Friday, 17 February 2012

It Hurts like Hail.

Thursday 17 - Friday Afternoon 18 February

I didn't think it would be that cold outside, so I really didn't bother to get dressed properly that morning. I had a long-sleeved shirt and my Netzer Chultzah on.

We had finished getting Ravkavs (Bus Tags) at the bus station and were about to set off on our first ever Grocery Shopping Experience. Now, you're probably thinking: "Oh, Grocery Shopping... it cant be that bad." But have you ever had to, take a bus to a place you're not sure even exists, walk a hundred miles to find this place, get lost, do grocery shopping for 14 people, take the bus back to the station catch a train and then walk home after an excruciating experience in the middle of winter. In the hail, and pouring rain. Not knowing how to speak the language.

Didn't think so.

So I'm allowed to complain because my feet were wet, I was cold, I hated life, and as far as we could see, there wasn't much of a bright side to look on.

When we got home, I went on a mission and made the Dojo into the most amazing room in the whole flat. It is literally a room dedicated to chilling. No laptops allowed, cause people just sit on facecrack ALL day. It has the best vibe in the whole place, people just sleep and spoon there all the time its wonderful. I found some incense and some cool sheets for the mattresses. We even have candles and a giant map of the world long ago, so we know where we come from and what we strive to do with our lives.
Chinese food was the chosen cuisine to commemorate the occasion.

The is a little ally way just off Yafo street. The walls are covered in graffiti and posters for parties. We walked in feeling slightly awkward and unsettled by the vast amount of hipsters and the loud contemporary jazz music. The place was sleek, with shine-y, white floors - record covers and CDs lining the walls. The small bathroom in the back held inspiring tags all up and down the slanting walls, the paint still wet. Oddly dressed men and women sat at the bar, the geometric shapes of their sweaters each clashing with the next. Plaid kilts spilled over the bar stools, as the mysterious bartender pulled the handle for the beer tap, cool golden liquid filling the glass rapidly. A thick head of foam forming atop the pint of Goldstar. Chilling wind rushes past as patrons open and close the glass door. It was raining again. 
I zone out of the conversation between my two friends. Something about existentialism and why we exist in the way we choose.

I walked back with Rosa, hand in hand, crossing the busy streets of the Mamila intersection at 1am. We had left the rest of the group and gone for waffles with Becca, Lilys room mate. The man at the waffle bar had encouraged us to explore Israel and refused to only speak in Hebrew. I'm so proud to say that I ordered my waffles in Hebrew. It was cold outside and the waffle excursion had allowed me to hang out with some girls for a change.

The rest of the night was filled with existential crisis and internal turmoil about what is supposedly "the biggest secret on Shant" and all the problems and dilemmas that come with me knowing it. It really was an accident, and I don't really care. It's not a big deal in my life but I feel weird about it and had to take myself out for a walk this afternoon.

Shabbat dinner tonight and a skype date with my mom.