My very own supra

One of the best things I know is getting blown away, not literally of course (even though I did survive a bomb blast). I just love when life surprises me with a total whooping boom-bam-here-you-go-ma’am experience! As if the angels decided to shower me with sparkles “just because”. Maybe karma, or perhaps it’s an angel’s prerogative to randomly dish out marvel?

The feeling is especially strong when I am fully void of expectations. No build up, no wish list. And suddenly, an experience that impacts me beyond words. It can be an encounter, a human connection, a moment, a discovery, a feeling. But regardless of what it is, the common denominator is an impression so strong that the memory will last until my last breath (unless memory loss is my predestined curse in old age).

It’s been over a week since I completed an epic experience in the form of 960 pages. The Eighth Life (for Brilka) by Nino Haratischvili, a grimly graphic novel of a Georgian family spanning a century starting with the Red Army invasion in 1921 and ending with (no no I won’t do that in case you want to read it). I’m still trying to figure out why the book moved me so much. It left me understanding the human condition a bit better, how we deal with trauma and disappointment differently, how passion and true love are rarities in life, how our heritage and genetic disposition is a force that cannot be reckoned with, how our search for purpose binds and separates us at the same time, how resilience is a gift that cannot be taken for granted, how we all share a continuous sense of longing, and finally how the family bond is a source for so much pain and joy.

The hours spent in my sofa with the book brought me on a journey through Georgia’s vast history. I envisioned its struggle for autonomy and fulfillment of its true potential. I felt the grimness of the Soviet era and the tragedy of war and its consequences on my skin. I breathed nostalgia for the streets of the city Tbilisi that I love so much, and I gained a deeper understanding of Georgian female strength. I was reminded that “It will not always be like this” (one of the wisest things anyone told me, thank you Anna!). Everything and everyone, all pain and joy, changes with time. If it’s good, cherish it, if it’s shit, be patient.

The hours I spent reading this book felt like my very own supra, so decadent and full of tamada (toastmaster) words of wisdom. It left me pondering big existential issues and giggling about humanity's simplicities. Is there anyone who was ever able to say that their life turned out just like they expected? Maybe How can good writing not be one of the most beautiful things in this world? “They lent each other happiness. They lent each other the present, and gave each other memories for the future.”