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.

Think. Wait. Fast.

These three words got stuck in my head just before coming to the recently finished tournament in
France. Yes, greetings from my flight back home. It’s been a while since I felt like writing, or to be more precise since my everyday imaginary writing materialized. Why now? Why not? 

I have recently read a book which I liked a lot- “Siddhartha”, by Herman Hesse. It was about the need one has to find meaning in life. The novel is beautifully written and gives a lot of food for thought. I have the feeling that Herman and I could have interesting conversations, preferably accompanied by some glasses of wine. His “Steppenwolf” marked me deeply when I read it in my late teens, and it might had been the first planted seed of what has grown to be my quest for meaning.

Meaning… It’s not certain that there is one at all. It might well be none whatsoever- like in my last 2 games, when from 2 completely winning positions, I scored 0,5/2 versus lower rated opponents. Funnily enough, I started the tournament well, scoring 3,5 out of the first 5 games, but the quality of my games was questionable- to put it mildly. However, in the last 2 games, the quality raised significantly, and the results decreased accordingly. Tell me now the universe doesn’t have a sense of humour. I would cry if it wasn’t so funny.

On the other hand, I spent quality time with friends, though they could argue differently. In the last day, one of them told me that they might need some antidepressants before our next conversation. It came right after my joyful explanation that suffering is not bad at all, and it can be enjoyed. Now that I read it, perhaps some antidepressants would actually do me good. Do you think Herman would write “Der Steppenwolf” if he was prescribed some pills? No suffering, no quest for meaning. Perhaps the book would then be called “The pack of wolves”. Jokes aside, it is always a dilemma during tournaments- to spend nice time with your friends, who also happen to be chess players, so you don’t really see each other in other circumstances or to focus solely on the competition. You usually try to find some sort of balance. One way or the other- tournaments tend to come to an end and then you travel back home, back to your thoughts and quests.

One time, after 4 years of travelling and meditating with no dime to his soul, Siddhartha wanted to learn the way of love. He came to a city where he saw a beautiful courtesan who he immediately knew would be the perfect teacher. When approaching her, asking to be taught the ways of love, the beautiful courtesan told him that he should bring precious gifts to her first and change his appearance to look groomed. Siddhartha agreed. Just before leaving, the courtesan felt compelled to try helping him out and asked what his skills were. The answer stroke me as brilliant. “I can think, I can wait, and I can fast.” I thought that it’s exactly these skills which chess players also have.

Now that the tournament is over and I am back home for a few days, I’ll allow myself some time for these three occupations. I think there’s no problem whatsoever to have a bad event every now and then and I don’t mind to patiently wait for better times while living in my head for a little while in order to let my body and soul fast.

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…

A tender flapping of wings

A calm afternoon at home. There are not so many of them lately and I make sure to enjoy it at its fullest. I planned on playing an online women’s blitz tournament today, but about 10 minutes before it had to start- I had a change of heart. 

It all started with me remembering to check out an Italian rock singer I watched a movie about not so long ago. I found the song I was looking for and listened to it one time, two times, three times… Then I felt the urge to switch to my best headphones. They have such bass levels that the pleasure you get while listening to your favourite tracks can compare only to… Well, you get it- playing chess. Ai, ai, ai, of course playing chess! What did you think of? As about the noise cancellation- it makes my neighbour’s continuous renovation works sound like a butterfly’s tender flapping of wings. Sometimes I worry that while wearing them I might miss on an important thing happening, like an earthquake or some sudden bombing. Come on, in our safe, peaceful world? Right, right- it is non-sense to worry about such things. Ok, so I started listening to this song on this masterpiece of headphones and even felt like dancing. Why not, a little, innocent dance which no one can see. Just imagine- the neighbour hammering like he’s fighting some autocratic regime and, over the wall- me dancing on my beats, or his beats… No autocratic regime could handle that image!

I now have 5 new favourite tracks from that Italian rock singer and why not listen to them on repeat? They not only make me dance, but as you’ve seen- also provoke deep thoughts on natural phenomena and political ideologies.

I love music. My previous headphones are the best evidence to that. After the four years in which I wore them continuously in all kinds of places and circumstances, they look like my kind neighbour used them to perfect his hammering skills and believe me- his skills are… divine.

Back to that online blitz tournament- the biggest problem is that I can’t play it while wearing headphones. The reason is obvious- serious anti cheating measures which involve joining a zoom call. So, I decided to skip on it and devote those 2 hours to the other two favourite activities of mine- listening to music and writing. Just a second- the 5 songs just finished, and I need them to start over.

Italian is indeed a beautiful language! I already had quite some of Andrea Bocelli’s songs in my playlists, but I have never listened to Italian rock before. Judging by the number of times I have put those 5 songs on repeat today- it’s not bad at all either. I guess you must be curious by this point who I am speaking about. I like this trait of character- curiosity, so I’ll indulge you- Gianna Nannini is her name. And the song which made me dance? Why not indulge on that too? “America”. Perhaps you can also dance on some autocratic beats. Why not democratic if the song is called “America”? I wonder about that myself… Let’s blame my neighbour’s butterfly wings flapping for that. For a second or two I contemplated on the possibility to delve into some argumentation or even analysis on democracy and autocracy, but… I think I’ll just leave some lyrics of the song with their English translation instead.

“Fammi volare

lei le mani sui fianchi come fosse l’America

fammi sognare
lui che scende e che sale e si sente l’America
fammi l’Amore
lei che pensa ad un altro e si inventa l’America
fammi l’amore
forte sempre più forte ed io sono l’America.”

Make me fly,
she with her hands on her hips as if she were America
make me dream,
he who goes down and up and feels America
make love to me,
she thinks of another and invents America
make love to me
hard, harder, and I am America.

 

P.S. "Beautiful rebel" is the name of the movie I watched which was inspired by Gianna Nannini and got me curious to seek her music.

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?”