Prague 6/29 - Being Back

I am – to be totally honest – not entirely certain what I’m doing here.

As you can tell from the last entry, my post grad plans have never been something I’ve been 100% on anyway. Well, now I’m here, and I’m haunted. Not in the interesting sense like a Japanese goat god is coming out of my shower drain or that there are violins and rain accompanying me into dark bars where I quaff whiskey and lament to the barkeep with a perpetually dirty glass that if only I’d been better he/she wouldn’t have gotten away/died. Nonetheless, the apparitions following me are so intense some times I think I might be able to actually see them.

 I knew coming back wasn’t going to be the same. Just logistically, I’ll be working instead of attending classes of laughable difficulty. And I know my friends won’t be here this time. But when I was collecting my bags at the terminal, which also happened to be the terminal the Czech dropped me off at when I left in December, I could almost see him. First I was picturing what he would have looked like coming back from a trip he took in January, and then I walked past the place we’d had our last goodbye. Then, driving into the city, we drove past all these places – not even places, just streets – I had so many fond memories off. Like the street where Max and Martin fell in love while Sara and I mocked them from behind, puffing a cigarette, or the place the Czech and I had our first kiss, the Catholic faculty Sara and I took classes at, or the suicide bridge which reminds me of that art exhibit I liked with Max so much. Then it turns out I live literally one block up the hill from the Huskineska stop, which is about seven blocks from my apartment on Slavikova I lived in last fall, so I know the neighborhood well, and it’s not like I’ve actually moved. Everything is the same. I shouldn’t be surprised, if Prague was a card in Magic, it’d have a +20 resistance to change, and it’s only been seven months. I’ve changed, though, and I can’t slip easily back into where I was. First, because of the lack of my two most significant relationships. Second, because I don’t fit into that hole any more. It’s… sad. We were driving past the park with the metronome, and on one side of the street was the park, which I love because of the metronome, and on the other was a green building with grimy cherubs above the door. My immediate reaction wasn’t glee, it was nausea, which is about the last thing I expected. The first time, my first 24 hours were full of wonder. Now… Well, I went down to the clock and got some tredelnik in Mala Strana, and the whole way there, instead of wonder, it was familiarity. But not the nice kind, where you feel comfortable and welcome. It just felt blah. Just normal, but at the lowest end of the scale.

Basically, it’s not magical anymore.

I suppose I can always leave. Once I’ve got this TEFL thing done, international doors are a little easier to open up. And I was sent something of a blessing in the form of another’s suffering. Wait, let me explain. There was a British girl on my flight from Heathrow to Prague, and British Airlines did her the fantastic favor of losing her baggage. We also happened to be in the same room for the first night (I’ve been moved into a flat one floor lower). I spent the majority of today showing her around the city and helping her find the things she needs. We went to an H&M so she could get a change of clothes, Vodafone so we could get phones straightened out for the two of us (sold her my old burner phone, so don’t call that one anymore), and the Super Tesco for toiletries and basic food items. Understandably, she’s overwhelmed. I get the very strong impression she doesn’t want to be here, and then her bags were lost, and now she’s in a foreign country alone with none of her stuff and no clue what to do about much of anything. So while that sucks for her, and I’m very sorry, it was a welcome distraction. Being able to fuel my energy into something productive, especially something for someone else, and not into moping significantly improved my mood.

Being in the HM while she grabbed socks and shirts, it felt like being in there with Julia at Christmas looking for a sweater for her interview, and walking to the Tesco was like walking to the internship teaching English Thursday mornings. And while the context of the whole thing is different enough to bother me, over top the patina is the same. There’s a distinct feel to Prague that’s almost impossible to describe. And while it’s different for everyone, I’m sure at it’s core, it’s mostly the same. For me, that patina, that feeling, radiates not from within, but from without. It’s the smell coming up from the metro stations when you pass on the street, it’s the uneven cobblestone sidewalks, it’s the grime on the walls and the graffiti tags everywhere (my personal favorite). These things wrap you up, and though you’re isolated because you can’t understand the language of the passerby, which isn’t always Czech, you’re also being absorbed into the walls. It’s like something out of a fantasy book. And the first time, it took a month before I was comfortable enough to realize it was happening. When you stop worrying about which tram to take and stop trying to convert what you just spent in your head and stop worrying that you feel so alone, the patina of the city folds up around you and you realize that Prague has slid her ethereal hands up through your pant legs and has got a comfortable grip around your ankles keeping you on the ground. Kafka said something about Prague being a mother with sharp claws that dig into you till you can’t go. I don’t think that’s it at all. Because I’m back, and there certainly isn’t any motherly sensation. Nor were the “claws” I felt ever from the actual city, but instead the people I’d left here. No, I think the reason Prague is addicting is because your feet safely anchored to the ground is a sensation new cities don’t give you, and it’s human nature to want to have a stable place to walk. But this patina, this feeling of having my feet on stable ground, isn’t covering anything else significant. I have nothing here to make that patina a glossy finish over something solid, and instead it’s like holding a soap bubble. Insubstantial. Nor am I at a point in my life where stability is a high priority.

So go back and reread my first post from last fall when I was here. I’m still sitting in a Zizkov apartment listening to the minimal traffic, still drinking Twinings loose leaf earl grey (brought a tea strainer this time so I don’t have to make it in a French Press), still plugging away at my computer. But I’m such a different person now.