By Dasha Fayvinova, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Awkwardness usually comes from people asking me questions. Questions like:
“Do you think you will get a nose job later on?”
or...
“Have you ever pooped so hard you peed a little?”
and…
“You aren’t married yet?”
That last one, if you can believe it, has been the most awkward one to date. This question about marriage works on two levels. First, it puts into question the idea that I am not with someone. Secondly it gives a clear opinion on the time restraints I have when it comes to finding that someone.
It came out of the mouth of a 22 year old coworker that I am spending my summer with, inside of a Nazi-like lawyers office. (I will not even get into why I am working there because my brain is still in the PTSD stage of processing the information and wants to combust into a ball of mushy brain tissue.) My co-worker (who I will now refer to as “Misty”) asked me very few questions in the month and a half I worked at my job, mostly due to the NO TALKING policy. (I know you want to hear more but I’m sorry. Still processing)
On this particular Friday she felt loose. Maybe it was the ‘casual’ aspect of casual Friday, or maybe because I decided to call her Misty. Either way, she was talkative.
We did the old song and dance about where we were from; both immigrants, both live with our family and both speak Russian. Yet she came to America 4 years ago and I came in 2000. As I returned to my paperwork, I suddenly heard her call my name again.
“You aren’t wearing your ring?”
“Excuse me?” – I replied.
“Wedding ring.”
“Uh, no.”
What I wanted to say was:
“I mean if had one… like…if it was a real thing… I would put aside my ideas that they represent a conformist archaic idea of bartering your daughter away to a male you find worthy…AND WEAR THE SHIT OUT OF IT!"
And then scream:
“EAT YOUR HEART OUT KARDASHIAN, I DIDN’T HAVE TO BLOW A DUDE FOR IT!” (at least not on camera)
Instead I said:
“I don’t have a ring or a person who would give me one.”
“Wait…you aren’t married yet?!”
Woah. Lets back track here. Does she not understand that I have only reached SEMI-maturity, like, a millisecond ago? I believe the word butthole is the funnies word in the English language. If I could stay in reach of a computer that has access to Netflix, I can withstand not having sex for months. I. STILL. WATCH. SPONGEBOB.
How on earth can she possibly think I am ready for marriage?! Scratch that. HOW DOES SHE THINK I'VE ALREADY MISSED MY OPPORTUNITY TO BE MARRIED!?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that since coming to America, unlike Eddie Murphy’s character in the movie by the same name, I have started to forget what it is like to be Russian. And very much like Eddie Murphy’s character, I forgot that one needs a hot piece of ass to turn their backs on their family’s hopes.
I have been blessed with parents that somehow have raised me without leaving too much damage. Even though they come from the same repressive and downright shitty circumstances as Misty, they never really enforced the traditional ideas of Russian culture on me. My mom was a goddam surgeon and my father is a very good computer programmer who has very strong opinions about holding doors open for women. I GO TO AN ARTS SCHOOL TO BE A WRITER.
They knew they had to let me do what I loved. In Russia I would have been told to get my life on track, sent off to some university where I would eventually just quit and marry the first guy that could take care of me, pop out a few kids and make those kids do the same thing I did (unless it was a boy, in which case BE ONE WITH YOUR BAD SELF). Women in Russia seem to feel that if you are 23 and unwed, you have failed in some ways. My childhood best friend who is only a year older than me has been married for 2 years. My cousin just got married.
So what was it that really bugged me about the question? Was it the idea that I was alone and I shouldn’t be? That I somehow was incomplete without a man?
No. It was that I have forgotten what it was like to be Russian.
For some reason, I have always struggled with my identity. Well, how could I not really? I am a non-practicing Jew, who moved from Russia and is now an American citizen. I have never had a solid identity besides my gender (which in all honestly is questioned at the moment --I just look too damn good in a button down flannel.) I have never been anything for a solid period of time. I was never American enough, I was never Jewish enough and now I found out that I have slowly lost my grip on being Russian.
Am I saying that getting married at 22 is being Russian? No. What I am saying is that I forgot that it was just part of my culture. Which blows. A lot.
I think too many of my peers take for granted the idea of being “American” or being anything else ,for that matter. Having a cultural identity is important, kind of like not forgetting to wear a bra. You just feel more comfortable running… through life.
Misty made me realize, in her own judgmental and married way, that I was forgetting where I came from. It doesn’t mean I have to drink vodka until I develop a real problem or dance with a bear. By the way, both of those things are totally wrong. We drink vodka to numb pain, and bears are too hard to dance with; they have two left feet and don’t like to lead in a waltz.
So thanks to her, I patiently sit down with my parents and try to reconnect with my roots. All the while eating quinoa and catching the Yankees on television.
Some may call Dasha Fayvinova a visionary, others just call her really pale. Whichever you prefer, know that she's 5'9 and from the Bronx. She loves writing and she loves comedy which just means she will take any headline and try to make it funny. She spent 5 years of her life talking to a camera and putting it on YouTube so she knows how to please people. Follow her on Twitter @thedasha92.
Awkwardness usually comes from people asking me questions. Questions like:
“Do you think you will get a nose job later on?”
or...
“Have you ever pooped so hard you peed a little?”
and…
“You aren’t married yet?”
That last one, if you can believe it, has been the most awkward one to date. This question about marriage works on two levels. First, it puts into question the idea that I am not with someone. Secondly it gives a clear opinion on the time restraints I have when it comes to finding that someone.
It came out of the mouth of a 22 year old coworker that I am spending my summer with, inside of a Nazi-like lawyers office. (I will not even get into why I am working there because my brain is still in the PTSD stage of processing the information and wants to combust into a ball of mushy brain tissue.) My co-worker (who I will now refer to as “Misty”) asked me very few questions in the month and a half I worked at my job, mostly due to the NO TALKING policy. (I know you want to hear more but I’m sorry. Still processing)
On this particular Friday she felt loose. Maybe it was the ‘casual’ aspect of casual Friday, or maybe because I decided to call her Misty. Either way, she was talkative.
We did the old song and dance about where we were from; both immigrants, both live with our family and both speak Russian. Yet she came to America 4 years ago and I came in 2000. As I returned to my paperwork, I suddenly heard her call my name again.
“You aren’t wearing your ring?”
“Excuse me?” – I replied.
“Wedding ring.”
“Uh, no.”
What I wanted to say was:
“I mean if had one… like…if it was a real thing… I would put aside my ideas that they represent a conformist archaic idea of bartering your daughter away to a male you find worthy…AND WEAR THE SHIT OUT OF IT!"
And then scream:
“EAT YOUR HEART OUT KARDASHIAN, I DIDN’T HAVE TO BLOW A DUDE FOR IT!” (at least not on camera)
Instead I said:
“I don’t have a ring or a person who would give me one.”
“Wait…you aren’t married yet?!”
Woah. Lets back track here. Does she not understand that I have only reached SEMI-maturity, like, a millisecond ago? I believe the word butthole is the funnies word in the English language. If I could stay in reach of a computer that has access to Netflix, I can withstand not having sex for months. I. STILL. WATCH. SPONGEBOB.
How on earth can she possibly think I am ready for marriage?! Scratch that. HOW DOES SHE THINK I'VE ALREADY MISSED MY OPPORTUNITY TO BE MARRIED!?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that since coming to America, unlike Eddie Murphy’s character in the movie by the same name, I have started to forget what it is like to be Russian. And very much like Eddie Murphy’s character, I forgot that one needs a hot piece of ass to turn their backs on their family’s hopes.
I have been blessed with parents that somehow have raised me without leaving too much damage. Even though they come from the same repressive and downright shitty circumstances as Misty, they never really enforced the traditional ideas of Russian culture on me. My mom was a goddam surgeon and my father is a very good computer programmer who has very strong opinions about holding doors open for women. I GO TO AN ARTS SCHOOL TO BE A WRITER.
They knew they had to let me do what I loved. In Russia I would have been told to get my life on track, sent off to some university where I would eventually just quit and marry the first guy that could take care of me, pop out a few kids and make those kids do the same thing I did (unless it was a boy, in which case BE ONE WITH YOUR BAD SELF). Women in Russia seem to feel that if you are 23 and unwed, you have failed in some ways. My childhood best friend who is only a year older than me has been married for 2 years. My cousin just got married.
So what was it that really bugged me about the question? Was it the idea that I was alone and I shouldn’t be? That I somehow was incomplete without a man?
No. It was that I have forgotten what it was like to be Russian.
For some reason, I have always struggled with my identity. Well, how could I not really? I am a non-practicing Jew, who moved from Russia and is now an American citizen. I have never had a solid identity besides my gender (which in all honestly is questioned at the moment --I just look too damn good in a button down flannel.) I have never been anything for a solid period of time. I was never American enough, I was never Jewish enough and now I found out that I have slowly lost my grip on being Russian.
Am I saying that getting married at 22 is being Russian? No. What I am saying is that I forgot that it was just part of my culture. Which blows. A lot.
I think too many of my peers take for granted the idea of being “American” or being anything else ,for that matter. Having a cultural identity is important, kind of like not forgetting to wear a bra. You just feel more comfortable running… through life.
Misty made me realize, in her own judgmental and married way, that I was forgetting where I came from. It doesn’t mean I have to drink vodka until I develop a real problem or dance with a bear. By the way, both of those things are totally wrong. We drink vodka to numb pain, and bears are too hard to dance with; they have two left feet and don’t like to lead in a waltz.
So thanks to her, I patiently sit down with my parents and try to reconnect with my roots. All the while eating quinoa and catching the Yankees on television.
Some may call Dasha Fayvinova a visionary, others just call her really pale. Whichever you prefer, know that she's 5'9 and from the Bronx. She loves writing and she loves comedy which just means she will take any headline and try to make it funny. She spent 5 years of her life talking to a camera and putting it on YouTube so she knows how to please people. Follow her on Twitter @thedasha92.