Thirties' Eulogy

This moment has found me in great mood, wearing my newly acquired pink jumper while sipping from a matcha by an airport window.

The day started slightly differently though, with a numb headache accompanied by chamomile tea and porridge for breakfast. In my defence, I’m still not used to the side effects of going out. It was only some years ago when I could easily even play a morning game after a night out. But things really do change at 30. Don’t get me wrong, there are not only bad things happening when entering the 4th decade.

You’re more confident, even after making a draw vs a 10 yo or after playing only against one older opponent out of the 9 rounds.

You get more respect, like two nights ago when I knocked on the neighbouring hotel room door asking them to keep the noise down and a 15 yo kid looked at me in complete terror and said ‘Sure, sorry Ma’am.’  I was so surprised by his reaction that when I returned to my room I checked how I looked in the mirror. I didn’t see anything terrifying, but who knows, maybe my assessing skills got rusty with age. By the way, there were no noises at all for the rest of the night.

What other good things are there at 30? Ah, one earns more! In this tournament for example I became richer by almost 100 euros for my 9^th place - not bad for 10 days of work.

One also gets healthier habits. I only skipped breakfast once here. Not that I have any serious stomach issues, yet, but when you only have the breakfast covered and the probability you play well and win the coveted hundred bill is not too high- you use that thinking skills you’re supposed to possess and go eat breakfast.

Relationships are better in your thirties too. You know a lot of interesting people to whom you show affection by avoiding them by all means because the memory of the last morning filled with side effects is still fresh. Good thing is that recollection becomes less reliable at this age, so you don’t have to wait too long for that memory to vanish like it never even existed. I’m sure that in a few weeks, ok, ok, let’s be honest- days, I’ll completely forget how this morning started.

Let me think, what other good things are there?

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.

Hunger, Dust and Soups

Photo by: Pavel Gorczyca

Time has come to write a cheerful post.

With my headphones on, I take a sip of San Pellegrino enhanced with some slices of lemon. The pretentious sparkling water is part of the rewarding myself plan which I’ve conjured some hours ago, while doing groceries. And the lemon? Well, it is supposed to make me feel better about my disastrous eating regimen lately.

Looking through the window, I see a sunny Bucharest. The city is packed these days. All these people running here and there to desperately check off items on their Easter shopping lists…  I’d much rather stay at home, which I’ve been partly successful at doing. I say ‘partly’ because the very first days after my returning from the Europeans in Rhodes were crazy. All those people congratulating me, an interview here, an interview there, my phone buzzing all the time- it was dizzying.

Now that the dust has settled a bit, I can finally process everything. Looking around, I see that the dust has settled on my working desk too; on the trophies which lie around, mostly on the floor, dreaming of a nice shelf; on the tiles my steps are taking me to on trips from one room to another… I’d better do some cleaning soon. Perhaps it was smarter doing it before attempting to do the same with my thoughts and feelings. One step at a time though. Today I’m content with cooking for myself for the first time since I’ve returned. It was nothing fancy, just a soup, which was enjoyable but not particularly satiating. My stomach is already demanding food again. It can wait. Afterall, we eat to live, not the other way around they say. Hm, a stew would still be nice.

Back to the thoughts and feelings department now. This medal which has fallen upon me is the first individual continental one in my life. To quote the press, it is the biggest achievement of my career so far. Despite them getting wrong various, at times even most of the details about me, this one- they got right. They all expected me to be filled over the top with joy, inspiration and pride. I even almost felt those things at times, almost. However, it is only hunger that possesses me, in all senses. Even my cat throws worried glances at me. I guess my stomach must be on some violent protest. God bless these headphones! I can cold-bloodedly ignore the protests of masses in a similar fashion to the one ruling parties do in too many parts of the world these days. Interesting, what types of headphones do they use?

Now that we’re past these parentheses, let’s recalibrate our focus on what’s important here- thoughts. Or was it feelings? They seem to have merged lately. Anyhow, it is time to get to the bottom of them. Let’s pick it from that hunger feeling. The idea is that I felt happy for maybe ten minutes and then, there was nothing. I imagined it to be different. Of course, I don’t claim that the attention I was given by the press and officials, multiplied by my friends’ and family’s eyes sparkling with joy and pride left me cold. It was enjoyable, but unsatiating, just like my soup. At least my stomach knows what it wants- a second course, maybe even some dessert. And I, what more could I possibly want?

The Ice Cream Booth

“When everything has gone to hell, there’s nothing to do but to play idiotic games.”

This quote is from Simone de Beauvoir’s “The Mandarins”, which I have recently taken on reading. It unravels an interesting world, one which I sometimes fantasize about when imagining myself living a more bohemian life. More bohemian than the one of a chess player? Dinners and late-night parties with artists, writers and thinkers of all ages and nationalities heated by music, dancing and debates on philosophical, social, political and ideological matters- that’s something I can neither access nor allow as a sports person these days. Chess has changed.

Back in my teens, this side of the profession appealed to me a lot. I knew stories from my coach when grandmasters would gather and spend their evenings during tournaments in similar fashion. That was still a thing in those days when I started traveling to tournaments, though one I could only peer at from aside due to my young age and, if not reason enough, the watchful eye of my mother. I remember thinking that if I would train hard enough and become one of the strongest players of the country, I would be attending prestigious events, meeting brilliant people who would invite me to their exclusive circles. A silly fantasy of a young girl one might think.

I caught a taste of that fantasy, even if briefly. During the last twenty years or so, since my career has been developing, chess has changed a lot given the impact of technology. If before one could easily find a lot of similarities between chess and arts, nowadays- chess is above all a sport, where endurance, discipline and stamina play a decisive role. Due to the quantity of information and easiness with which anyone can access it, the amount of work a professional must put in doesn’t easily forgive those breaking the rules. The exclusive circles have suffered a blow too. Time doesn’t dilate, one can’t lose nights for parties or days for reading non chess related stuff in a world where 14-year-old grandmasters have become a normality rather than a phenomenon. These days, I hear parents saying that if their children are not to become GMs by 15 y.o., they will not encourage them to go pro. They have a point. Chess becoming younger has both pluses and minuses. On one hand, a shorter span of career means more time to freely develop and discover other things after retiring, assuming one has reached heights enough for enjoying the privileges of being a world-famous sports person. On the other hand, one’s personality doesn’t benefit from the early touches of those different spheres of life- you look at them through the already formed habits, in a rather rigid manner.

Thinking about my last classical tournament, the famous Tata Steel Chess of Wijk aan Zee, I can’t help mentioning that I was the second oldest participant of the Challengers group at the age of 31. There are quite some funny stories to it too. Let’s start with one and see how that goes.

On one of the days before the start of the tournament, I went out for lunch with a friend who also took upon the task of showing me around Wijk. While walking along the dunes, we passed by the main hotel, where most of the participants of the Masters group were accommodated, to reach our destination- a pub with a lot of seating by wide windows available. We were guided to a table and handed over menus. While carefully analysing our options, my friend told me that it was surprising not to see the piano where a chess board was majestically overlooking the place. However, we noticed a wide screen where a football match was streamed. Later, I was to discover that once the tournament started, the chess broadcast was to overtake, so that all the guests could follow and discuss the ongoing games. A cheerful waiter approached asking if we made our choices. While we ordered kimchi burgers, the young man explained to us that the piano was gone as the owner of the place changed and they decided to make more seating available instead- a practical decision, fitting the times we live. While enjoying the food, my friend continued by saying that the pub was a favourite among players as one could always find place, despite the huge flux of hungry chess professionals and amateurs.

I was later to find out that all the cafes, bars and restaurants in Wijk had chess sets and boards available to borrow. One evening, while preparing to leave the favourite pub after a tasty but what felt to be an undeservedly enjoyable dinner, preceded by yet another loss, I noticed a group of people sitting at the table next to mine. They were looking at me empathetically. While trying to understand if I knew them and should say ‘hi’, I noticed that the position on the board in front of them looked painfully familiar. They were analysing the game I played earlier that day. We smiled at each other, and I rushed out.

Back to the first day lunch. After finishing our meals, we went on walking to the main town square. Passing by cafes and restaurants, my friend stopped in front of an ice cream place. ‘It used to be the best bar in town! Players were gathering here for drinks, and we had so many fun nights… They kept open until the last customer. I have so many nice memories linked to this place! It had this obscure lighting and bunker vibe. It closed some years ago, such a pity. It is so bright and colourful now- an ice cream place it has become.’, said my friend melancholically. ‘Well, look at the players’ age this year- an ice cream place was perhaps a wise choice indeed.’, I replied jokingly.

I can easily picture most of my opponents there going in for a few scoops of vanilla and chocolate while discussing how they played that day against someone who participated in the tournament for the first time when they were still not born.

The little girl should have fantasized about an ice cream booth.

It is late now. Yet another night when I won’t get my eight hours of sleep, but that’s not because of those heated debates, or music, or dancing. Tonight, my breaking the rules is due to Simone de Beauvoir and, as she said, “Sacrifices are no longer painful when they’re behind you.”

Forget and forgive

The 1^st of January, 2025

Warsaw.

Europe, I’ve missed you! What a relief to be back to the Old Continent!

Anxiety gone, the annoying cold- almost gone too. No more blinding lights, dizzying heights and rushing dreams around. Heart rate back to fifties- finding a good companion in my mental age. A forgotten feeling of control slowly reinstating. No more intense living all around. A laidback indifference embracing me. Once I got off the plane, I immediately felt I could breathe! Is it my brain which has finally relaxed when getting back to known lands or my maniacal use of sea salt nose spray has gotten through? I wonder, why do I feel so good touching European ground? Perhaps I’m growing old and proximity to roots has become a necessity. I can’t be that old though, can I? Of course, not- just remember how the other day I was asked to show my ID when buying a bottle of wine. Some could say it’s just standard procedure in the US, but there’s no immediate necessity to ruin my vanity’s self-love moment.

Witnessing the most scenic sunset while looking through the window, I regret not being a poet. If only I could write a love letter to this piece of land! There are other ways of honouring it though. I can hold still and let my roots silently grow deeper.

My trip to NYC has been enlightening. Apart from playing chess, I found definite proof of some things I’ve lately suspected to have changed inside me. Do you know how they say that one should travel to the other part of the world to find themselves? Sometimes cliches have a point.

February the 5th, somewhere between Amsterdam and Bucharest

 

I find it interesting how with years, you’re still mostly clueless about what you really want. However, a rather long list of things you don’t want compels. No to useless gatherings, yes to good friends, no matter of time and place. No to sleepless nights and morning flights, unless very strong reasons provided. No food is better than fast food, under any circumstances. No to saying ‘no’ to yourself, yes to saying ‘no’ to anyone else. No to carrying about what others would think, yes to thinking with your own brain. Do we become inflexible? Perhaps. Though those few things we say ‘yes’ to- we’ve mastered them like gods, haven’t we?

Half of this post was written on my way back home from the US and the other half, some weeks later. I was curious if when my feelings settled down, these thoughts would still make sense, and it appears to be the case. I’ve had some tough few weeks, but them being on the Old Continent, have coloured those dark moments when I would say ‘no’ even to myself.

Europe will forgive me. We’ll settle things down over a bottle of good dry wine. I will promise to cease the ‘no’ to myself for indefinite time and my sins will be forgotten. Top it with an invite to a seafood dinner over which we’ll discuss the next Mediterranean island to discover, and the sins would not only be forgotten, but also forgiven. Afterall, we- the old ones, are too good at these things- forgetting and forgiving, aren’t we? Europe is laughing herself out after my last remark and it is contagious. To feel old at 31, one must… What? ‘Play chess’ wouldn’t be too bad of an answer I suppose.

On this positive note, time has come to end this post and make the promise that a new one will come in near future. Though if it doesn’t, please don't judge too harshly- forget and forgive.

 

Party for one

Midnight.

Hard rock spoiling my senses. It’s a party for one. ‘We live together, die alone’ comes to mind. There is nothing truer. At times it feels like we belong, living our day by day lives, fooling ourselves. Seeking for relief in people around isn’t the answer. No one will be able to tell you who you are and what’s your purpose. There might be a temporary solace you’ll delusion yourself into, but in the end, the answer will not come from outside.

There is a morning round deviously awaiting tomorrow. Yesterday I was thinking that the value of a game is only given by yourself and the way you look at it. There’s really nothing more to it.

I’d better go to bed, but this party feels just too good to abandon. It is a precious feeling- enjoying your own company, and I don’t want to lose it. Interestingly, we tend to feel good about ourselves when the ones surrounding us do. But we do die alone. I play Danzig’s ‘Mother’ song on repeat for the ‘n’ time.

It’s been over an hour since I have put down the light. The room is dark, and I notice that it doesn’t stop me from typing. No need for people for a party, no need of light for writing, no need for meaning to live. Is it the logical chain of thoughts? Pouring myself a glass of wine, I remember yesterday’s doping test I was subjected to. “Please take your underwear off, pull your dress up and turn around” wasn’t exactly the way I pictured my afternoon to develop.

The championship is yet to be decided. With two teams sharing the 1^stplace with perfect equality in all of the tie-breaks, tomorrow’s scores will determine the winner. One more title, or one less, there’s only one way to find out.

I’ve caught myself distancing from everything recently. What is this ‘everything’? People, worries, life. It is a relief. Interacting and blending in has never been easier, yet it feels completely meaningless. “Cherish it while it lasts!”, I seem to hear a voice in my head.

Why am I here? I don’t have an answer to this. I could be a fool, a clown, a role model, a champion or anything else. It could easily be for all of those to be true at the same time. It all depends on how you see the world. Nevertheless, the probability that you’re wrong tends to infinity.

Whoever you are, wherever you might be reading this from, please make sure to take a moment for yourself every once in a while. If this will lead you to a party for one, blame me and enjoy.

Stormy greetings and complains

Pulling the curtain aside, a stormy Black Sea greets me. A cyclone felt like visiting the Romanian League in Mamaia, sharing with us the delights of heavy wind and rain. As chess players are widely known for their lack of imagination when it comes to complaining, let me not fall out with this presumption. 

Settling comfortably in an armchair right next to the wide window, I deliberate on what to start with. They say this weather makes it impossible to sleep at nights as it is way too noisy. Well, I can’t really relate, as I cohabitate with a nice pair of noise cancelling headphones, occasionally having flings with random earplugs. And the alert the government kindly provided us with in the middle of the night (read: early morning in chess language)? There’s a reason my phone enters the airplane mode whenever I reach the heights of my 6^th floor room, closer to early evening (read: approaching midnight). Continuing the weather criticism- how not to fall victim to the meteorological blues under these circumstances? Unrelatable to me as well- just find a photo of me smiling or looking happy during a chess game. I’ll spare you the effort and just tell you- no such thing exists. Weather blues are just part of my natural state. 

What should I complain about next then? Let’s pick food. “Too salty, undiversified, not tasty.” With this I can relate, and I’d even add that the two minutes distance I must overcome every time I walk through wind, rain and gigantic puddles to the nearby pub are very hard to bear.

The "CSM Iasi 2020" team.

Should we take the playing hall next? “Too little space, too warm, too cold”. What can I say? There hardly was any playing hall which had ever fully satisfied me. It would take something shockingly bad for me to get annoyed.

No hot water on some floors, with the only offered solution being to let it run for 30 minutes before taking a shower. That’s not ideal indeed. I see a few ways of fixing it. First- try moving to another floor, second- challenge your inner fighter with a cold shower, third- find a friend with a room on a different floor, fourth- train those prophylactic skills and try estimating the time you’ll need hot water, fifth- if all these are not possible, don’t despair, you won’t be the first chess player skipping showers for a whole week.

What else might there be left to complain about? People! The hardship of living among like-minded souls can’t compare to anything else… You whine about making some inaccuracies on your way to winning against a lower rated opponent while your companion replies that they didn’t manage to win at all.

Let’s now touch the money subject. “I get peanuts for playing here.” To this I can only remark that if it was money you wanted to get in this life, perhaps a career in chess was not exactly indicated. Looking to the restless sea I take another sip from my sparkling water and let this thought sink.

Certain that I could continue this post, I think I’d rather stop now and get back to how I initially intended to spend my free day. The plan was to enrich myself with some Salinger dialogues while listening to the ‘Discover Weekly’ playlist. I actually managed to read two of his stories before feeling the urge to complain. For now, I can just say that those hardships I hinted at while at the ‘People’ paragraph include more interesting dialogues with like-minded friends than the ones I’ve been trying to enlighten myself with. Perhaps the best is yet to come. As about the ‘Discover Weekly’, I ended up with my ‘Classical’ playlist, though music isn’t something I’d like to add to this list of complains, for now.

Stormy greetings from the Romanian seaside and may you have a week full of something else than grumbling!

Before (!) game 1.

The Longing

The idea of this post came to me on a sleepless night, not long ago, while in Malaga. The day was good-
quality time spent with my family, a nice chess training session, a fulfilling jog followed by a tasty dinner, accompanied by a glass of Spanish sun packed in a bottle of dry red wine and a long walk along the dreamy seashore instead of dessert… Why can’t I fall asleep? I look at the restless curtain moving rhythmically against the opened window, and I feel the need to intervene. Getting up, I draw back the curtains and look into the night. The port looks quiet, but my thoughts are not. There is this intense feeling of longing. I open the window wider taking a deep breath and go back to bed while putting on my headphones. Is it a coincidence that I have recently felt the urge to create a new playlist called ‘dreamy’? Thankful for its existence, I lay back admiring the port while listening to Beth Hart’s ‘Your Heart Is As Black As Night’ and I wonder… What am I longing for?

When you think about this word- longing, you probably associate it with someone.  What can be more familiar than having your mind invaded by thoughts about a he or a she? But it’s not someone I’m missing, it is something. It’s a feeling I long for. Today, while running on the promenade, I felt power! It was so good to have the heart pumping like crazy while the salty air was ravaging through my lungs! I was thinking about how the chess training went and I was satisfied. While pushing for an extra mile, I admired the beautiful sealine and then was the moment when this longing slipped in. Adrenaline rushing, heart rate nearly indicating an emergency room should be my destination, but that immense feeling of power- it was worth it! There was a hospital along the way anyhow- another crazy tourist- they will solve it.

Then it struck me, the longing came after I felt the power. I knew I could take on the whole world and then I wanted it. I knew I could push the extra mile. I knew the world could be within my grasp and then I longed for it. There is the hypothetical ‘want’, the one which you answer to with “Is that what you would like?” and there’s the physical want, the one which keeps you awake at nights, the one which leaves you breathless, the one you feel in all your bones. Then it no longer is ‘wanting’, it is ‘longing’ and no questions can solve it. There isn’t such a doctor which will prescribe medicine for that. You’re doomed. Ah, that was me we’re talking about. Damn it- I’m doomed then.

I take another breath of salty air and close my eyes. Tomorrow is today. “Night for the lonely” starts playing in my headphones. There will be another push for an extra mile, another training session which will leave me incapable to produce any coherent thought, but I will feel- the longing… I will reach my destination, be it a hospital or a podium.

For now, I long…

Love Struck

Inspiration struck me in an unusual location today- a hotel’s lobby.

I’ve got a few hours to kill before my flight and even though the sun is shining bright in Cannes, making the weather perfect for a stroll, the numb headache I got this morning preferred staying in. If you wonder what am I doing here, well, the answer rarely changes- chess of course- played some games for my French team over the weekend. They might serve as the headache’s cause, but the story I want to tell you today is about something else.

I had an unusual experience recently while reading a chess book. The book was an autobiography by someone I know quite well and because I had read many of his previous books, which I liked, I thought it would be an interesting read. It was indeed, even though I was familiar with many of the stories and games. What I was surprised by was that I got this intense feeling that I love chess with all my heart while reading it- twice! I can’t recall it happening to me before in such circumstances.

The first time I got it, I was reading a passage where a tournament situation was described. Some games going wrong- the author wondering what to do to improve his position in the tournament. How many times I was in the same shoes? There were so many, that it’s even hard to count. I have the strong feeling that normal people get negative emotions when in such situations and even recalling them provokes unpleasant thoughts. So why the intense love feeling? I always suspected normality not to be my strong point, but really- getting ‘high’ from the author’s struggles which were also mine so many times? I have a theory. Perhaps my brain has developed a superpower- the power to find positive things even when bad stuff happens. I am not sure if to feel sorry for myself- for landing in bad situations so often that I adapted, or to feel proud for being able to get up after each and every kick Caissa sends in my direction.

This life- the life of a professional chess player, which I complain about so many times, but still love with all my heart is full of falling apart and then putting yourself back together. That’s the essence of it. Every time you rearrange the pieces in a new way- sometimes losing a piece, other times- finding a new one. I suspect that many of my colleagues feel the same way, but I have never read someone sharing it in such a frank manner before.

I love chess in all its aspects. I love to win mostly, but I love it even when I lose. It’s not because of some masochistic inclinations- though I wouldn’t totally exclude this possibility. I think the reason is that every loss or disappointment, not only makes the wins taste sweeter, but they also give me the opportunity to reevaluate myself and what surrounds me. It is easier to get rid of something you don’t like after a loss- you don’t hesitate, being afraid that it might have been the secret ingredient to your success.

If I was to reassemble myself now, first thing that I’d lose would be this annoying headache. Jokes apart, I am grateful to this book for showing me that my love for the game has broadened!

At the beginning of this week, I wish you courage- don’t be afraid to lose a piece or two of yourself from time to time! As in chess, in life you also need to sometimes sacrifice a few pieces in order to win the game.

Pardon my French

On my flight back home, I reflect on the tournament in Karlsruhe which just ended.

No prize, a couple of rating points which cowardly deserted, a grey hair I had discovered on a glorious morning. If only it was the first one! Some extra blisters from the miles I walked while having the time of my life playing chess and… well, nothing else, except maybe eating – when not playing for 5 hours in the morning round and, at times, sleeping- when not playing for 10 hours a day; What else was there? Some photos which make my unequalled beauty no justice, some games which mostly aligned with the general trend… To summarize it in one word- shit. Pardon my French, but why not call things exactly what they are?

Afterall, there is a special kind of beauty in the ugly. I seem to recall some Charles Baudelaire writing emphasizing this idea. I assume he must have come to this conclusion somewhere in his thirties. I have only joined this club recently and have already started to appreciate the enchantment of those moments when shit hits the fan, but you still feel fabulous. If you don’t understand how come, you’re either too young to know- but don’t worry- the fan is patiently waiting for you, or too old and no longer need to apologize for any French knowledge.

Let me explain you this concept. You wake up at 7am in the morning, try to understand why the need to function at this hour, remember there’s a chess game in 2 hours and with great enthusiasm you get out of the bed. While walking to the bathroom you feel some back pain from all those hours spent sitting at the board- at least one only needs the brain to function properly for playing chess… While brushing your teeth, you try to remember whom you’re playing and what you’ve prepared. The great effort involved makes you realize there’s an imminent threat of a headache approaching so you abandon the dangerous endeavour.

You put on some clothes and go to breakfast. While in the elevator, you see yourself in the mirror and realize you forgot there was one in the bathroom too. Consequently, looking like shit comes as a mild surprise. No problem- thirties have their perks too- by now you’ve learned about the inner world and inner beauty, and you know- the appeal of those things one can’t see. So, you confidently walk to the coffee machine. Two espressos later, you’re reminded that caffeine on empty stomach is something you should have learned to avoid by now. But you’re still not used to avoiding all the twenties mistakes. Walking to the playing hall you feel your toes hurting from the beautiful 3 kg boots you’ve chosen to take with you as the only pair of shoes. Shit. All these sacrifices and for what? Even the 50 years old elevator mirror can’t be convinced. I remind myself of the inner beauty and sing “These boots are made for walking…”. There must be a concept of inner comfort too.

(3) Facebook

You arrive at the playing hall 5 minutes late, make your way through the thousands of people and sit at the board. Move 3 of your opponent comes as a surprise you’re grateful for. Preparation headaches successfully avoided. Four moves later you realize you’re playing a line you wrote a course about but have successfully avoided making the move you extensively analysed. Merde! You sacrifice a pawn to stir things up and as compensation get an endgame with a bad knight vs a good bishop. Suffering like a dog is something you’re quite experienced at so you finally save a draw vs the 200 points lower rated opponent. At least there’s still time for lunch- a whole hour before the next game!

Salad for lunch is something you have made acquaintance with in your newly joined 30s club too. You eat one leaf after another, there’s neither any particular taste to it, nor any satisfaction. No need for it anyway- as you’ve understood by now, there are plenty of other things to enjoy in life.

 

Reykjavik Open 2024 - Round 8 | Flickr

Back to the playing hall you find a maximum 10 yo looking kid sitting across the board. Shit.

Luckily, the 30s club is a place where experience is at its home. You have had your share of games you lost against children, and you make sure not to enrich it. For a change, there’s no need for using any French knowledge.

The afternoon is early, and you contemplate the possibility of going for a walk. “No. No. No.” Toes, back, stomach- all in agreement. You go back to your room, lie in the bed and appreciate the moment.

That’s how a regular day at Grenke looked like. Judging by the amount of “French” I used, one might think I’m not so thrilled about the overall experience. But, let me finish with a quote from Baudelaire: “What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for one second, the infinity of delight?”

A penny for your thoughts - Part 3

Wine Tea time

Back at the hotel, I start meeting other participants. The first day is always the easiest- greeting everybody and not having to wonder whether your “hi” might break like waves against rocks.

There’s still plenty of time until the dinner begins so I decide to do some reading. Sitting by the dreamy window while enjoying some cups of tea, I listen to my favourite classical music tracks and immerse myself in the book. I’ve recently discovered an author whose writing I like so much that I must limit my reading time per day so that I can enjoy his books for as long as possible.

It all started about a month ago when I saw some advertising of a book named “Mindful Chess” by an author whose name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t really say who he was- Paul van der Sterren. The book’s title was intriguing, so I asked a GM friend whose chess culture is much wider than mine if he knew him. Do you know the look someone gives you after you have asked a silly question? I felt like I teleported to the time I was about 10 y.o. and participated at a lecture by a famous GM. He had asked me to name all the world champions in a chronological order and I couldn’t. The look he gave me, followed by a somewhat pitiful smile made me cry of shame. Well, I know better than crying of shame these days, but I still couldn’t help feeling as ignorant as back then. I decided to make it right- did some research on the author and bought the book which I finished in one go. The plan was to read some pages before going to bed, but… All I can say- I couldn’t really close an eye that night because of the thoughts the book provoked, and I woke up the next day feeling deprived of sleep but given a precious gift- new horizons. Imagine my joy when just some days before coming to Nationals I got an email saying that another book by Paul was available in English! Moreover, it was an autobiography, which I thought guaranteed me many pages of delight.

Back to my tea and dreamy window in Eforie Nord. I opened the book and started reading it while admiring the last rays of sun. You might wonder why I had not started reading it when I was still at home if I looked forward to it so much. Well, the answer is – wisdom. As we all know, it goes hand in hand with ignorance. Jokes aside, I just trusted my intuition which told me that if I started reading it, I wouldn’t be able to let it out of my hands and I wanted to save some of the delight for the championship. I was right, hence the newly introduced rule of reading it for not more than 30 minutes a day. But don’t get it wrong, the rule was introduced only AFTER the 1^st reading session. The moon was shining over the calm sea when my phone cried for the ‘n’ time “battery low”. I realised that I must hurry if I want to get any dinner at all. Finally, the time I spent on the treadmill served for something more than blisters.

Photo by David Llada

At the restaurant, I continued sending “hi-s” here and there on autopilot. Some calamari later, I understood that I can’t let myself lose touch with reality to such extent again, so the new ’30-minute reading rule’ was proposed. It wasn’t voted unanimously, but it made sure I got enough hours of sleep and daily steps.

I even managed to get to the technical meeting that evening, just in time to find out I’ll start with black. I must have attracted it upon myself with all those cups of black tea I had by the window. Guess what else it has attracted, or rather driven away- my beauty sleep. I comforted myself with the thought that my dark circles will go well with the board’s squares, and they did, at least for the first few days, but that’s a story for another time.

I promised you to share my thoughts from the time before the tournament began and here they are. Perhaps, one day, there’ll be a story on the ones I got throughout the tournament too… However, I have the feeling I might need a bottle of wine or two instead of the pot of not black tea I have just finished for that to happen.

 

THE END.

 

A penny for your thoughts - Part 2

The Dolphin

A large window with a beautiful view over the Black Sea; the sun caressing the different shades of blue... My mood merges with the scenery, and I feel somewhat lightheaded and optimistic.

The tournament only starts tomorrow, so there’s a full afternoon to enjoy the beautiful weather and sudden lift in spirits. “Disfrutar la tarde” comes to my mind and I smile. Sea, sun and dreamy views in wintertime are some things I’ve grown to associate with Spain. One time, not so long ago, when I felt the outside cold sneaking into myself, I knew I needed to find a way of fighting against it. What better way of doing it than learning the warm language of sun, tapas and siesta? Right. I need to prolong my Duolingo streak first. Fifteen minutes later I feel content enough to go for a walk. Hm, is it “caminar”?

Eforie Nord is a Romanian coastal town and resort by the Black Sea. While it usually gets crowded during summer, its streets are almost empty now. Plenty of national tournaments have been organized here in the last few years.

I enjoy walking along the promenade with the wind playing with my hair and thoughts. Looking to the horizon, I can’t stop a familiar, worrying feeling creeping in. What is it? I feel ready for the tournament and eager to sit at the board again. I’m happy with my room and the nice weather is a pleasant bonus. While trying to get to the bottom of that feeling, I noticed passing by a restaurant with a beautiful terrasse where I had countless coffees and others with friends and family over the years. The place looks like it’s stuck in time. It hasn’t changed at all since the first time I was there. Was it 2000, 2001? Not sure about the exact timeline, I decided to go in, choosing the table with the best sea view. Ordering a cappuccino, I think of the time I sat in the exact same place and saw a dolphin playing in the pinks and oranges of a sunset a few years back. I remember feeling its joy like it was mine. The worrying feeling intensifies, and I don’t get it. Why?

My thoughts fly to those first years when I came to Eforie Nord as a child to participate in its traditional summer chess festival. The playing hall used to be just downstairs. I recall the joy I felt winning against a 2150 rated player for the first time and the huge ice cream I got as a reward after. Taking a sip of coffee, I also remember that time when, some years ago, I quit the tournament after only playing a few rounds. A small part of my heart broke and had to go to places more serene then. I realize there are so many things anchoring me to this place. The worrying feeling takes over completely and I feel a nod in my throat. I know now.

It was 2 years ago. I was playing in the Nationals here when the nearby war has started. Its coldness made place for itself inside me and there are no languages that can make it go away.

Perhaps, if I look over the sea, towards the horizon, I could even see it. Afterall, it’s just some 300 miles away. "Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it…", echoes in my head like a mantra.

Trying to take another sip of coffee, I realize my cup is empty.

I wonder where the dolphin is.

(To be continued)

A penny for your thoughts - Part 1

30 and The Giant

My largest suitcase lies wide open in the middle of the living room and I wonder why have I packed so many things for just 9 days? I remember tournaments where I’d go with just a cabin bag for two weeks or even a month. It must be the 2 months break from playing- I no longer know what I’ll feel like wearing and it seems logical to have a different outfit for each blues, whites or blacks my mood might throw at me. With half of the wardrobe safely packed I now start wondering whether I am ready for the tournament. It feels like there are still things I wish I had done ...

My 30 years are unhappy about me handling this situation.

25 says I’m crazy to play in the open section when I could have gone for the much more accessible women’s one. 28 agrees with 25 and adds that the potential 1st prize could nicely pay another 1,5 square meters of a potential flat. 20 says the women’s section would be piece of cake and I’m a fool for not playing there while having as much fun as I wanted. 15 disagrees and yells at all the others that „30 is the coolest EVER and no one should dare criticising her as she knows best what to do!”. 18 joins her, adding that there’s nothing better in this life than „beating” men. 13 feels uncomfortable- money, fun, square meters, men- are these those things mom meant when saying „You’ll understand when growing up” ? 8 cries in a corner- she doesn’t want to travel anywhere without her lucky pink pants and there’s no pink whatsoever in „the giant” ... No one seems to know how exactly to handle a crying kid and 20 decides on „I also don’t like that there are no miniskirts”! 18 wonders where the high heels are. 25 looks for the hair curling iron. 28 and 16 are searching for the running shoes.

I pat 8’s back, trying to calm her down and remember to check if I packed the back pain cream. I have had enough of this packing party and want to leave. Throwing another grey hoodie just in case it will be cold, I close „the giant” and drag it to the front door. Just about to open it, I realise something isn’t right. Turning back, I seek for my reflection in the hallway’s mirror. Who are those women, and those children? Why don’t I see myself? Looking more carefully, I realise I see 25 with the hair curling iron, 20 in a miniskirt, 8 in her lucky pink pants, 18 rocking some high heels, 16 and 28 fighting for a pair of running shoes... They are my reflection. One day, when I’ll see just one woman when looking in the mirror, I’ll know that my mission is completed. For now, it's time to go to Nationals!

(To be continued)

Playlists, dehydration and ghosts

The traditional airplane blogging continues in 2024 as well.

Three more hours to kill, eyes hurting from reading too many chess pages on the phone. It feels nice to reignite a passion. Curious what I was reading? I’ll give you a clue- a book which has a whole lot of pages and shares secrets of a recent world chess champion. 

An unpleasant form of dehydration probably caused by caffeine over consumption- now that’s an actual complain. However, there’s not much I can do about it, as when in this country I can’t resist ordering too many cups of my favourite energizer. Another sip of water and another clue. Which country am I returning from?

New music in my old headphones and thoughts which jump from one subject to another faster than my finger hits the ‘next song’ button. Why finding new songs to like is such a complicated task? I was rather excited when, not so long ago, I discovered a cool bar with great atmosphere, wine, food, people, playlist (I’m thinking that I should have rather not used ‘rather’ earlier, but why not confuse you a bit more?). So the bar, right- the bartender, who was also the waiter and the owner of the place turned out to be an enthusiastic playlist creator which he happily shares with random desperate souls. Since then, my newest occupation has been listening to that 996 songs playlist, trying to perfect my own 664 one. I don’t think 664 is a coincidence and I’m very reluctant right now to hitting the ‘add to the playlist’ button even though I kind of like this ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ thing… Decisions, decisions.

What would be a chess player’s paradise? A place with countless chess books. Strong computers. World champions as training partners. A place where invitations to great tournaments would come every other day. Where there’s a button to push whenever you want to switch the dreamy mountain view working desk to the ocean view one. Oh, or maybe it’s the place where men always complain there are too many chess tournaments with high prizes for women. Hm… Is it reality or paradise, or part reality, part paradise- I got confused. Blame the next song in the barman’s playlist for this line of thoughts- ‘Girl, you’ll be a woman soon’. Now if that made you feel somewhat uncomfortable, unhappy or any other ‘un-’, sorry, that wasn’t my intention, was it? Anyways, let me make it up to you. The next song in the barman’s playlist is ‘Great balls of fire’. 

Now back to the clues on books and places. I’ve changed my mind, even though there’s been no ‘Winds of change’ so far in the playlist.

Let’s start a different subject.

2024- a new year, one which will bring new, exciting things. Hm… In which way? New tournaments, new experiences, new places perhaps. Would it be so bad if they would be just the same old ones? Or maybe the old ones before the old ones?

On a more serious note, my sketch for this year’s calendar is more or less ready. There are some new tournaments, some new places, but no new countries so far. A bit disappointing.

‘Running from the ghost’ starts playing in my headphones. Is it a metaphor, a sign? To what? Have I been running? Who’s the ghost? Where to run from it? Maybe to a country I’ve never been to before.

Looks like I have enough food for thought for my remaining flight time and typing with my eyes semi-closed while trying to coordinate it with constantly hitting the ‘next song’ button is not as easy as I thought.

Cheers to a new year with good playlists, fewer dehydration issues, new paradises and no more running from ghosts.

 

 

Silence, Hypocrisy and Disgust

Today's post will be about something which has been bothering me for quite a while already. I have been trying to convince myself that I shouldn't write it, that it's not my business, that I'll possibly lose opportunities and invitations to tournaments because of it, but I simply can't keep silencing this voice inside my head.

It is about the situation in women's chess, the war between Russia and Ukraine, FIDE and top women players.

To start with the beginning, I have been thinking a lot on which is my position towards players from Russia competing on the international arena since the war between Russia and Ukraine has begun and I have come to the conclusion that as long as they are playing under a neutral flag- I don't have a problem with that. Some say that there should be a sort of anti-war declaration signed by them but my views are not as polarized because I've realized that there might be situations where it can be dangerous for one's life, their families or loved ones and not everyone is ready to take these risks. I have tried to imagine myself in this situation and I've understood that there might be circumstances under which I might have also stayed silent.

However, in my view, there is a big difference between staying silent and participating in tournaments organized by recognized war instigators (to put it mildly) like Sergey Karjakin. These tournaments looked very much like war propaganda events and it saddened me a lot to see players whom I previously respected or even admired participating there. To my knowledge, there where two such tournaments which were covered extensively by the Russian media and which makes it very easy to access information and photos from these events just by entering some key words in any searching engine. For example, here is a link to a press release from the official site of one of the events: https://chessstars.ru/press-release .

Here, I will speak only about the women players who participated there. They are: World #4 Aleksandra Goryachkina, World #6 Kateryna Lagno- both from Russia and World #21 Bibisara Assaubayeva from Kazakhstan- all very strong and accomplished chess players who are well known in the chess world. 

I am not sure what was the message they wanted to send to their fans by participating there, getting photographed smiling next to Sergey Karjakin and shaking hands with him. What I understood was that they endorse in one way or another Karjakin's activity. It shocked me and the more I thought on it- the more it kept upsetting me. 

I expected the same reaction from most of my colleagues and they indeed felt the same way when we discussed it privately. 

Like it or not- it is the right of each individual to choose for themselves and it looked to me like those players did.

However, I was utterly surprised when FIDE (the International Chess Federation) not only allowed those players to participate in official FIDE events like the World Rapid & Blitz Championships and the Women's FIDE Grand Prix and the FIDE Women's Candidates but also promoted those players as personalities and models for the youngsters to look up to.

Later, the Ukrainian Muzychuk sisters withdrew from the FIDE Women's Grand Prix tournaments so that the same players could play and even the location of the last leg of the FIDE Women's Grand Prix was changed last minute from Poland to Cyprus in order to accommodate the same players who participated in the "Karjakin tournaments".

What conclusion should these things make one draw?

My conclusion was that FIDE has no problem with any of the upper mentioned facts. Is it ignorance or hypocrisy or something else? Every official in FIDE who had any involvement in these decisions knows better.

"Sport is out of politics." That's the main argument which Russian sportsmen, officials and fans use when some countries deny the participation of Russian athletes in their events. I can see why one would say that. If that is the case, how participating in tournaments organized by war instigators and smiling alongside them, shaking hands with them is in any way "out of politics"? Perhaps the FIDE officials have an answer for that too.

Photo source: https://twitter.com/PHChess/status/1662405612074926080

Photo of the "Chess Stars 2022" participants, held in Moscow- 29 Sept -5 Oct 2022

As for me, I am disgusted every time I read any news about those players, about FIDE promoting their images as those of great personalities and sportspeople and last, but not least, I am disgusted by the silence of most of my colleagues and about my being silent about it up until now.

I believe that by ignoring all of these- we are a part of it too, and honestly- I don't like what I see in the mirror after all these months of silence.

For those of you who feel the same way- is this really the community you want to be a part of?

What would be the solution? I am not a lawyer- I expected FIDE to have a solution by now and I am deeply disheartened that it's not the case. 

I want to continue playing and promoting chess but it has become very difficult to do so when the situation is the one I've described. I have a hard time finding reasons to keep being a part of FIDE and the chess world under these circumstances. What about you?

Do you think that what FIDE is doing is right?

Make God laugh hard

It is a gloomy day in Bucharest but a sunny one in my heart. Why? For no particular reason, it just feels good to be home and be able to focus on what I choose to.

This year is going to be special and that's not just because I will turn 30, but because I feel ready to move to a new level. I have grown to enjoy chess in a different way than I did before. It's not only a won game or tournament what motivates me and makes me happy these days. It is that twitch of surprise when finding a beautiful move or idea which makes the dopamine rush into the brain! Does it mean I have become addicted to finding beautiful moves? I wish. 

The chess scene is changing fast these days and it is so easy to sort of just go with the flow that I have to constantly remind myself about the things I want for myself even though it sometimes means swimming upstream.

I am happy with where I am now and I have a clear picture in my head with where I want to be in a few years. Will it make the journey easier? It remains to be seen. Do you know how they say that it's not the final destination but the journey towards it which is important? Perhaps I have started to understand a bit better what my journey is about, as about the final destination- people make plans and God laughs, right? 

 I hope that my biggest worry in 2023 will be choosing a resolution from "Make God laugh" and "Make God laugh hard".

I wish you all a peaceful Sunday and a year full of laughs!