(story)
No idea about what you go to the theater for, but I do it to think about and dream about someone who I love. It is hard to find a better place in Tashkent to spend hours thinking about someone. No one and nothing will keep me company except for half a liter of cold coke and the memories of my bitter, futile love for four years and eight months.
Tashkent is a rare capital city where you can buy works of art for almost free. Take, for instance, today’s theatergoing: I spent just 35 thousand soums or 3 U.S. dollars for the ticket. The price is ridiculous, and more than a hundred people sweat on stage. Awkward, isn’t it? I feel sorry for the theater team – some of them have a life worse than that of our teachers: without a house of their own, nor a car, they earn little except for wedding party tips, while the salary dries up like the Aral Sea before the tenth day of the month. They work in theater just because they love arts or with bright dreams of fame in the future. And some of them hang around the stage since they have little ability to do anything else and get old without much earnings. They would not go even if you beat them. Sad fates.
Well, today I’m here not to discuss actors, but indulge in sweet thoughts about the person I love. Nowadays, it is a miracle to keep one’s attention in one place for an hour.
Aidin is 22 years old. I love her.
It was a love at first sight. The truth is this: Once I saw her, I realized in my heart that my previous orderly, pleasant life would be a matter of history.
Before blindly falling in love with Aidin, I did not have any experience in relationships. I thus had never been ready to ‘die’ for someone else, and yet this could be the key reason for my insanity, because this world loves to make fun of the inexperienced.
Even after nearly five years, Aidin has stubbornly managed to not give a grip. And I feel that I am growing in nerves and angriness; in a word, my life is proving unbridled and skimpy. In four months, my unrequited love will turn five, and these five years have turned me into a completely different person, a new and unhappy copy of previous me. I have become a new chap, the one who looks like the previous one, but only in the passport. I hate the new guy, but there’s no way back to the old days.
I write to Aidin every day on Telegram, but get short answers, that’s it. She sends me mock greetings, i.e., smileys in molds. I hate those who just press a like to something that someone wrote... The source of this hatred is not just the unreciprocated love. Another reason is my neighbor, who borrowed 8 million soums and has not paid it back for three and a half years, and who sends me a congratulatory photo with the same words every Holy Friday. I wanted to buy a car with the money I gave him. I had saved one million soums from my monthly salary on my bank card, but now I have forsaken this dream. I came to be buried in his excuses like “I’ll give back tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, I will sell the house, I will sell goods, I will…”
Now I feel tired of everything and am afraid that nervousness will finish up my heart. I think of not much that the money has gone ‘into a bin’, but that I can’t bear to drive a car on the streets of Tashkent. Let’s say my neighbor pays off his debt. Will I struggle again to save money and eventually buy a car only to go out into the street and face trouble at every step? No, no! For some reason, ninety percent of our drivers are always in a hurry and are angry, complain about something, drive over each other, and are impatient. Do I join this gang? Nope!
Seems that it is better for me if my neighbor fails to give my money back. In the past three and a half years, I have made walking around the city a priority. I completely refuse to buy a car; it is for this very purpose I wanted to save money. So, now he does not need to repay his debt at all. The day I made this decision was one of my happiest days.
When walking around Tashkent, one will see incredible beauty, notice a harmony in the chaos, come across narrow shacks along with courtyards planted with basil, pass through magnificent mosques to end up in charming and enchanting bazaars. Cityscapes groaning with grandeur and eccentricity will remind you of the scenery of a great work of art.
I once saw Tashkent in the morning shedding tears without a voice. What a horror! The unique Tashkent, crying voicelessly in a corner, covering its mouth with its hands.
That is why I can’t remember anything but my unreturned love giving me despairing answers when the debtor neighbor sends me greeting texts every Friday. The girl says neither no, nor yes to me, to my love… She neither marries someone, nor me… Perhaps I am falling for her even sturdier given the myriad questions and puzzles.
Even when we meet, she keeps always silent, her lips keep trembling, she wants to say something, but ultimately does not say anything. Gives a cold smirk and runs away to her red car waiting for her.
Sometimes, out of nervousness, I get eager to go into her life. I know it’s bad, but what can I do? After all, I can’t keep living with Telegram smileys!
That is the reason behind my putting cameras in the parking lot Aidin uses. I love watching her switch off the engine or light it up. She gets nervous when someone pulls up to her space – she gets more beautiful. She waits for a bit; in those moments my dear movie gets a little longer and it makes me feel better than watching Neftlix series. It sounds like a lot of fun.
Yet I still have very little clue about her feelings as to who she waits for, who she trusts, who she loves, who she will belong to in the end – I desperately love her with these questions in mind.
Today I came to the theater again to think about her, but still had little idea about what was waiting for me here.
(Excerpt from story)
