| 15 | The Confessions of Noa Weber
was the first time you saw me, remember? / And it was as clear to me as two and two / That I was in love with Amit, and Amit was in love with Pazit, / Yes, it wasn’t any good, it was gloriously bad . . .” Gloriously bad. I actually understand these words. And they are the ones that creep up from my tailbone to my collarbone, in complete contradiction to my logic which tells me that bad can’t be glorious. And that all this romantic bullshit is basically a conspiracy against the female sex. I said that lovesick females from all over the world meet at night on the net, and that of course was an exaggeration characteristic of my state of mind. Africa is silent. China is silent. Japan is silent. India is silent. No Russian soul comes onto the screen to seek support from her sisters. But what do I know about love in Chinese? Or in Japanese? Or in the multitude of Indian languages? Nothing. I simply have no idea how women there love. In Russia, on the other hand, I’m positive that there are a lot of broken hearts. Judging by their literature and our translations of it, every second heart there is gloriously badly broken. So why are they silent on the net? Even if we limit ourselves to English speakers capable of corresponding, taking into account the tens of millions of Russian women, some of them should definitely have found their way to the group. Hey, you over there, in Kiev, in Saint Petersburg, in Tobolsk, in Baku, in Tallinn, let’s hear from you. Haven’t you heard of the revolution? Haven’t you heard yet? Of course you have. So come on, girls. Stand up now and confess. What’s going on with you there? What’s the meaning of this silence? Isn’t there even one of you who’s sick of her bondage? Let’s hear one Russian soul at long last admit the