apparently zoe’s friend coined the phrase “slavaboo” to describe the strange subsection of people who are a little too obsessed with communism and the ussr, call each other comrade, joke about gulags, and pretend to have slavic accents, etc. u know. people who are superficially interested in slavs without knowing anything about slavic culture or history. they took the form of annoying white american boys throughout high school for me and would mansplain to me (incorrectly) about MY culture and history as if their terrible fake russian accent that they put on for kicks trumps my years of being an actual serb. now its tiktok girlies wearing ushankas and making really uncomfortable content about communism and eastern block “aesthetic”.
like on the one hand ushankas are just hats and im really not interested in gatekeeping my culture bc ive always wanted to share it, but tbh what pisses me off is that these ppl ARENT interested in the culture. ill always think back on that post abt cultural appropriation i saw a few years ago, that rightly challenged white ppl pulling elements of poc culture into their lives without first understanding the cultural significance. but that post then turned around and recommended aspects of european culture, specifically slavic and eastern european, that white ppl could use instead (folkwear and holidays), and that pissed me off.
in my balkan class we learned that eastern europe, particularly the balkans, are viewed as europe lite. it’s a strange place to be because obviously were white. thats just a fact. but western europeans view us as savages, uncivilized, a barbaric and war-torn land of backwards people. the first day of class my professor asked us to tell us words we associated with the balkans and GOD DAMN was there plenty of orientalism in that american university classroom. for most of our history we’ve barely been considered europe. our relationship with the word “europe” is so complex and difficult to properly explain. western europe doesnt consider us europe bc were not on their level. so getting grouped in like that, having someone outside of that group give other white people permission to “use” our culture with the same cavalier attitude that they would appropriate poc culture? its UNPLEASANT. i dont like it.
i guess what im trying to say is that knowing about russian war tanks and pilots is cool and all. gushing about eastern bloc architecture and wearing ushankas is fun. but slavic history is a big mess, torn between wanting to be part of the civilized “europe” but also not wanting to reject our specific culture (like the conflict between westernizers and slavophiles in russian history).
im thinking about the heartbreak of telling classmates and friends that i was slavic but having them be more interested in my barebones knowledge of russian history and culture rather than asking me about my serbian culture. that all i was to them was an excuse to talk about the soviet union or the warsaw pact when my country was never even a part of either. they’d get grossed out by the food i brought to school, demonstrate no interest in my culture at all. id watch their eyes glaze over when i excitedly asked them if they wanted me to write their name in cyrillic or teach them serbian phrases... its all so surface level and vapid. tbh really cringe. thats what yall are. cringe. using ur stupid fake slavic accents, calling each other comrades, making jokes about the ussr and gulags as if theres any humor to be found in a gulag. sickening behavior.
i WANT people to be interested in my culture but i want them to appreciate it. i dont want them pulling aspects that they can use for the aesthetic, or for them to oversimplify slavic history or make jokes about the ussr or gulags. i want them learning about folklore and mythology, actually listening to our music (and maybe actual folk music, not just the russian techno ppl like). look at our art, our stories. we have a rich and vibrant and varied culture with many influences. its not all blank cement buildings and ushankas. we have a lot of beautiful culture to offer and it pisses me off how ppl dismiss it.
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When I first awoke, everything happened so fast. My mind was constantly spiraling, the world around me shifting and spinning, memories foggy and broken from time away from consciousness and outsider tampering. I assumed so much, remembered so wrong, pinpointing on an idea that, admittedly, I hardly understood then.
Destruction.
I raced against my mind, I raced against the clock, I raced against the shadow of myself.
Or... Was I the shadow of him?
Everything happened in a blur, yet I remember the feelings, my mindset, how unstable and hurried I was, how I felt as though I were still in the metal corridor running for my life, running for our lives, running til life went cold.
Faces and voices, they each solidified into my mind, and I wanted to cling to them so desperately. I found myself running in circles, running in place, lights and buildings passing by me, the world around me so vast and dreamlike.
I didn't feel alive, and yet... I felt more alive than I'd ever been.
My feet barely touched the ground as I went, as things happened, events unfolding before my eyes. Voices spoke to me, they called to me, they told me everything I wanted yet couldn't believe. I was broken yet build all at once, deconstructed then pieced back together again... But it all went so fast that I didn't understand much of it at the time.
Locked onto pink quills, green eyes, purple wings, a shining machine... They all had their effects on me, they all took pieces of me and unraveled me like a loosely knit scarf, becoming nothing more than old worn yarn.
Blazing streaks of blue, I chased after light itself, for those moments that I sped through the air and clashed with glowing spines, nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed but a feeling of being held down, grounded, yet lifted onto cloud nine all the same.
My mind loved to contradict itself, it made it hard for me to process it all later on. When everything felt so strange and dreamlike, I felt like I had to doubt its reality... But it was real, I know that now, ever since finding steadier ground for myself.
The final stretch, we were shooting stars in the sky, my mind falling back to blurred memories, now slightly less damaged, and slightly more lucid. A voice called out to me, believing in me, believing in us.
Fighting side-by-side against kin of my own, against a disaster greater than any yet seen, I felt just as golden as our bodies had become. For them all, for the ones who'd given me so much in such little time, I fought. For the love I was created in the name of, I gave it my all. For the world I'd promised to protect....
I plummeted out of the sky.
My memories of that time make recalling it feel like it was all a fever dream, yet I know how real it was.
Awoken again, with new connections alongside me, I chased the high of that night, I chased the high of living after going so long disallowed from it.
Friends.
That's who they are to me. And they were still at that time... But that exuberance wouldn't last. I could only make my life out to be a drama for so long before it would come crumbling down upon me.
Slowly, yet surely, cracks began to form.
And the invasion was the gunshot through my chest that broke the glass I was made of.
Memories challenged, my mind pried open, things confirmed that I'd avoided for so long, ideas brought to mind that still caused me paranoia, even after they were disproven. I lost sight of myself, despite believing so deeply that I'd found myself....
Or, perhaps... There never was a self to begin with.
Who was I prior, even? Just a cocky bastard who yearned for the enjoyment of living everyone else experienced? Who, try as he may, couldn't get those same feelings unless he was neck-and-neck against his own imposter?
My friends think there was a "me" before, but that one feels so distant in my mind that it's... Hard to truly know.
My skull was cracked open, my psyche poured onto a platter where all could view it and taste it for themselves... They didn't leave.
Part of me had hoped they'd leave.
Part of me wanted to hold them so close for staying by my side.
They were so persistant.
Yet so was I.
The feelings crept in and made themselves at home.
Just another adventure, it seemed, just another calamity to be faced.
I had my friends with me, I had myself together, for the time being. Things had felt... Fine, despite how the paranoia lingered within me, despite how my mind couldn't get away from the darkness of our world.
But my friends... They were there.
I was there.
We were there and we would fight together when the time came for it...
Until...
Something inside me shattered.
When I saw his body collapse, something inside of me simply fell to pieces.
Forced to continue on, I trudged, lost, falling into myself...
And you'd think that... Once he was back, things would've been fine...
But they weren't fine.
When they gathered the Emeralds, she imbued them with her own sealed power, and life was brought back to him...
I should have felt relieved... Well, I did, for a moment. It was when we had to fight that beast together that I realized how much I'd been wrecked by my own thoughts.
That stupid smile, that unending bravery, bright eyes and a hand held out to me...
I couldn't lose that again.
When all was said and done... When I collapsed from exhaustion and had to be carried home... I'd wake up....
Different.
They were all so kind to me. They all cared so much. They gave me exactly what I wanted and I loved it. I hated it.
I couldn't let it happen again, not again, not again, not like last time... If I had no one I could never fail them. If no one depends on me, then no one is because of me. If no one is around me, then no one is hurt on my behalf.
Alone...
I began to trail behind. I began to avoid the others. I began to remain silent. I began to snap at each and every one of them until they'd assume I wanted to be alone. I did, that's what I wanted. I didn't, I never wanted that.
I forced it upon myself, I had to defend myself, I had to defend them. It was my purpose, to be a sacrifice to the world for it to thrive. Sacrificing my own comfort, my own joy, my own existence...
It was worth it if it meant they'd be safer... If it meant I wouldn't have to be torn open again and again... If it meant that I wouldn't cause them any more trouble...
They tried to get to me, they tried to speak to me... They were all too gentle about it. They were all too caring about it. They were all to aware of my actions, they left me be out of consideration... But time and again, just as before, that bastard spindashed his way through concrete and rebar walls I'd build around myself. Everyday the barriers would be crumbled, dents left in metal, so chaos-damn persistent to make me listen.
And I did listen.
He didn't know it, I waved him away or struck him with a blow, but I was hearing what he had to say... Because I had no real choice.
It surprises me that, of all the ones I knew who'd been the ones to weasel their ways into my heart, he's been the most consistent of them. It's admirable, such tenacity... Though... I could tell as time went on that... He was growing truly worried. Perhaps he "missed" me, perhaps he just didn't want me turning on his buddies... Or perhaps he just... Was worried that nothing would ever change for me.
Maybe it was all of them.
I'm not quite sure.
All I know is that I'd gone years walled off from those I loved, and I assumed they'd just moved on by then. I was angry, I was lonely, I was desperate and yet so.. so scared.....
But when I finally got the courage to face them...
They were still there.
Waiting for me.
Holding out hope.
Ready to welcome me back just as if it were old times again.
And.. When I finally found the strength, I'd left my fortress behind to join them once more, to find myself in the sea of existence, to build myself from the pieces they'd kept safe until I'd find my way home to them once more.
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