Day 411
I didn’t get it. I didn’t win the scholarship for my master studies in Vilnius. That means that my current part-time job as a strip-tease dancer is the only living-provider. Worst-case scenario: I make 60 euro a week, and try to make sense out of this income. If they let me stay in the dormitory, that would mean 70 euro per month spending on the housing. There are 4 weeks in a month, bringing me 240 euro, leaving 170 euro for food and the living. I might just make it that is if I eat boiled vegetables, don’t get denied a place at the dorms, don’t get in any trouble at work and don’t get sick, ever. That is not a silver-lining perspective… The saddest thing about it is that nothing ever gets much better, I am back to the start, where I have no space for living - the same-old surviving mode. Two degrees, GPA of 9.71/10, 4 honorary awards post-graduation, 6 recommendation letters, 2 publications and a great dozen of successfully completed conferences, I am still not worth a financial support from the local ministry of education. That is the saddest thing. In my mind, I spent 4 year working on my reputation, collecting symbolic capital for it to turn one day into hard cash. In the end - nothing. I have nothing on my hands from those four years of struggle and unwanted engagement, nothing but papers, that didn’t make sense to the selection committee, so they might as well have no value to me. At least I don’t have to pay for the first semester of my master studies, that is good, but that is quite little, taking into account no means of living-providence. And there I was wanting my own place, wanting some life, some breathing… Fuck you, me, keep killing yourself for never-paying-off matter, keep hating yourself, keep surviving. I broke into tears as soon as I read the e-mail. I wasn’t alone in the room: the mother of my roommate was there. But I didn't care for her reaction, I was petrified by the news, although deep inside I knew that was going to happen. Of course, I hoped for a better living, of course, I hoped for things to get better, for me to finally start living. But nah, life obviously has its own plan for me. Maybe there is a lesson for me to learn from it. There must be a lesson, there will be, as I am already hurting from it. The thoughts were rushing through my mind cutting the edges of my consciousness: I might have to move back, what if I don’t maintain my GPA as high as 9.61/10, what if I have to move out and pay more than 70 euro per month for housing, what if I ever fall ill and have to supply myself with medication… What if… What if… My mother cannot know, my father shouldn’t be aware, nobody from my family should know… And I grabbed my phone and texted three people: my Norwegian friend, my Lithuanian middle-aged friend, and a friend I made last night in a club, with whom things got instantly serious. Their reaction were all different. The first offered help, the second suggested reapplying (in response to what I wrote I reply to the lady who sent me the news earlier asking for further recommendation in my hard case), and the third was quite encouraging to suggest a different future plan for me. I also texted a friend who was kind enough to write me a recommendation letter for the above mentioned scholarship. He reacted to the news in total disbelief. I appreciated everyone’s concern, although I know that very few really care. I know exactly what kind of concern that is - I am exactly that type of concerned when I hear bad news from a close friend: I am there for them, but just wordly. I am there for the to console, I am there with some options, I am even there with some actual help; but any help of another person is just a temporary escape from the real horror of the situation that has befallen on you exclusively. I need a long-term solution and that I am the only one to provide myself with. In that moment I think of Shameless and how all of them manage, how Lip gets into college, how he fucks things up, and how things get fixed in the most unexpected ways. “Just because we were born here, doesn’t mean we end up here”, says Mandy to Ian. She works as an escort service provider, and she still fucks up, and still tries, and somehow manages. I wonder where this strength comes from… I wonder what is the point of the constant struggle, when the payoff is so rare, and in many ways never-to-be-foreseen.
On the eve of the above mentioned unfortunate events, I was stupid enough to let it go and go out on my own for the first time here in Vilnius. It was a Wednesday night, my roommate was back to the dorm with her mother, and I was already doing an overlook of Vilnius night clubs, trying to figure out how to spend the on-going night. I simply could not bear the idea of sitting there for the whole night, while two other people would be sleeping, and I would be unable to give it up to sleep at least until 7 a.m. With pretty unrestful research on the nightclub scene, I dressed up to party and left the house for the last trolleybus to the city center. I simply took a walk around in search for an open door with a roaring music inside. I followed the route of my previous knowledge to check on the places from the Internet, but Wednesday night has proven it to be simply quiet and unavailable for party, with one pretty anticipated exception. There is a nightclub for exchange students which is open every night, and although it was summer time, with no exchange students in town, I went in to find it open and quite full with people, local included. There was even a bachelorette party with a bride wandering around the place in a white t-shirt and a black permanent marker, asking for a signature from every stranger. I didn’t have any expectation for the night, so I simply stood there waiting for the tune to hit me. But while I was waiting, not-surprisingly, a guy came along and hit me with:
Are you working here?
Of course, my answer was negative, but his blunt approach started a conversation at the beginning of which I naturally disclosed the specificity of my own occupation. Show me a guy, who would have no reaction to the bare fact of a girl working as a strip tease dancer. For a moment, I got him really interested, but that wasn’t even a point, as almost naturally both of us made it to the dance floor. It took me no time to discover the beauty of everything that just had happened. He moved the same way I moved: smoothly, on-beat, ridiculously, shamelessly. In no time I was all over his company as a dancer. I would imitate his moves, and he would sync with mine. At some point we would take a break for some trust exercise, where I would fall into his arms for him to catch me, and also play some staring game, and talk just long enough for another guy to approach us and say:
You are the best couple on the dance floor! And I am from Spain, so I know what I am talking about. That is some crazy shit!
That was nice, and kind, and totally inspiring for us to continue. That went on and on for hours, up until the moment we got really close for me to put my thigh on his hip swaying to the rhythm of the club music - I discovered a perfect synchronicity. Never ever have a swayed so smoothly, so fearlessly with another human being in a dance. All that beauty was shattered by the fact of him having to leave in the morning for Italy. Of course, he was leaving, beautiful things never last, especially when I am around to spot them. We left the club to catch up on some food and water at the railway station, where we made another friend and hit it up with a conversation. He stayed in the hotel nearby, so before we parted he gave me two options:
It’s either you give me a kiss and we part, or you can spend the left five hours with me in the hotel.
I wondered if it was a sex thing, because it always is. He said it might be, but he was really tired, if he was really honest. I wanted to spend more time with him, even if it was a sex thing, so naturally, we ended up doing a standard program of a common shower, cuddling, attempting sex and pillow-talk. I hardly slept, as did he, when it was time for him to pack for the departure. I felt okay, although he was obviously sentimentally devastated. To tell the truth, lying in his arms, I felt like those were the arms of my future husband. But we said our goodbyes, and several hours later, we would be all over whatsup.
My life has ups and downs like any other life, but for some reason, those ups and downs and very temporarily compressed, so every day of my life is like an episode of Shameless, which is as adventurous and fun, as it is tiring.