Twice a week I meet with anyone who wants to stay at school after classes for some conversation time. I have a core group of 5-8 girls who usually stay. There are about 10 others who join us every now and then, but I can almost always count on my "regulars" to find me once their classroom is clean so that we can practice doing what teenage girls do best -- chit-chatting.
Today six of my eighth-grade girls stayed after school. The day was lovely -- sunny, bright, and warm -- so we climbed up the iron stairway on the side of the school building and talked about what we saw around us. I taught them the words "buttercup" and "clover" which are blooming in large carpets of yellow and purple across the side lawn. We talked about the mountains -- still snow-capped -- and how thankful we all are that the snow is no longer plaguing us with its icy chill. We talked about how the melting snow is affecting the river that surrounds our island-village, rising and rising and threatening to overflow its banks.
Then I pulled out a book of poetry that I had checked out of the library -- Poems Children Will Sit Still For. It's a collection of poems that are meant for little children, but the level of English vocabulary was just right for my group. I opened to the section about animals and read some poems to them. I wasn't sure how well they would like them, but I wanted to give them a little taste of poetry in English.
They loved it! Of course, my willingness to read the poems with gestures and over-done intonation and facial expressions helped. They learned so much! With the end of each piece, they immediately wanted to hear it again. During the second reading, they stopped me at each word that they did not know. I either described it in simple words, acted it out, or drew whatever it was -- they were thrilled to be learning things like "snail," "mosquito," "turtle," "tree stump," "firefly," and "quack." Three of the girls took out their notebooks and wrote down all the new words they learned -- another did what I always do: wrote the new words with her finger either in the air or against the wall to visualize the look of the letters and imagine the word against its meaning.
Their favorite poem was a series of riddles by Eve Merriam called "What in the World?"
What in the world
goes whiskery friskery
meowling and prowling
napping and lapping
at silky milk?
Psst,
What is it?
What in the world
goes leaping and beeping
onto a lily pad onto a log
onto a tree stump or down to the bog?
Splash, blurp,
Kerchurp!
What in the world
goes gnawing and pawing
scratching and latching
sniffling and squiffing
nibbling for tidbits of left-over cheese?
Please?
What in the world
jumps with a hop and a bump
and a tail that can thump
has pink pointy ears and a twitchy nose
looking for anything crunchy that grows?
A carroty lettucey cabbagey luncheon
To munch on?
What in the world
climbs chattering pattering swinging from trees
like a flying trapeze
with a tail that can curl
like the rope cowboys twirl?
Wahoo!
Here's a banana for you!
What in the world
goes stalking and balking
running and sunning
thumping and dumping
lugging and hugging
swinging and singing
wriggling and giggling
sliding and hiding
throwing and knowing and
growing and growing
much too big for
last year's clothes?
Who knows?
Before I could finish each verse, the girls were clamoring to answer the riddle. They got them all with no extra help or hints. I did have to read the one about the monkey a second time, but then they got it. They made me so proud!
I am constantly pleased at how well they understand me -- amazed at how easily they learn this very difficult language -- proud of their consistent accomplishments -- humbled by their love for me -- and thrilled at the opportunity to have an influence on their lives and learning.
My conversation girls.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Questions for the bathroom slug
How long had you been living in the bathroom when I noticed you there back in December?
Did you realize how much your tiny 1-inch-self freaked me out the first couple of times I saw you?
How did you get into the bathroom -- did you come in through the broken window or the hole around the pipes?
Why do you slide around only on the tiles that surround the mirror and sink?
What is in the shiny trail that you leave behind you?
Do you ever write messages with your shiny residue?
Are you going to stay the same olive green color?
You are already over five inches long -- will you get any bigger?
What is inside of you? You look like nothing but gush.
What do you eat to make you grow so much?
Are those eyes on the ends of the "horns" that you move around this way and that?
Do you see me when I watch you glide across the wall?
Are you the one who plugs up the drain in the sink every few weeks?
I haven't seen you in two weeks -- where did you go?
Did you realize how much your tiny 1-inch-self freaked me out the first couple of times I saw you?
How did you get into the bathroom -- did you come in through the broken window or the hole around the pipes?
Why do you slide around only on the tiles that surround the mirror and sink?
How do you stick to the wall?
What is in the shiny trail that you leave behind you?
Do you ever write messages with your shiny residue?
Are you going to stay the same olive green color?
You are already over five inches long -- will you get any bigger?
What is inside of you? You look like nothing but gush.
What do you eat to make you grow so much?
Do you eat the mildew on the grout?
Are those eyes on the ends of the "horns" that you move around this way and that?
Do you see me when I watch you glide across the wall?
Are you the one who plugs up the drain in the sink every few weeks?
I haven't seen you in two weeks -- where did you go?
Are you hiding behind the bathroom mirror?
Did one of the cats catch you and eat you?
Did you decide that it is now warm enough to slide around outside?
Did you fall into the sink and drown in the drain?
Can slugs drown?
Or did you fall into some beer or salt? I haven't seen either in the bathroom, so I doubt that....
Did Tea find you and throw you outside?
Or did a chicken find its way in and gobble you up?
Did you find a shell and decide to become a snail instead?
Happy trails wherever you are!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Hot tempers and flying fists
I've heard a lot about it, but never witnessed it happening live until today.
Georgian men are, generally-speaking, very hot-tempered and aggressive. I know that I am making a large generality here, but they have earned this reputation for a good reason. I see it in the boys at school, among Koba and his friends, in the men hanging out on the road, and pretty much anywhere I go where there are Georgian males. If someone says or does something that a male doesn't like, he immediately flies off the handle, bellowing waves of I-don't-know-what at whomever he disagrees with. And I had heard that knock-down, drag-out, fist fights commonly break out. Boys have come to school with black eyes from fighting, but I'd never seen anyone fight until today.
My bus from Tbilisi entered Zugdidi, and I had a couple of errands to run before catching the marshutka to Shamgona, so I didn't take the bus all the way to the station. Instead, I got off in the center of town. Shouldering my backpack, I walked down the wide sidewalk along the main street toward the market to make my purchases.
Suddenly, shouts rang out from a group of people on the sidewalk just in front of me. Shouting is nothing unusual -- everyone here shouts. But when I looked up and focused on this group of people, I saw two men fly at each other as if each were bent on annihilating the other. At first they locked each other into a wrestling move, but then they broke apart and threw punches instead.
I stopped dead in my tracks. They were about 15 feet in front of me, but they were taking up the entire sidewalk. Their struggling carried them all over the sidewalk, out into the road (thank God no cars were coming at that moment), back onto the sidewalk, and into the closest of the crowd that had begun to gather. I didn't want to get caught in the middle or receive one of the punches they threw, so I stayed where I was.
Five people tried to break them up. They intervened a couple of times, succeeding in pulling them off of each other, but the second the friends let go of the assailants, the angry men dove for each other again. The crowd around the fighters grew by the second, the shouts drawing the attention of everyone around including a police officer who drove by. The officer stopped, and at the lull in the action, I scooted around the outside of the ring of onlookers and went on my way.
When I got home, I told Tea about the fight. She said that each of the men who were involved would be fined 800 laris and thrown in jail for three days for fighting in a public place. I said, "Good."
I don't understand fighting. Maybe it's because I'm not a violent person -- I'm a pacifist, and I don't believe that fighting helps any situation. But as I watched these two grown men go at each other, they reminded me of the middle school boys at school who don't yet have any self control. Immature and childish -- that's what fighting looks like to me. Of course, I have no idea what they were fighting about, but what can physical violence help? What would punching someone -- not just once, but repeatedly -- gain either aggressor?
In the long run, nothing profitable or constructive.
The hot tempers and aggressiveness of the Georgian men are good for one thing: they have a great national rugby team.
My bus from Tbilisi entered Zugdidi, and I had a couple of errands to run before catching the marshutka to Shamgona, so I didn't take the bus all the way to the station. Instead, I got off in the center of town. Shouldering my backpack, I walked down the wide sidewalk along the main street toward the market to make my purchases.
Suddenly, shouts rang out from a group of people on the sidewalk just in front of me. Shouting is nothing unusual -- everyone here shouts. But when I looked up and focused on this group of people, I saw two men fly at each other as if each were bent on annihilating the other. At first they locked each other into a wrestling move, but then they broke apart and threw punches instead.
I stopped dead in my tracks. They were about 15 feet in front of me, but they were taking up the entire sidewalk. Their struggling carried them all over the sidewalk, out into the road (thank God no cars were coming at that moment), back onto the sidewalk, and into the closest of the crowd that had begun to gather. I didn't want to get caught in the middle or receive one of the punches they threw, so I stayed where I was.
Five people tried to break them up. They intervened a couple of times, succeeding in pulling them off of each other, but the second the friends let go of the assailants, the angry men dove for each other again. The crowd around the fighters grew by the second, the shouts drawing the attention of everyone around including a police officer who drove by. The officer stopped, and at the lull in the action, I scooted around the outside of the ring of onlookers and went on my way.
When I got home, I told Tea about the fight. She said that each of the men who were involved would be fined 800 laris and thrown in jail for three days for fighting in a public place. I said, "Good."
I don't understand fighting. Maybe it's because I'm not a violent person -- I'm a pacifist, and I don't believe that fighting helps any situation. But as I watched these two grown men go at each other, they reminded me of the middle school boys at school who don't yet have any self control. Immature and childish -- that's what fighting looks like to me. Of course, I have no idea what they were fighting about, but what can physical violence help? What would punching someone -- not just once, but repeatedly -- gain either aggressor?
In the long run, nothing profitable or constructive.
The hot tempers and aggressiveness of the Georgian men are good for one thing: they have a great national rugby team.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day under Kartlis Deda
Another holiday away from my family. Mother's Day.
On the marshutka-ride out to Tbilisi on Friday, I started reading Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club. I didn't know much about the book except that lots of people raved over it when it was first published. In keeping with the uncanny appropriateness of the messages of the books I keep choosing to read, the themes and issues fit perfectly with what I read last (Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha -- I like my reads to follow each other with some commonality) and the present goings-on -- Mother's Day.
The Joy Luck Club is a collection of stories about Asian mothers and their Asian-American daughters. I am only about half-way through the book, but each story has had a compelling connection to every mother-daughter relationship -- the unconditional love, the often-misunderstood sacrifice, and the unspoken bond that spans any distance or time that (I hope) is universal. It's a perfect book to be reading when Mother's Day comes around.
But here I am, 6,000 miles away from my mother on Mother's Day.
I am spending the weekend in Tbilisi with my usual travel companions, James and Katherine. Tbilisi has a guardian watching over her -- Kartlis Deda (Mother of Georgia). Kartlis Deda, placed on the hilltop overlooking Old Tbilisi in 1958 to celebrate Tbilisi's 1,500-year anniversary, is a massive, 20-meter aluminum sculpture of a Georgian woman in traditional dress with a bowl of wine in one hand and a sword in the other. The representation is a perfect depiction of the Georgians who greet their friends with wine and their enemies with a sword. The sculpture keeps an eye on the city from her vantage point, and also serves as a constant reminder of the equal-parts generosity and aggressiveness of her people.
Having Kartlis Deda nearby on this Mother's Day weekend has made me feel connected to my own mother in an odd way. Not that my mom looks anything like Kartlis Deda (for sure!) -- but because I know that my mom is always thinking about, worrying about, and praying for me, the proximity and vigilance of the Mother of Georgia lends the maternal connection I need that can span the miles and miles that separate me from my mom. Kartlis Deda watched over me today while I crossed the streets of Tbilisi (a death-defying feat). While I ran along the Mtkvari River this morning, she greeted me with an attentive gaze. She was already on the hilltop above the Botanical Gardens when I got there, keeping the way safe as I climbed up behind her.
On the marshutka-ride out to Tbilisi on Friday, I started reading Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club. I didn't know much about the book except that lots of people raved over it when it was first published. In keeping with the uncanny appropriateness of the messages of the books I keep choosing to read, the themes and issues fit perfectly with what I read last (Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha -- I like my reads to follow each other with some commonality) and the present goings-on -- Mother's Day.
The Joy Luck Club is a collection of stories about Asian mothers and their Asian-American daughters. I am only about half-way through the book, but each story has had a compelling connection to every mother-daughter relationship -- the unconditional love, the often-misunderstood sacrifice, and the unspoken bond that spans any distance or time that (I hope) is universal. It's a perfect book to be reading when Mother's Day comes around.
But here I am, 6,000 miles away from my mother on Mother's Day.
I am spending the weekend in Tbilisi with my usual travel companions, James and Katherine. Tbilisi has a guardian watching over her -- Kartlis Deda (Mother of Georgia). Kartlis Deda, placed on the hilltop overlooking Old Tbilisi in 1958 to celebrate Tbilisi's 1,500-year anniversary, is a massive, 20-meter aluminum sculpture of a Georgian woman in traditional dress with a bowl of wine in one hand and a sword in the other. The representation is a perfect depiction of the Georgians who greet their friends with wine and their enemies with a sword. The sculpture keeps an eye on the city from her vantage point, and also serves as a constant reminder of the equal-parts generosity and aggressiveness of her people.
Having Kartlis Deda nearby on this Mother's Day weekend has made me feel connected to my own mother in an odd way. Not that my mom looks anything like Kartlis Deda (for sure!) -- but because I know that my mom is always thinking about, worrying about, and praying for me, the proximity and vigilance of the Mother of Georgia lends the maternal connection I need that can span the miles and miles that separate me from my mom. Kartlis Deda watched over me today while I crossed the streets of Tbilisi (a death-defying feat). While I ran along the Mtkvari River this morning, she greeted me with an attentive gaze. She was already on the hilltop above the Botanical Gardens when I got there, keeping the way safe as I climbed up behind her.
 |
| Kartlis Deda |
I did see my mom today thanks to a little miracle called Skype. It was nice to wish her a happy Mother's Day and talk about our weekend's activities. As nice as that was, I long for the day when I will sit in her physical presence and share our mother-daughter relationship in a real present moment. The Joy Luck Club meets Kartlis Deda in the great state of Maine.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Wisteria
Is any flower more elegant than wisteria? Bunches of snap-dragon-like blossoms mimic bunches of grapes that hang with delicate grace. Variegated purples cascade from lavender to violet. Sweet perfume heavily scents the air so thickly that it envelops every sense.
Can you ignore an entire tree of royalty? The sheer volume of clusters demands the attention of every passerby. I have been arrested by the sight of a wisteria tree in full bloom several times this spring. Today, at the entrance of Tbilisi's Botanical Gardens was one of those times.
Can you ignore an entire tree of royalty? The sheer volume of clusters demands the attention of every passerby. I have been arrested by the sight of a wisteria tree in full bloom several times this spring. Today, at the entrance of Tbilisi's Botanical Gardens was one of those times.
Such unabashed beauty is unequaled in the world of flora or fauna. No matter where you are. In any country. On any continent.
Royal. Elegant. Delicate. Graceful.
Beautiful.
Friday, May 6, 2011
A couple of thoughts on familiarity
Sometimes I can't believe that I've been here for six months already. It is nice to feel comfortable in a place that was so incredibly foreign to me not so long ago.
I thought about this while riding into Tbilisi this evening. The first day I arrived here in Georgia back in November, I had no idea where I was or what I was looking at. But today, the sense of familiarity gave me pause as I looked around at this city that I now know relatively well. Even though I don't live in the city, I have been here enough to know what is where (mostly) and how to get around.
Today, when my marshutka arrived at the main bus station (there are three or four in the city), I shouldered my backpack, marched right by the bevy of taxi drivers looking for customers, and walked into the large mall to head to the metro station. I thought about the first time I arrived in the city on the bus.... I had no idea where in the city I was, where my hostel was located, or how to get there. That time I did take a taxi to my hostel. But I have since learned where the metro is in relation to the bus station, I know how to put money on my metro card, I know not to look up on the four-story, turbo-speed escalator (there is nothing that is on a level, and the steep stairway tunnels down at a crazy angle. It drives my brain bonkers to have nothing horizontal or vertical to look at), I know which train to take, and where to get off. I even understand the announcer on the metro who says, "Shemdegi sadguri, Tavesuplebis Moedani" (Next station, Freedom Square).
It's a nice feeling to know a place. A sense of belonging sits like a warm spot in my chest when I notice that I am familiar with what is around me. That warmth may be the comfort of the known.... or at least the beginnings of it.... or maybe it is the warmth of confidence in my ability to function here. Very little surprises me anymore. I don't find things odd or strange. It's nice.
But I still can't wait to go home....
By the way, I did not see my admirer at the bus station in Zugdidi.... thank God!
I thought about this while riding into Tbilisi this evening. The first day I arrived here in Georgia back in November, I had no idea where I was or what I was looking at. But today, the sense of familiarity gave me pause as I looked around at this city that I now know relatively well. Even though I don't live in the city, I have been here enough to know what is where (mostly) and how to get around.
Today, when my marshutka arrived at the main bus station (there are three or four in the city), I shouldered my backpack, marched right by the bevy of taxi drivers looking for customers, and walked into the large mall to head to the metro station. I thought about the first time I arrived in the city on the bus.... I had no idea where in the city I was, where my hostel was located, or how to get there. That time I did take a taxi to my hostel. But I have since learned where the metro is in relation to the bus station, I know how to put money on my metro card, I know not to look up on the four-story, turbo-speed escalator (there is nothing that is on a level, and the steep stairway tunnels down at a crazy angle. It drives my brain bonkers to have nothing horizontal or vertical to look at), I know which train to take, and where to get off. I even understand the announcer on the metro who says, "Shemdegi sadguri, Tavesuplebis Moedani" (Next station, Freedom Square).
It's a nice feeling to know a place. A sense of belonging sits like a warm spot in my chest when I notice that I am familiar with what is around me. That warmth may be the comfort of the known.... or at least the beginnings of it.... or maybe it is the warmth of confidence in my ability to function here. Very little surprises me anymore. I don't find things odd or strange. It's nice.
But I still can't wait to go home....
By the way, I did not see my admirer at the bus station in Zugdidi.... thank God!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Love in any language? No thanks.
I was sure that I had posted about a guy I met at the bus station who confessed his undying love for me, but I have looked through two months of my posts and can't find anything written about him. So, a brief introduction before I write about this week's events....
Back in February and March, when I traveled to Bakuriani and then Sighnaghi, I had the same bus driver and talked with him and his assistants. One of the assistants had shown me to my seat on the bus both times, and the second time, he asked me for my phone number so that he could text me. I gave it to him. (First mistake.) No sooner had the bus pulled away from the station in Zugdidi, when my phone rang -- it was Kakha (I think that's his name). He wanted to make sure it was my phone.... .and then the texts started. I didn't understand most of them -- he doesn't know any English. One of them that I did understand asked when I was going back to the U.S. Somehow in my reply, he thought that I said "tomorrow," and so he thought that I had left the country.
Two weekends ago, I went to Batumi. I took a marshutka from the bus station. I didn't see Kakha, but I did see some of the drivers whose busses/marshutkas I have taken to various locations around the country. Someone must have told Kakha that they had seen me..... and the texts and calls started again.
I understand enough Georgian to know when someone is asking me out, and I know enough to decline the invitation. But to Georgian men, "no" doesn't mean "no." (Georgian women have a bad habit of saying "no" when they really mean "yes." So Georgian men are conditioned to treat a "no" as "try harder.") So when I say, "No," his answer is, "Why?" -- to which I reply, (all of this is in Georgian), "I don't want to." But this does not compute. So he again asks, "Why?" This is where it all breaks down. I don't know the words to tell him that I have no interest in him -- that I do not want to be pursued -- please leave me alone. I would be friends with him, but Georgian men do not understand the concept of having women-friends. Women are for marrying. Well, not this woman!
This week, he called me at least ten times. Twice I answered. We went through the same conversation -- How are you -- Fine -- When are you coming to Zugdidi -- I don't know -- I will come to Shamgona to see you -- No -- Why -- I don't want you to -- Why -- ....... That's when I hang up the phone. He calls back several times, but I don't answer. I just click the phone off. So he texts me that he loves me and I am beautiful. I don't reply.
When he called earlier in the week, I told Tea, and I told her that I don't know what to tell him to get him to leave me alone. She said that he has no clue that I really don't want to see him and probably can't even fathom that I wouldn't want to. Thus, his insistence and persistence. She told me the next time he asks why I don't want to see him, to tell him, "Me mqkhavs chemi qatsi," (I have a man/boyfriend), and see if he backs off.
He called again today. We went around and around the same conversation that ended only when I hung up on him. He called back four times -- I didn't answer. A minute later, my phone dinged with my text alert. I opened it -- Another message that he loves me. I typed back the message that Tea told me to write. For a few minutes, my phone was silent. Then another ding. This time the message was so long, it had to be close to the character-limit for a text. I had no idea what it said, so I took my phone to Tea.
I told her that he called again. She shook her head in disgust. I said that I had told him what she had suggested I say about already having a boyfriend. Then I handed her my phone for her to see the reply. I watched her face as she read it. She bit her lip, shook her head, "phsaw-ed" a few times, and bit her lip again. When she finished reading it, she started laughing and shaking her head. Here's a rough translation of his text: "Does he love you as much as I love you? You are everything to me. I think of you all the time. Everywhere I look, I think I see you. I would do anything for you. I'll learn English. You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I love you more than anything."
Oh my.
Tea and I talked about what I should do to get him to stop hounding me. We decided that together we would come up with something to reply back that he would understand -- she would write it in Georgian on my phone and send it. So, while I kneaded tomorrow's bread dough, Tea manned my phone. We told him that he needs to stop calling me and texting me and that my "no" means "no." We said that I am in love with someone else and I have no interest in pursuing any kind of relationship with him, so please leave me alone.
My phone has been silent since Tea pressed "send" while I looked on, hands mired in the sticky dough.
Sticky, indeed -- how do I get myself into these sticky situations?
And tomorrow I am headed to Tbilisi... by bus. This could be interesting.
Back in February and March, when I traveled to Bakuriani and then Sighnaghi, I had the same bus driver and talked with him and his assistants. One of the assistants had shown me to my seat on the bus both times, and the second time, he asked me for my phone number so that he could text me. I gave it to him. (First mistake.) No sooner had the bus pulled away from the station in Zugdidi, when my phone rang -- it was Kakha (I think that's his name). He wanted to make sure it was my phone.... .and then the texts started. I didn't understand most of them -- he doesn't know any English. One of them that I did understand asked when I was going back to the U.S. Somehow in my reply, he thought that I said "tomorrow," and so he thought that I had left the country.
Two weekends ago, I went to Batumi. I took a marshutka from the bus station. I didn't see Kakha, but I did see some of the drivers whose busses/marshutkas I have taken to various locations around the country. Someone must have told Kakha that they had seen me..... and the texts and calls started again.
I understand enough Georgian to know when someone is asking me out, and I know enough to decline the invitation. But to Georgian men, "no" doesn't mean "no." (Georgian women have a bad habit of saying "no" when they really mean "yes." So Georgian men are conditioned to treat a "no" as "try harder.") So when I say, "No," his answer is, "Why?" -- to which I reply, (all of this is in Georgian), "I don't want to." But this does not compute. So he again asks, "Why?" This is where it all breaks down. I don't know the words to tell him that I have no interest in him -- that I do not want to be pursued -- please leave me alone. I would be friends with him, but Georgian men do not understand the concept of having women-friends. Women are for marrying. Well, not this woman!
This week, he called me at least ten times. Twice I answered. We went through the same conversation -- How are you -- Fine -- When are you coming to Zugdidi -- I don't know -- I will come to Shamgona to see you -- No -- Why -- I don't want you to -- Why -- ....... That's when I hang up the phone. He calls back several times, but I don't answer. I just click the phone off. So he texts me that he loves me and I am beautiful. I don't reply.
When he called earlier in the week, I told Tea, and I told her that I don't know what to tell him to get him to leave me alone. She said that he has no clue that I really don't want to see him and probably can't even fathom that I wouldn't want to. Thus, his insistence and persistence. She told me the next time he asks why I don't want to see him, to tell him, "Me mqkhavs chemi qatsi," (I have a man/boyfriend), and see if he backs off.
He called again today. We went around and around the same conversation that ended only when I hung up on him. He called back four times -- I didn't answer. A minute later, my phone dinged with my text alert. I opened it -- Another message that he loves me. I typed back the message that Tea told me to write. For a few minutes, my phone was silent. Then another ding. This time the message was so long, it had to be close to the character-limit for a text. I had no idea what it said, so I took my phone to Tea.
I told her that he called again. She shook her head in disgust. I said that I had told him what she had suggested I say about already having a boyfriend. Then I handed her my phone for her to see the reply. I watched her face as she read it. She bit her lip, shook her head, "phsaw-ed" a few times, and bit her lip again. When she finished reading it, she started laughing and shaking her head. Here's a rough translation of his text: "Does he love you as much as I love you? You are everything to me. I think of you all the time. Everywhere I look, I think I see you. I would do anything for you. I'll learn English. You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I love you more than anything."
Oh my.
Tea and I talked about what I should do to get him to stop hounding me. We decided that together we would come up with something to reply back that he would understand -- she would write it in Georgian on my phone and send it. So, while I kneaded tomorrow's bread dough, Tea manned my phone. We told him that he needs to stop calling me and texting me and that my "no" means "no." We said that I am in love with someone else and I have no interest in pursuing any kind of relationship with him, so please leave me alone.
My phone has been silent since Tea pressed "send" while I looked on, hands mired in the sticky dough.
Sticky, indeed -- how do I get myself into these sticky situations?
And tomorrow I am headed to Tbilisi... by bus. This could be interesting.
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