The Lucky Pessimist

I always try to foresee the bad side: the obstacles, the unpleasantries, the inconveniences, the disappointments. It’s my way to prepare myself for anything, I guess. And since I’ve been proven more adaptable than most, if not all, other students here, I suppose the strategy is working.

Take the trifling issue of eating with the host family, for example. Before I came, I was worried about the old babushka (accent on the first syllable, PLEASE) tying my legs to the kitchen chair and force feeding me way above my necessary amount of calories. Well, it turns out that Zhenya is anything but an old babushka, and I can eat as little as I want and come and go as I please. So you’d think I’d learn to be less pessimistic. Oh no. On the eve of the arrival of Zhenya’s mum Lyubov’—meaning Love—I worried that living with an old babushka is going to ruin my last week here. It turns out that Lyubov is also anything but an old babushka, but she does make lots of food and always tells me to eat for my health (“Kушай, кушай на здоровье”). And you know what, I’m loving it, too. She makes quite complicated yet delightful soups (and luckily, Zhenya takes after her) and pies with meat and potato or apple stuffing. It’s such an enjoyment to eat a full meal after writing a stupid essay on Russian federalism (no such thing) for 4 hours.

So you’d think I’d learn to be less pessimistic. Oh no. I love pleasant surprises, the one thing I don’t prepare myself for.