So this morning I was woken up around 8 in the morning by the sounds of someone HAMMERING for TWO FUCKING STRAIGHT HOURS. Up until about half an hour ago. So like 5 hours today, hammering, coming from a neighbor. I wanted to hammer their face for that long to see how they liked it.
On the bright side, I woke up around 9:30 and had time to get ready to…dun dun dun: GO TO CHURCH. That’s right. I’ve been wanting to go to church for about a year. Literally. Since I got Netflix and watched Mr. Bean episodes where he’s in church and I was like, I kinda miss the smell of church.
So I went today. Got there at 10:40 thinking I was close to hearing the sermon. Nope. Fifty minutes later, after being enamored as always by the amazing and beautiful art all over the place and the massive 6 tiered chandelier hanging from the center dome, I finally got what I wanted. And I literally, literally, only understood one phrase from the entire thing: Prayer is the gate that opens us up to God. In Romanian, of course. But most of the reason why I only heard that is because everything echoes in the place and the pope doesn’t speak like a normal person. Like, it’s still sing-talking but less singing.
That’s the thing about Romanian Orthodox churches and priests. You get this like 2 hour ritual thing with the pope walking around talk-singing, doing stuff up there behind the altar – presumably cutting Jesus bread and pouring Jesus blood wine into a gold goblet – then occasionally coming out with a pimpin’ crucifix and waving it and then everyone does the cross on themselves. I crossed myself more times today then I have in like, this entire month so far.
Depressingly small photo of the church I don’t really go to.
And then there’s the whole business of sitting down and getting up. When the altar gates are open, we all gotta stand up. And vice versa. I was in the very last row, because I like watching people, and I was like oh god every time I saw these old people getting down on their knees and legit praying. I just feel like, it’s not that serious people. Also there were a few cute toddler kids there as well. And my friend’s mother’s ex-manfriend. Or maybe current. I’m not sure what that situation is.
Also, I’m annoyed with myself for being too scared to whip out my phone and take a picture of that giant chandelier. I mean it is literally the biggest chandelier I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I can’t remember if it was there 6 or 7 years ago when I was last in the place. It’s like the size of my car and maybe like half a smart car.
I also want to mention that the entire time I was there, I felt dizzy (I’ve been dizzy lately, not sure why) and I couldn’t stop thinking of aliens and the things I learned in art history about saints and architecture. And the church is celebrating 96 years next month. It was built in 1916!
This makes me want to go to temple again. In high school, my Indian friend Vishesha took me and Krista to her Hindi temple. It was lovely. I felt very welcome. And I got to eat white raisins.