The Wonderful Everyday Life of a (Woman!) Chess Player

(Photo by Anna Shtourman)

Here I am, back home after what feels like an eternity I spent in Batumi at the Women’s World Cup. An eternity would have actually been nice, but fortunately or not- we’re talking about 10 days.

These 10 days were like a life miniature- hard work, tension, emotions, thrill, loss of appetite, existential questions, revelations, more pressing opening dilemmas, long walks, disappointments, hope… I am not even sure what wasn’t there. In the moment I lost, and I realised it was all over, I felt empty and, in some way, relieved. I could finally go home to check if my cat was alive. The good news is that she is, and it even feels like she’s been thriving in my absence. That’s the vibe lately, that the world is thriving- with or without me.

At some point, while having a walk along the never-ending promenade in Batumi, I was looking at the skyscrapers they built- all residential buildings- all with huge open balconies. I couldn’t help wondering- what about the safety issues? Aren’t there people who’d want to jump to such nice views every other day? There were definitely moments when I’d consider becoming one with the sunset. Too much drama? Too much existentialism? Nothing is too much at such a tournament. Good that it only happens every two years. I was asking myself how come that it was only the 3^rd time I played it at the respected age of 31. Well, I think God, or some higher power out there simply looked out for me. Now is the time I can deal with it. If God judged it so, who am I to question it, right? Probably Georgian people see it the same way- if He saw us having coffee on an open terrace on the 27^th floor, why should there be any doubts? Only that those companies building real estate like crazy are anything but Georgian. Here we have smoothly come to one of my existential questions- am I sure that the life I live is the one I wanted, or was it the seed planted by some foreign architect?

Seeping from a bottle of Belgian white beer with coriander on my safe terrace on the ground floor, I can enjoy the moment without worrying that in God I must trust to ensure my long living.

Unlike the flight to Batumi, the trip back home was surprisingly fast and enjoyable- a ten minutes drive to the airport, another 5 hours on planes, and here I am. Even the 13^th row seat did not bother me, neither the people constantly skipping que in front of me at the security check. The 8 euros cappuccino at the gate felt nothing but fair and the turbulences I have come to harmoniously cohabitate with- a joy. I was wise to prepare myself with some intense khinkali therapy last night. Nothing can compare to taking a bite and then sipping on it as loud as you can- letting everyone know how enjoyable the process is. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, only prayers to God might help.

Going back to my flight and the 13^th row seat, I thought that it was only that much time I could spend there. In a sort of zugzwang, I took the only available move- a trip to the places of need. On my courageous trip I found myself having a revelation when locking eyes with another player. Greeting each other at that moment of truth, I saw my pain in her eyes, and I couldn’t help feeling sorry- for her and for myself. Pathetic? Enlightening? 

107 players we were at the start. Then 64 and 32… Thirty-two minds calculating the ways to their dreams. There are just sixteen left now and I’m not amongst them. I could still be there; it was so close. The things you tell yourself when on that imaginary or not 27^th floor Georgian terrace… I have progressed compared to the last time, I played at the same level with an ex or future World Champion, I have even outplayed her. No, locked in our eyes on that plane I felt such a pain which I know, and she knows and maybe another 100 players calculating their ways home from Batumi know. The personal sacrifices one makes to be there, all those hours and years when you deny yourself what a normal life is- I saw them all. 

Playing vs Tan Zhongyi (photo by Anna Shtourman)

Luckily, the flights were short. I have more than one coriander beer at home and there are living souls happy to have me here, even if for combing their fur.

If you think the story is slowly coming to its logical pessimistic end, you couldn’t be further from truth. My day has actually taken a hilarious turn after landing in Bucharest. I continued my series of inspired moves by opening a message request. Marvellously educational experience! Someone has written to me that he finds me cute and quite smart. So pleasing! He continued with offering to have a meeting where I would hit certain parts of his body for his joy. This process had a particular name he recommended me to enlighten myself with. He felt it important to mention he’d need two weeks to recover shall I agree. 38 years old, not fat, engineer by profession were the details his fake account provided. We could even go for a coffee after he said. I had to satisfy my curiosity and did the due research for my enlightening- no judging. There could be a way for me to understand him wanting to be caused pain in the most intimate parts of his being by someone he considers cute and smart. After certain amount of beer, I could even see it as a compliment. Damn, I can even think of similarities between us!

The guy read me. How would I hit some engineer in the… Well, you know. But all in this life is about timing. Yesterday I might have found it compelling, but today I have entered my own two weeks of recovery time. Coriander, beer, cat, ground floor, no prayers.