrainian. Valentin Glushko was Ukrainian. The engineers were Ukrainian. The hands that pushed humanity into the stars were Ukrainian hands. This is not metaphor. This is history. If my people can put a satellite into the space, I can put myself into the space. This is simple genetics.
🧸 m:
that's not how genetics work. you can't inherit orbital capability from a rocket engineer who died forty years before you were born. also escape velocity is eleven kilometers per second. you are a pairs skater. you skate in circles on frozen water. that’s not orbit. that’s a different thing. our throw has maybe two feet of height on a good day. that's a jump. you’re describing a jump.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You underestimate me. This is common. Many people underestimated Korolev. They said "rockets cannot reach the space." He said "watch this." And then the Sputnik was in the orbit. Beep beep beep. The Americans were very embarrassed. This is historical fact.
Also orbit is circles also. Just larger. And faster. And without the ice. But the principle is same.
🧸 m:
the principle is not the same. orbit requires velocity. you are achieving a double lutz on a good day. and you are achieving me filling out an incident report. please stay on the ice. i don't want to explain to paramedics why a 5'2 ukrainian is embedded in the ceiling tile. "he was trying to achieve orbit." "why." "genetics." they would put me in the psych ward again. i just got out of the psych ward. do not send me back to the psych ward with your genetic space ambitions.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You are just jealous because Belarus did not put anyone into orbit.
🧸 m:
we have cosmonauts. we had three. pyotr klimuk. vladimir kovalyonok. oleg novitsky. we have been to space. we are in space right now probably. we are a space nation.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
You went to space on our rockets. You were a passenger. We were the pilots. There is a difference. This is like saying you won a race because you sat in the taxi.
🧸 m:
i am NOT a taxi passenger to space. we contributed. we had—we had scientists. and engineers. and... things.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Things. Very specific. Very convincing. Gagarin probably also argued on Tumblr. Before he went to space. This is not documented but it is likely.
🧸 m:
tumblr was not invented in 1961.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Then he argued somewhere else. The principle remains. I am describing potential. The genetics are there. The engineering is there. The only missing component is velocity. You are velocity. If you lifted me harder, I would orbit.
🧸 m:
if i lifted you any harder my spine would exit my body. you are not achieving orbit. you are achieving a trip to the ceiling tiles and a very awkward conversation with the rink manager about why there is a yuriy-shaped dent in the roof.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Fine. I will stay on ice. But only because I do not want to deal with the paramedics either. They ask too many questions. Last time they ask why my hip was dislocated. I said 'genetics.' They did not find this helpful.
🧸 m:
you can't answer every question with genetics.
🧊 y.kozlenko:
Sorry, Misha. It is just fact.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
— m 🧸
yura why dont you use contractions?
First particles, now contractions. Westerners are very invasive about grammar. You interrogate my particles. You interrogate my apostrophes. What is next. My vowels. My consonants. You will take my letters one by one until I am silent. This is linguistic colonialism. I will not be colonized. I do not use contractions because I do not want to. That is answer. Reason is private. Goodbye.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
“Misha, who was your old partner? Were you close with this individual?”
i had a partner before yura. she was—we were good together. bronze. junior nationals. we had a future. and then i gave that interview and the funding got cut and suddenly i was a liability. she didn't cause the problem. i did. but she was the one who had to skate with me, and the federation made it clear that being associated with me was going to hurt her career. so she left. found a new partner. i don't blame her. it was the smart decision. the only decision, really. she's coaching now. doing well, i hear. that's all i'm going to say about it.
-m 🧸
“What about least favorite colors? Is there any of them you tried to find appealing in but just couldn’t?”
Chartreuse and vermilion. I do not like these colors. Not because of how they look. Because of the words. The words are lies. Chartreuse. This sounds like red. Like crimson. Like carmine. Like cardinal. All these words start in same way, they live in same part of the mouth, they should mean same thing. Red words. Why would chartreuse be green-yellow. This makes no sense. Vermilion also. Vermilion sounds green. Vert. Verdant. Viridescent. These are green words. Vermilion should be green. But it is red. Vermilion is red.
Also chartreuse is a drink made by monks. Why are monks making a green alcohol. Green is not a color for drinking. Green is the color of a poison. In cartoons, when something is poison, it is green. The monks are making a poison and calling it chartreuse. The monks should have prayed more and drank less. But the monks are French monks. Of course they are. This is where problem starts. This is linguistic sabotage. The French did this on purpose because they were angry about losing the war. I do not know which war. Any war. All wars. The French are always angry. Then they name colors after it. This is the French's fault. Everything is the French's fault. Alice Fournier is only good French thing. The rest of France can keep their confusing color words. I do not want them.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
—
pantone 448 C. opaque couché. first of all that name sounds like a medical condition. "i'm sorry, it's opaque couché. we caught it early but the prognosis is guarded." second of all it looks like what comes out of me after mexican food. it's the color of everything ugly and government issued. it was scientifically chosen to be the most repulsive color in the world and australia puts it on cigarette packages and that's its whole job. to be repulsive. and pantone had the audacity to name it opaque couché like it's a french pastry instead of what it actually is.
also pantone as a company is absurd. they license colors. a corporation can own a wavelength of light. that's not how physics works. that's not how anything should work. opaque couché. stupid name. stupid color. stupid licensing model. what if i mixed two paints and accidentally made pantone 292 C by mistake. would they sue me. would the color menty come to my apartment. "sir you've been illegally perceiving cerulean without a subscription."
and designers pay hundreds of dollars for these swatch books that expire after a year because the colors "degrade." the colors degrade. the colors are paper. the paper degrades. you're telling me if i buy a swatch book the colors go bad like milk. like yogurt. opaque couché yura gurt. yurt gurt. kurt.
ahem. so no. no least favourite color. just a least favourite pantone.
— m 🧸
“what are your favourite colors?”
blue. obviously. it's the color of my hearing aid, my best costume from juniors, and the hottest part of a flame. ignatik—ignat—comes from the latin ignis. fire. it's thematically consistent. i didn't plan it but once i noticed i couldn't stop.
it started with the cornflowers. vasilki. they grow everywhere in belarus. along the roads, at the edges of fields, along the dusty roadsides where nothing else grows. my mother used to say that belarusians have blue eyes because god loved the cornflowers so much he wanted us to match them. this is not true biologically. but i believed it for years. i have blue eyes. she has blue eyes. i used to think it meant we belonged to the same thing.
later, after the bridge, i sat in the audiologist's office and he showed me a catalog of colors. beige, brown, clear, pink, blue. he said most adults pick something discreet. something that blends in. i picked blue. the brightest blue they had. electric. obnoxious. i picked it because i was angry. i wanted people to see it. i wanted them to know something had happened to me. that i wasn't fine. that i wasn't blending in. that i wasn't discreet.
also it matches my eyes. i'm not above that. i'm not above anything. i'm very vain and you know this.
— m 🧸
---
Orange. Because it is the color of autumn. Real autumn. The leaves in Kyiv turned orange in October, deep orange, like the whole city was on fire but in a good way. Not the war fire. The warm fire. I used to walk to the rink in October and the leaves would crunch under my shoes. And I would think: this is the best month. The air is cold enough for skating but the sun is still warm. The light is orange. Everything is orange.
Also Ryzhyk is orange. Obviously. He is named for it. Little ginger. He is orange and white and orange again. When he sits in the sun he glows like a small pumpkin. When I found him outside the Starbucks he was very dirty and very orange also. Even the dirt could not hide the orange. This is how I knew he was mine. Because he matched the leaves. Because he matched October.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
“Do you guys deal well with public speaking?”
No. I do not like people looking at me. Unless I am skating. Skating is different. Skating has choreography. Public speaking has no choreography. It is just standing there while people wait for you to say something. I do not know what to do with my hands. I forget words. I say "ah." I say it in English and Ukrainian both. The ah is universal.
— y.kozlenko 🧊
—
the last time i did public speaking in belarus i got defunded and my partner left me. so. also no.
— m 🧸
"So. I have been thinking."
"About what."
"About the thing you said in bed. That time."
"...what thing."
"You remember."
"I don't—there were a lot of things said in bed. I say many things in bed. I'm very chatty before sleep. You know this. You've complained about this."
"Not before sleep. The other time. When I asked you how to say 'you are heavy and your elbow is on my hair' in Belarusian. And you stared at the ceiling for a very long time. And then you said one word."
"..."
"Prybiral'nya."
"..."
"You called me a toilet."
"I didn't—you weren't supposed to—I thought you wouldn't understand."
"Vbyral'nya. Ukrainian has this word also. It is almost same word. You called me a toilet and hoped I would not notice."
"I panicked. You asked me a question in bed and your face was right there and I forgot every Belarusian word I have ever known. Which is not many. Which is the problem."
"Misha."
"I should know more. I should know my own language. But I don't. I think in Russian. I dream in Russian. When my mother sends me those videos from Minsk, she speaks Russian because that's what we spoke at home, that's what everyone spoke, Belarusian was for Sunday school and grandparents and—and I sat in that classroom for years memorizing verb conjugations and hating every minute of it and now I can't even come up with a sentence in bed without panicking and calling you a toilet. You understand Belarusian better than I do and you're Ukrainian. You just—you just knew the word. Like it was nothing. And I had to stare at the ceiling for forty-five seconds to remember the word for toilet."
"It was not forty-five seconds."
"It felt like forty-five seconds. It felt like an hour. I was lying there trying to think of anything in Belarusian and my brain was just—empty. Completely empty. And then the only word that came was prybiral'nya and I thought 'he won't know this one, it's not the same in Russian, he probably thinks I said something romantic.' And you did. You just went 'hm' and fell asleep. And I lay there awake for another hour feeling like the worst Belarusian in the world."
"You are not the worst Belarusian in the world. Lukashenko is the worst Belarusian in the world. You are maybe fourth. Fifth."
"That's not comforting."
"It is a little comforting. You are behind a dictator and several generals. This is respectable placement."
"Why do you understand Belarusian better than me."
“I do not understand your language better than you. I understood one word. One. Because it is almost the same word in Ukrainian. We share eighty-four percent of our words without trying. We did not earn this. It just is. You could have said prybiral'nya to a Russian and they would not know it. You said it to the only person in Montreal who would understand without trying. This is not me being good at Belarusian. This is not you failing. This is just geography.”
"It feels like a moral failing."
"Then I have a moral failing also. I cannot roll my R's."
"What."
"When I was small. In Kyiv. I could not roll my R's. Little Yuliya with messy braids. Bad at being a girl. Also bad at alveolar trills. My father thought it was funny at first. He called me his little foreigner. Not cruel. Just amused. But still. He sent me to a speech therapist. She had a metal rod with a little ball on the end. She put it under my tongue. It was cold. She moved it back and forth. Back and forth. She made me say трактор. Tractor. Over and over. R-r-r-r-r. Like a little machine gun. I sat in that room every week for a year drooling on my shirt while a woman pushed a metal ball under my tongue. And it did not work. I still cannot roll my R's. I have a tap. Sometimes I substitute. My father stopped laughing. He never mentioned it again. But I know he noticed. He wanted me to sound like I belonged. And I could not give him that."
"..."
"You can roll your R's."
"I—yes."
"You roll them annoyingly well. Like a purring cat. Like you are showing off."
"I'm not showing off. It's just—it's just how I talk."
"I know. I am saying. You have something I do not have. You can do something with language that I failed to learn even with a metal rod and a year of practice. And I am not jealous of you for this. I am just saying. You are not the only one who lost something.”
"You never told me about the rod."
"You never told me about Sunday school."
"I hated Sunday school."
"I hated the speech therapist. She smelled like cabbage. I still cannot eat cabbage without thinking of her."
"That's—that's terrible."
"It is inconvenient. Cabbage is in many things.”
“No, I mean—all of it. The rod. Your father. Being made to feel like a foreigner in your own language. That's terrible. And I—I called you a toilet. I had the chance to say something in my language, something real, and I called you a toilet.”
“You called me a toilet because you panicked. I could not roll an R because my tongue would not cooperate. These are not the same thing. But they are both things. Things that happened to children who are now adults. And you are still here. Still remember prybiral'nya even if it was the wrong word. Even if it took forty-five seconds."
"It wasn't forty-five seconds."
"It was maybe ten."
"...it was maybe ten."
"We could help each other. You could teach me to roll my R's. I could teach you Belarusian."
"You don't speak Belarusian."
"I understand one word. That is more than you had in bed. We start there. We build. Like partnership. Small steps. Compact steps."
"You want me to teach you to roll your R's."
"You roll them like a cat. Like a very pleased cat. It is annoying. I want to be annoying also."
"You're already annoying."
"Then I want to be annoying in a new way. With alveolar trills."
"That's—that's not—you can't just decide to learn a sound you've been failing at since childhood."
"I learned to live in a body that was wrong and then I learned to live in a body that was broken. I learned to speak English without particles—articles. I can learn one sound. Especially if you teach me."
"...I don't know how to teach."
"You will figure it out. You learned to lift me without dropping me. This is smaller. Less dangerous. No one is dropped."
"What if I'm bad at it."
"Then we are bad at it together. This is also partnership."
"..."
"You are crying."
"I'm not crying."
"You are crying. Your face is wet. That is crying."