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AUBG Student Magazine Vol. 12. Spring 2013

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By Ayna Pirkuliyeva Illustrations by Ayna Pirkuliyeva

Describe myself? A dynamic, creative, curious, and adventurous cat lover and a chocoholic. I’ve tried many different things throughout the 19 years of my life, and at the moment, I am mainly occupied with what I study in college - Journalism and Mass Communications. While I am more or less satisfied with the current flow of my life, it does not exactly match the image of ‘where I see myself in the future’ that I had in my head when I was a kid. Little me always dreamed of becoming a professional artist. Well, at some point I also wanted to be a qualified tennis player, or a teacher at Hogwarts, but the artist in me was the most persistent. While I admire absolutely all forms of art – theater, music, dance, poetry, and the list goes on – I have to give a special credit to drawing. Not because I think that a beautifully drawn image is more impressive than a stunningly performed dance, but because if there is something in this world that I can proudly say I am good at, that is drawing. To me, drawing is more than just the art of representing objects on a surface by the means of lines. It is a form of communication. Especially, when done in color. People say you need to take a psychedelic drug to hear colors talk. I don’t know if there is something wrong with me, but I don’t need to drop acid to communicate with colors; they talk to me anyway, all the time. It all started when my parents first took me to the draw-

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ing courses when I was six years old. By the age of ten, my most desired dream was to have my own big art studio on the top floor of a sky lander with breathtaking views out of the windows. It was also very important that I have a pet tiger, which, besides being the protector of my dwelling, would also purr, and cuddle, and be the inspirational muse for my most magnificent works. My dream studio would have dozens of easels of different sizes, hundreds of canvases, and thousands of brushes and various paints. Having my favorite music play on the background, I would spend days and nights in the studio, creating beautiful pieces of art, and loving every second of it. This dream is many years old, and is quite different from the realty. At the moment, three canvases, a couple of brushes and about 20 paint tubes occupy one of


the drawers of my desk. The view out of my window is, to put it softly, bearable. And, well, no signs of a pet tiger; World Wide Web is my biggest inspirer. But I am not giving up. Many people let their dreams sit there in their heads unfollowed, sometimes as a result of unfortunate circumstances, sometimes from being brainwashed. But why let something or someone else decide for you and shape your future? We have to own our minds, and we have to make efforts to achieve whatever makes us happy. What I do in college can be summarized as learning how to efficiently manage my time, and how to be a good bullshiter. JMC majors know the feeling. It is all fun, and indeed helpful outside of the classroom, yet it is not exactly what I’d love to do in my life in the years ahead. I am an artist, bursting with imagination and eager to create and beautify what’s already created. I enjoy taking interviews, shooting videos and writing stories, but none of these can do what making art does bring me shivers, make me forget to breathe, and set my serotonin level to the maximum. Counting days to receive a diploma that will qualify me as a journalist, I feel like every moment of my life that has no presence of art in it, is wasted. I believe this is whom

you call an art junkie - someone, who takes art not as a hobby or a profession, but as a way of life. I think that it is not that easy to find an occupation that you truly enjoy, so once you find it, you’d better hold on to it and let it make you happy. I discovered that I am an artist, and journalism, or whichever other field I decide to work at, will never be a barrier to remaining faithful to that. I am sure I am not the only one out there, whose level of happiness is proportional to the level of ‘artiness’ in life. Many don’t realize this, but I think that there is an artist inside each of us. We just need to find the time and courage to make him speak up and step out. I wish more people did that. I wish more aspired to make a meaningful contribution to our world, and dared to create some art. I feel like then, there would be so much more life in our existence.

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By Anna-Maria Ivanova Illustrations by Ayna Pirkuliyeva …Jack would wake up a bit past midnight. He would brush his face and wash his teeth. He would look in the mirror and think he looks marvelous, as usual. From his suitcase he would pick out some clothes. His roommate would awake slowly to the sound of the carpet crunching under Jack’s feet. ‘What, you ‘up already?’ he moans. ‘You stayed up all day, I dunno where you get the energy from.’ ‘Someone’s got to go to school,’ Jack would retort, pulling a shirt over his jacket and waiting for his shoelaces to tie themselves. Classes usually start at 1 a.m. and keep going until sunrise. It’s safe to say that by the time day comes, everyone is pretty beat. People are just not meant to survive the day. They have to sleep it off. After all, there’s always another night lurking around the corner. Jack travels with his cheek glued to the window of the taxi car. People creep up the streets like busy little ants, everyone off to do their business. Men with long sad faces and piles of paperwork

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reluctantly enter discos. Ladies stop to admire their reflections in windows and complain of their flat shoes. Their eyes drink up the wellcome images of the high heels on display. They sigh and rub their ankles longingly. The trip is fast because they catch a good sequence of red lights. The car stops in front of the fancy college building and the driver pays Jack. The latter climbs the stairs, takes a bunch of shortcuts, and finally arrives in the classroom. Inside, behind neatly lined desks sit all of Jack’s professors. Their nervous murmur

stops the second he enters the room. The professors all of a sudden become too intent on looking for pens in the unexplored depths of their bags. Jack rests upon the edge of the desk. ‘As you know,’ he begins, ‘today my papers are due. So, if you please.’ The creaking of chairs fills the room. One by one, the professors file in front of the desk to drop off the papers they have spent sleepless days on. ‘Thank you all for your submissions,’ Jack pauses to look at the few slackers who did not turn in anything. ‘I know how much time and effort you have invested in these, so I shall try to look at them and have them graded by tomorrow.’ ‘Jack,’ interrupts one of the more actively participating professors, ‘why do we always have to study practical things, and we never talk about academia?’ ‘Would you rather have me talk to you about aposiopesis? Or have you other impracticals in mind? My god, if it were up to you, you’d have us all studying formulas and rules! That is simply preposterous,’ Jack answers, shaking his head in horrified disbelief. Rules and order at an institution aimed to educate, he would rage in the confines of his mind. Brainless little souls, they want to fill our lives with empty words! Leave them in charge and they’d have us running mad within the hour, I’m telling you, mad… verve magazine, spring 2013 | 19


By Ksenia Lukanova Do you realize that every time you eat cooked meat, you are eating a dead animal? A steak on your plate is a cow that died in torments, with its eyes still blinking after a knife was stuck in her or his throat. A chicken soup is a killed chicken whose legs were still twitching after the butcher broke its neck. Still looking for a sausage for lunch? Think again. Let’s put aside arguments that meat is unhealthy; it’s not convincing enough for the most of us. Let’s look at the moral side of the meat diet. After all, we can’t ignore our own immorality. At least we shouldn’t. Most animals are mammals just like us. They have gone far up the evolutionary ladder and thus, they can feel pain and fear. They also can suffer, just as much as people can suffer. And they do. Most people don’t know the conditions animals are kept in. Even less people know how they are killed. We prefer not to know. But here it is, the inyour-face truth.

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Cows. Kept in cramped buildings, they stand tight side to side and snout to rump. First thing, they are branded with a scorching iron. On the face. A cow bursts in wails of pain, while other animals look and wait for their turn. To pack up more cows in the building, people then dehorn the animals. The horns are chopped off with a large pair of pliers. Of course, this is done without anaesthetics, and the animal with red holes in the head is screaming in agony. Some of the cows die on their way to slaughterhouses, because they are packed so tight during transportation, that they are literally on top of each other. At a slaughterhouse, they first receive a shot in the head by a captive bolt gun. These guns stun animals by damaging their brain, but don’t kill them. Then a butcher hangs the cow and slits his or her throat. The cow hangs until dead, while a worker is filling up a can with blood that runs from the cow’s throat and nostrils. It is not uncommon that a cow is conscious during this process. Moreover, many cows are still alive when they are fully bled and are on their way to be butchered. Hanged by one leg, with their throats and bellies slit and blood all run out, the cows are writhing from pain and trying to free themselves.


Humans do similar things to pigs. They dock pigs’ tails because of the lack of space and the stressful living conditions in the factories, where pigs can bite each other’s tails off. Ear clipping, teeth cutting, and castration follow. Forget about anaesthetics or painkillers. On their way to become your sausage, many pigs are still struggling with pain after they are slit, shackled, and dunked upside down in steaming water to be removed of hair. Chickens don’t have an easy life either. Set apart the awful factory conditions, chickens are killed in some more of the inhumane ways that humans could think of. Chickens are either

clubbed to death or have their heads cut off. They can also be dangled upside down on a conveyor belt, where a butcher slits their throats one by one. The chickens are moved along on the conveyor, still alive, until they bleed to death. All that sadism is imposed on animals so you can eat a beef Stroganoff or a chicken potpie. Now, knowing what torments living creatures had to undergo before ending up on your plate, will you deliberately go for it? Make them suffer so you can enjoy twenty minutes of doubtful pleasure? Maybe it’s time for us, humans, to rearrange our priorities.

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C Name: Angel Popov By Anna Zasheva Age: 64 Photo by Nathalie Gorbunova Born in: Shumen, Bulgaria Department: Mathematics and Science

Can you describe yourself in a few words?

I want people to see me as a good person because of my actions and attitude.

I am trying to find balance in every situation; I always try to approach everything with good intentions, and I avoid conflicts.

Past, because I know what to expect. The future might be more interesting, but it is more unsecure.

Someone who tries to lie or cheat.

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I am lazy when it comes down to movement and I am getting irritated easily.

W ha t students don’t know about you?

Something that can make you angry?

Is there something that you don’t have time for now?

e What would you lik s? er to tell to all AUBG

I wanted to live in the second half of the 17 century; this is the period that I study.

I was an athlete in the past. I practiced three sports in my life: judo, rugby, rowing.

Something smile? that can make you

Simple things, such as a funny story or a nice picture.

Enjoy life while you are young, this is what matters now. Create nice memories and don’t pay much attention to problems.

I am persistent, I am trying to achieve my goals, I am honest, I can understand easily and fast.

Where would you choose to teleport, past or future?

I sympathize with the students, especially those who are taking math as general education course. I am giving so much material.

I don’t have time for friends, contacts and also not enough time for going to the mountains.

I really liked how one student described me in one article: “ He is kind of gentle and funny Italian, who nevertheless is serious when doing his job.”

What are your strengths?

I need a lot of time to make a decision. I don’t What hurry for anything, but not when I am in a are your weakstore, because I don’t like staying in stores. nesses?

Name: Diego Lucci Age: 35 Born in: Naples, Italy Department: History and Civilizations

A lot of children, little children, babies. Sometimes acts of generosity and kindness.

Dishonesty, stupidity and irresponsibility. Practicing physical activity.

Keep in mind that who you are is not determined by how much you have, what people think of you, or the role you occupy in the society. Who you are is actually what you are inside and how you behave. Always think of being a decent and honest before thinking of being rich and powerful.

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1)Tanasoiu; 2)Gilbert; 3)Cripps; 4)Tanasoiu; 5)Homer; 6)F. Mullen; 7)Kierans; 8)Bartley; 9)Wallace; 10)Stefanovich; 11)Spirovska.


10 7 11 8

6 4 3

5 1

2 Photo by Ana Devdariani

Verve Spring 2013  
Verve Spring 2013