tsvetoslav shalev

No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one’s heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.

― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Once again I’m being held against my will. The captor? A blank page, staring back, taunting me. Or maybe it’s looking right through me, hence why I feel somewhat unsettled, daunted even. I’ve been meaning to write, but living took precedence. There’s also the matter of having nothing to commit a crime for, let alone die for. You know what I mean – a prime mover, something other than a flight of stairs to get the blood flowing, the ol’ heart thumping, the wheezing engine a-going. So, I resign myself to the making up of (any)things, as I reach into an empty top hat and hope to pull out a white rabbit. All I get is a dust bunny and a distant look painted on my weary face. One will be forgiven for thinking it, the latter as a sign of deep cognitive exertion. In fact, I am looking for an excuse to pause this activity and do anything else. Even nothing at all. But hey-ho!

It’s Saturday, June 24th. The location – Albena, Bulgaria. Caught between cloudless azure skies and a coastline curving gently for miles on end, my toes rake through fine golden sands and uncover no buried cigarette buds. I’m pleasantly surprised, but also in pain caused by a sudden onset of an ear/throat infection. Low-key fever renders every moment under the scorching sun just a touch more painful and uncomfortable than what I’m typically used to. I hurt, therefore I am! Or something along those lines. The resort belongs to the French this year. Elderly and in great numbers, you see them shuffling through poorly lit lobbies, seeking the cool shades of cafés, diners (all-inclusive, otherwise what’s the point?) and outdoor swimming pools. Their presence also explains a service I just found out about – animation. Despite my affinity for all things literary, I tend to take things literally. You can imagine my confusion when I first saw a plaque with the word “animation” written on it, displayed alongside other hotel perks. A gym, a sauna, a swimming pool, free Wi-Fi, animation… Animation? Did they have an exclusive deal with Crunchyroll or something? Yes, my mind went there. Only later in the day, during lunch with friends and their friends, did I finally receive the clarity I didn’t know I needed. A group of young people, boys and girls in their early 20s, all wearing the same combination of white t-shirt/candy-red shorts, began circling the restaurant’s tables exclaiming “Bonjour”, “Bon Appétit”, “Dobar apetit”. So abrupt, so dry and habitual sounding, a conveyor-belt quality of targeted (feigned) courtesy, their voices rising over the friendly banter, almost startling at first. Little did I know that they were merely warming up. For the remainder of the day, their presence lingered on like a sunburn, causing me almost as much discomfort as my sore throat. For their part, the tourists, bless their cotton socks, did not mind this herding, this coercing to various games and public events, even in the blistering heat. In fact, they seemed genuinely entertained by the “animators” and their pre-fabricated approach to social engagement in search of fun. This went on and on. In the evening, the games were replaced by loud music, chanting, and dancing. Breakfast the following day, the “Bonjours” and “Bon Appétits” returned anew, the now-familiar loud monotone staccato mowing down what little remained of my inner peace. Silly aside, the business of animating hotel guests seems a very practical way to improve on your foreign language skills. Provided you’re extroverted and the wages are fair, your summers could be spent far worse. I couldn’t do it. I don’t have it in me, the polite drill sergeant archetype.

A gentle reminder – you can use generative AI to help you write articles. This here blog, however, remains 100% (hu)man made. Someday soon, this will be a bragging point. Afterwards, an unnecessary detail. Scared yet? Don’t be.