I left the apartment this afternoon at 12pm, grabbing a small bite of plum pie on my way out. My host mom shouted, "Eat more!", as I was leaving. I hesitated a moment, my mouth full of pie, but then responded with a resounding "No". You really must be firm about these things at times, especially if you find it crucial to avoid gaining more than ten pounds in your first month in Moscow.
I was in class today from 12:15 to 5:10, with two ten minute breaks, which I think is a long time for any reasonable student to be in class, even more so when nearly every word spoken is in Russian. In my last class of the day, during which we were reading aloud passages from a chapter about Catherine the Great, I was woozy and irritated. I felt that if I had to listen to one more person stumble clumsily through pronunciations of yet another Russian sentence, I would stab myself in the eye with a pencil. Following this drastic thought, I listened to many more passages spoken in broken Russian, and even read aloud myself, but, of course, did not mar any of my lovely features with a pencil. (I rarely, if ever, follow through on my violent internal statements.) However, at this point, my head was beginning to feel like a vast wasteland of broken Russian words, not unlike the opening scene of the popular children's movie, Wall-E, in which a cute little robot zooms around in a post-apocalyptic, garbage-filled Earth. Except, in my own personal adaptation, the garbage, sometimes piled to the height of skyscrapers, consists of random Russian verb conjugations and nouns, neither of which I can ever seem to string together into a comprehensive thought. After arriving back home (a remarkable feat considering my rubbish-ridden brain), I slumped down at the kitchen table, at which Tatyana and her sister-in-law were enjoying dinner and a glass of wine. I made myself a cup of tea and cut a little sqaure of pie, and, upon prompting, told them about my day. They corrected my pronunciation of a word and I repeated it a few times until I got it right, at which point they both clapped enthusiastically. I started over at the beginning of my sentence and, once I reached the word again, my correct pronunciation incited more clapping and a couple repititions of "Well done!". After which, I lost my place, and, once again, began from the beginning of the sentence, to be interrupted by a chorus of "oooooooh" when I, once again, pronounced the word correctly. At this point, it was starting to get a little bit ridiculous and, at a loss for how to continue, I dissolved into giggles, joined by my two terribly kind companions.
As evident in this episode, Tatyana is endlessly supportive in my struggle for fluency in the Russian language. She also tends to find me genuinely amusing, which I greatly appreciate. For example, whenever she calls to me from the kitchen and asks if I am ready for dinner, I usually respond with a simple "yes" because the Russian verbs of motion are confusing and I'm not entirely certain how to convey that I am coming/am on my way. As a happy correction to what I felt was an abrupt response, I now sing the word, "yes", and then repeat it multiple times at various octaves, which Tatyana seems to really get a kick out of. This is similar to when we're eating dinner together and I, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the silence, move my shoulders side-to-side in a little dance and start humming. I feel lucky because, to be honest, these are both terribly odd little habits that I have picked up, and I'm sure there are many people out there who would not find them nearly as charming as Tatyana seems to. I do a lot of other weird, unexplainable things too, like curtsey to her when I say "thank you" sometimes, dance a sadder version of the "running man" as I wait for her to pour coffee in the morning, take selfies with her cats, etc. She usually responds by laughing and calling me clever, then asks me why I don't have a boyfriend. I don't know why, Tatyana. You tell me.