nudity.slip

My muse on film

Added 2025-08-16 16:00:37 +0000 UTC

I finally signed up for Spanish again.

I started learning it when I first moved to Manresa after the war began. But back then, I didn’t take it too seriously — it was fun, it came easily, and I wanted to understand the people around me. But deep down, I believed I wouldn’t be staying long. That the war would end soon, that I’d return to Kyiv and just go back to my life there.

It’s been three and a half years since then…

And I’m not in Manresa, or in Kyiv, or even in Europe. I’m in Mexico. Where what? Everyone speaks Spanish. Coincidence? I don’t think so. More like a sign.

No, I’m not planning to live here permanently. But this is already the second country that has hosted me during these suspended, uncertain chapters of my life — and once again, the official language here is Spanish.

So I decided… learning it is the right thing to do. A way to say thank you. And honestly, another excuse to study this beautiful language I actually like. Even if I end up living in the U.S. or somewhere else, I know I’ll keep coming back to these two countries that have become a part of my life.

And you know what? I

It’s hard.

Not to learn — but to not know.

To be far from even an intermediate level. I never expected to feel shame or discomfort while communicating with a teacher — just because I needed time to think, or because I forgot some verb endings, or kept “umm”-ing while searching for words. And after just one class, I realized how much the world around us is filled with this idea of “perfection.”

As if everything we do has to become something — something to show, to monetize, to perfect.

As if starting a new hobby only makes sense if you’re going to turn it into a project, a career, or at least content for social media.

As if doing something just because you love it… isn’t enough.

And as if there’s no space left to be bad at something — to just be learning, slowly, awkwardly, in private.

I’m explaining it clumsily — even in my head it’s not fully formed.

But I just forgot what it’s like to be a complete beginner at something… in front of someone else. Even if it’s just a teacher. When I play the ukulele on my own — it’s great. But the moment someone listens, I freeze. I feel like I’m not enough. Even though I never started playing to become a star. I do it for myself, with zero ambition, and I love it. Drawing, dancing, pottery, swimming — anything, really. It all suddenly becomes stressful the moment someone can see it. Can judge it. Can notice it’s imperfect. And it makes me want to hide.

It’s not that I’m afraid someone will laugh at me. I can speak Spanish, slowly, with mistakes — and I don’t mind. What bothers me is something quieter, deeper — the sense that the world only leaves space for excellence. That hobbies must become brands. That your process must be visible, marketable, perfect. That everything you share must already be “something.”

But what if I want to stay where I am? What if I like being here — clumsy, quiet, private — just learning?

ʼʼ