Maudlin. Thanks, my dear friend.

The mister and I went to a dinner last night and saw two of our closest friends on the planet. We ate, drank lots of wine, and talked about our lives, our futures, our dreams. For one of these men, life has opened a new chapter, as his wife has just had a baby, and celebrations were in order. For the other of these men (who actually was the person that first brought the mister into my life), life seems to be becoming more adventurous and more amazingly exciting. Both of these men we love dearly, and couldn't imagine life without them.

At some point in the evening, there was a comment made about my blog. It was described as being "maudlin". And the mister, without skipping a beat, nodded his head and said "yep. a little bit glass half empty."

And for once, I actually stopped to have a think about how I write. I love to write, and I've gotten loads of lovely feedback from people who have always loved my writing and continue to follow my stories (thank you so much). But to have people echo the same feeling every now and again made me self-indulgently introspective today.

I used to be offended when people would say to me "Oh, your face always looks a bit melancholy. It's in your eyes- they have this unknown sadness to them" or "Are you okay? You seem pissed off or a bit sad". I used to battle against this perception and try to explain to people that no, I'm NOT sad, I just happen to have that kind of face. No, I DON'T see the world as glass half-empty, I would rather just see it as a glass of something yummy. No, just because I am NOT smiling doesn't mean that I'm dwelling on something.

I stopped knee-jerk defending myself a long time ago, and last night, my gut reaction to the comment that I seem a bit "maudlin" surprised me. Because I felt for once like I didn't get defensive, and that I could actually articulate how I feel about that perception.

Being Ukrainian, I sometimes feel like I was born with this very very latent, very subtle melancholy hidden in the depths of my DNA. It's not unhappiness, it's not sadness, it's not discontent or depression. It's a very beautiful melancholy. It's as if my life were scored in the key of D Minor. And the things I love, the things I react to, are a bit related to that. I love Gorecki's music. I am obsessed by the contradictions of dark and light in the music of Sigur Ros (this song was my wedding processional and still makes me cry). I adore Shakespearean dramas about love and loss. I love the contradiction I feel when I sing a happy aria, but that the subject matter makes me burst into tears. I love the poem "Because I could not stop for Death". One of my favourite lullabies that Mamo used to sing to me is all in a minor key (it's a love story about a King, Queen and Prince. They get eaten by a cat, dog, and mouse, but it turns out in the end that the people were all made of cookie dough and sugar, so it was okay because they were treats for the animals). Yep, don't adjust your glasses: it's a lullabye about death that is actually sweet and comforting.

Our wedding was in this black church in the middle of a lava field in Iceland, and it was something out of Wuthering Heights. The sky was partly pale blue, partly dove grey, and really blustery. And when the doors opened and I walked towards the church as the processional music swelled, my dress was dramatically blown to the side and looked like a grey, green and black cloud. It. Was. Perfect. And yes, on the happiest day of my life, there was that bit of romantic melancholy- and flatteringly, people said it made an indelible impression.

Have you ever heard the Carol of the Bells? Yes, that's Ukrainian. And it's a very beautiful song about a bird that flies around telling everyone through her song about how joyous the holiday season is (it wasn't translated correctly for the English version). And you know what? A lot of that is in a minor key.

What I'm saying is, I am definitely not a morbid person, and I never have been. I'm happier than I ever have been in my life, and I am blessed with so much. But there is a luxurious and delicious quality about melancholy. It's like this romantic, poetic blanket that I like wrapping myself up in sometimes, and relishing what that moment brings. It actually enhances the creative part of my brain, and I end up writing, painting and dreaming. Happiness and contentment is a blessing, but there is also a hidden magic in exploring the other side.

I like the fact that I am as completely comfortable talking about death and tragedy as I am about love stories and happy endings. I get curious about things that society says we "shouldn't" know about. Some people find it uncomfortable to talk about those things because they're somehow afraid it will make them sad or frightened. For myself, I've never felt that. I've always been curious about the world and have questioned everything. I like how it feels. If I've ever sounded negative or low in my blog, it's only because I think it's healthy to explore those feelings to get them out of your system. I recognise them and then I move on.

I'm not saying that all Ukrainians or Eastern Europeans are like this, but a lot of us are. It's in our blood. And I feel so lucky that I get to be a part of that. It feels like a sparkling little secret that I will always carry with me, and hope to someday pass on to our children.

So, if you think I sound a bit melancholy, or you think there is something behind my eyes that you can't place your finger on, thank you for recognising that. That's just one of the many pages of the Book of Myshka.

And as far as glass being half empty, well, it just means that I'm pacing my drinking, and savouring every single drop of what I've been given.