Reflection on a Cycle

Hello, I'm Anna

and I need to tell stories.

      I wrote as a child, about fireplaces and the feelings that spilled over onto paper. I truly and deeply loved reading, writing and expanding my language. I remember my 5th grade teacher encouraging me and really seeing my writing for how pure it was. But then, life changed, and language became my biggest enemy. Ten days before my 12th birthday, we moved to Germany. My family, who had moved there thirty years prior, spoke either Russian or German, Latvian was uttered in attempts to remember leftovers of past knowledge. I felt out of place, commanding Latvian freely, but not having anyone to speak it with. The focus now was on survival. I had to quickly figure out what to do. I embraced our new life the best I could, knowing that this would ease my mothers guilt over ripping me out of all the familiar and planting us into a world that was so different. 

     I started school soon after. Scared, not understanding a word of what is being said, I was quickly walked up the stairs soon after getting there. My mother, shocked and paralysed looking on as I leave into the unknown. I still remember that moment today. My new class was a truly unique place. The area was good, the school was out of control, but our little room was a sanctuary for all of us, misplaced and brave kids. The ages of my classmates raged from 10 to 18, the nationalities were as colourful as it gets, our class making up for half the globe, representing Syria, Bangladesh, Vietnam, Columbia, the Dominican Republic, Iraq, Bulgaria, Georgia, and many others before and after us. My world shifted in a few seconds. I now had to unpack my English knowledge, to mediocre success in this environment, as most kids either didn't speak it and our teacher encouraged us to speak German at all times. Eva, our teacher, in my memory glows like an angel, teaching all of us her special language, making us all understand her. This way, she helped every single kid learn German and find their way in life. She pushed me out of the class after a year under her protection. I was excited, my German was good enough tho follow classes, but in no way enough to follow classes every day. Yet, somehow, I managed to get through, usually staying silent or having a panic attack when teachers called on me to read out loud. While I started to get into the social structures of this school, I quickly found the crowds that would introduce me to cigarettes, weed and truly destructive and stupid behaviour. Looking back I can't believe the seriousness of the issues we were dealing with. Neither of us knew what that could result in. Now, I truly look back with fear. 

     Those are also the years that I do not remember particularly well. I started watching TV shows to escape the reality, as being a teenager was pared with a long list of issues. My language and the way I was perceived remained as the main influences on me. I started with zero German in that school and a few years later I had managed to build a life, speak and use my words freely. But the past haunted me, and every time I got confident, either the voice in my head or an asshole classmate would remind me of how I once pronounced a word wrong. Added to that, I was skinny. The largest of issues to these people, ironically. But as I started to work as a model at the young age of 13, I also gained a voice. I had to defend myself against those boys, other girls, grown men, my family, my sceptical friends and against all those people who wanted to hurt me for selfish reasons. I had to develop a thick skin. Looking back, modelling and all resulting issues from that have impacted me more than I'm even ready to admit, but it triggered the need to fight for myself for once. 

      As I grew more confident, harsher words were thrown at me. Some guidance counsellors told me that I am closer to becoming a stripper than receiving a degree. Her words are stuck with me until today. The day after I submitted my Bachelor's Dissertation. Can you see? How wrong they were? And if I'm honest, how wrong I was? 

      After finishing 10th grade in my first German school, I continued at a school that would give me a shot at applying for university one day. Those years deserve a book on their own. But in regards to my language, weirdly, it got.. to six. Early on in grade 6, I realised that French truly was a cursed language, as every teacher in this field was something spawning from the depths of hell. Apart from one, the lady who tried her best to teach me French, but ended up paying me to teach her daughter English, babysit and cater at her gatherings. I see now that not all French people are bad. I am sorry for carrying this assumption for that long. One of the main reasons for my forgiveness is the development of an understanding of teaching, people and the environment of language. It was just the wrong time. However, the last three years in Germany were language festival. Latvian was spoken at home, however German had started to slip into our daily conversations, making my friends laugh when I would speak to my mother, them only getting the occasional "Haltestelle" (meaning bus stop). I spoke German freely in school, and wrote nearly at the level of other students, but always seemed to stumble across difficulties. I excelled at the advanced English class, as I had always done throughout the years. Spanish was a blast too, as our amazing teacher was more of a strict friend than just someone doing their job. I found Spanish easy to understand and could usually rely on mu gut feeling. I probably could have put more effort in, I'm sorry Miss H. 

      In that time Russian had become a huge part of my life. I understood most conversations, which was due to the fact that I was exposed to a whole Russian community while in a relationship. Russian was spoken all around me, always in anticipation to hear an answer from me too. This is when I truly realised that languages played a huge part in my life. It was core to my existence, as I could not bring myself to try and speak the language that I loved and was surrounded by. This is still something I struggle with today. at least I loudly sing Russian songs and spoke to that one cashier in Bulgaria. OF course the Universe had to acknowledge it, as she commented on my "strong accent but correct sentence structure". Thanks lady. 

    After moving to London nearly three years ago, I lost nearly all of them. I spent over two years speaking English with everyone, apart from a few family members who I spoke broken Latvian to. German usually took a week to get back to conversation level, but even that usually was shaky, as doctors would talk slowly to me, asking if I'd understood, using simple terms to explain arising issues. Russian remained in my life through a few friends and tarot readings, as well as the occasional line below instagram posts. 

     But my life was consumed by English, challenging me on every step of the way. I developed a British accent within the first month, I truly cannot explain it fully, even now. Then, university began. On the first ever seminar I had, I raised my hand, while my insides were shaking, it felt like an earthquake was making everything that was inside me fall out of place, creating chaos, fear and destruction. In reality, I raised my hand and asked my teacher if he thought that democracy was the right type of state system for every country in the world. He diverged the question, never answering it. Somewhere between the question coming up, my hand raising, the internal earthquake and actually speaking I found a loud voice. It was speaking to every cell in my body, like through massive megaphones, that this decision will transform my life and will give me my voice back. It did. 

     I became outspoken, never backing off of a discussion, voicing my usually divergent views, making my teachers entertain themselves by pairing me with other students who were the polar opposite. To be honest, I can see how that might have been fun to see, and actually, it only helped me down the line. It taught me to do my research, to really understand my view in order to defend it, to respect the other side of the argument, as well as the person voicing it and it also taught me that most people do not follow the same processes. If anything, it is concerning to me. Our society is truly disconnected from the importance of growth, education and challenging internal truths. And I would never dare to put all the blame on the individual, I think the issue is much larger. I think that there are systematical obstacles put in our ways to misguide us, disconnect us and to let us use our resources in unproductive ways. 

      I started my degree by having someone always look over my writing, correcting the language, pointing out knotted thoughts, helping me learn the rules. By the middle, I was attending PhD classes, listening to presentations and words I couldn't understand. But I was intrigued, I wanted to understand what they were discussing. So I kept using the opportunities that had presented themselves, taking up reading about psychology to aid me in my own therapy and to understand our society better. My mentor was right by my side, any time we had had an interesting thought, wanting to see where it leads us, we would call each other, often speaking longer than an hour. The love for books, thought, language and education was reborn. I looked at myself deeply, I started to write now and then, reading a lot, participating in large and interesting discussions on politics, literature and philosophy. The other side of me was struggling to keep up, often leading me down questionable paths, but I always managed to get a deep look at myself, learning about myself every time. 

     This has lead my story to now. The scariest part of the reflection. I submitted my dissertation yesterday. I realised that this research was actually the research of myself. I wrote about my motherland, my soil, my roots and the wind of destiny, destruction and transformation that has blown over Latvia, carrying my ancestors across the world, planting a seed that blooms into my own life along the way. This work combined my whole existence into one string of words. It helped me unlock my love of story-telling again. 

      See you back here.