Suit Up!

 Hello hello! Another day, another blog! How are you all doing? I hope you’re ready to read my long blog today! Take a break if you must, haha!

 

But today, I’m not Jesicca… I am Anna Sergeyevna. I am known as “The lady with a white beret and a white Pomeranian dog”, or just simply “The lady with the dog”. I am a young married woman from S, having a solo holiday in Yalta, Southern Ukraine, though I lied to my husband that I had a doctor’s appointment there. My creator is Anton Chekhov, who published my story in the early 1900’s. I born in Saint Petersburg, Russia. But I live in S, in the late 1800’s. I am an unhappy, young married woman. I have been blinded by curiosity when I got married to my husband and now I’m unhappy, it’s not my husband but myself I have deceived… I have been deceiving myself for a long time, believing I could love him faithfully. But after meeting Dmitri Gurov, I now know where my heart belongs to. We fell into an extramarital affairs, as they say—it so wrong but it feels so right. The part of my story that I like the most is the moment where Gurov suddenly went to see me during a theatre with my husband, and there he confesses his love for me when my husband went out to have a smoke during the interval. I missed him dearly, I do! But he must be mad for coming to see me! Why do I like that moment, you ask? Oh, I may dislike the fact he went out his way to see me, but it was a romantic act of him, despite for our shameful affair. That is also the time we agreed that I would go to Moscow—where he lives—to see him. It is simple, but it has a special place in my simple, little heart.

 

And now, I’m no longer Anna Sergeyevna, but I am now Nick Carraway. I am a man from a wealthy family in Midwest, after I returned from WW1, I found that Midwest became incredibly… boring. So I set off to Long Island, near New York City! The stock markets are booming and I found work as a bond salesman, what a life! So I took up residence in West Egg, in a small house next to Jay Gatsby’s enormous mansion. My creator is Francis Scott Fitzgerald, who published Gatsby’s story in 1925. The part of the story is when Jay Gatsby got shot dead by George Wilson, who then committed suicide right after. Why? Well, when I tried to find people to come to Gatsby’s funeral, but everyone—I mean everyone!—who pretended to be Gatsby’s friend and came to his parties now refuses to come to his funeral. Even Gatsby’s partner Wolfshiem doesn’t want to go to the funeral. Talk about fake friends who only after for your money. I just felt so upset of this, all his sacrifices all gone to waste with his crushed dream to be with Daisy, whom he loved since 5 years ago before he was sent to war. I am so disgusted with the morally lawless life in the East. People here are made with money, and will forever crave for only money. In the end, Jay Gatsby’s funeral is only attended by Gatsby’s father and Owl Eyes. And so, I retreated back home to the Midwest.

 

Okay! How was it? Don’t worry, it’s neither Anna or Nick now. Just your girl, Jesicca! I hope you’re not confused with the constant POV switches between characters! I did my best! But, that’s all for today’s blog post. I’ll see you all in next time’s post. I wish you all a jolly good day!

Ciao!