Spring is hypothetically almost here in Astana; the city has begun to put up lights and giant flower decor for the Central Asian New Year, Nauryz, which falls next weekend. Despite this heralding, there is a буран currently in progress outside, and the snow does not seem to be relinquishing its hold easily.
I’m really bad about blogging events that happen, and most of my thoughts in the new year have been too tumultuous for anything other than the privacy of my journal. Never in my life has so much of my sin been revealed to me, and its ugliness matches the grey, muddy streets and dampens my spirits all too often. He gives much grace.
I often dream about ransacking Trader Joe’s, drinking wine on a porch with friends, and attending concerts again.