the n word

and the s word

There was snow. Real, fluffy, still there in the morning, snow. I expected to be happy to see it but I didn’t expect to feel so emotional about it. It’s that damn snow smell. There’s nothing like it.

***

When I was about 12 or 13 I was going through an application process to go and study in a kind of boarding school in Israel. My mom reads this blog, she’ll correct me if I get any of this wrong (I’m sure /eyeroll/). But I remember going through this interview and some sort of test. There are two things I remember the most about that experience.

First thing was that I was younger than everyone else, and very aware of it. So when I was asked if I’ve ever had a boyfriend I thought oh no, I’ve never had a boyfriend, I was too busy playing violin and climbing trees with my useless female friends, he’s going to think I’m a total baby for never having kissed a boy. So I lied and said that I did, but we’re not together any more. And he asked, what happened. I panicked - I haven’t thought it through that far! So I shrugged: I don’t know, just stopped hanging out I guess.

I could tell he didn’t believe me. I thought how silly, I should have come up with a better reason why we broke up, of course he wouldn’t believe that. Who just… stops hanging out? Jokes on me (and him), that’s actually how I did end up “breaking up” with my first boyfriend. Kind of just gradually stopped hanging out. Of course he probably didn’t believe me because I’ve always been a terrible liar, not because the lie was bad.

The second thing I remember is what my mum told me when discussing the possibility of me leaving everyone behind and moving to another country. She said: “Think about it. It’s not so simple. The life you have here, everything you have now, it’s going to feel made-up, almost like it never happened. Like something very very far away.”

That’s what ended up happening, but not straight away. We ended up moving to England together and the life I had in Latvia began to seem almost made up. A doll-house I used to love that’s gathering dust in the attic. Of course that’s also just a part of growing up and changing. But I know for sure that it’s also in part because I’m not surrounded by anything that takes me back. I know this because when I do find myself somewhere or with someone that takes me back I feel a pain right in the middle of my chest. A ghost stab, right there. It’s so wonderful, happy, and intense, and sad, all at the same time. The word is nostalgia, but I don’t like the word.

It describes the pretty sadness but it fails to describe this tear, the separation of you from you. It happened so slowly that I didn’t know it all the time. I remember knowing it on the night of my 20th birthday, and I know it when I go back home (I still say home). I know it less and less frequently now which makes every time more and more intense.

And then there was snow.

***

Growing up I was a Jewish Russian girl. That’s who I was to start with, but it wasn’t real. Being here, out in the real world, I know now. I was never a real Russian and god knows I was never a “real” Jew.

It was all made up, after all. Not exactly a lie. A fairy tale.

I was Russian only against the backdrop of real Latvians. I was only Jewish against the straight haired, fair skinned Catholics and the Russian orthodox. Latvia back then was a very white place.

Who I actually was was someone who loved to read and write, someone who wanted to be seen and understood, just like everyone else. Like some others I was deeply happy, and like few I also truly loved sadness. But those are things so ethereal that they dissolve without trace in a cocktail of conscious identity struggle around nationality, ethnicity, and religion. Which are, by the way, so silly that I’m kicking myself for ever focusing on them at all. I’d be so much farther along now.

The Russian identity is a tossed salad of Russian speakers from all over the world, so much bigger than the state. My family, we were Latvian Russians. We’d prepare the traditional New Year’s Eve spread, we remembered our heroes on the 9th of May, we celebrated our men on the 23rd of February and our women on the 8th of March. And the rest of the time we lived in Latvia, used both languages and tried to ignore the fact that the elephant in the room was us.

I was 6 or 7 when Putin got sworn in but I remember, it was generally viewed as a positive thing. Of course we then grew to know with an increasing sense of dread the danger he presents to us.

In my heart, I hate him.

We skipped celebrating Victory Day this year. Defenders of the Fatherland? What a fucking joke.

***

There are few things in my daily life now that connect me to my childhood. If you ended up living not so far from where you grew up, or near family, this might seem strange to you. Maybe you’ll still know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s like someone dropped a crate full of glasses, and most of them are broken but some are still okay. You go through all the things that are broken, that weren’t real, pick out the ones that stayed whole. So I look for points of intersection. For some continuity.

I still love to write things down, so here we are, and here are the boxes full of my handwritten diaries starting age 10. “Dear diary, I like a boy. I hate violin classes.” That sort of thing. “Here’s a printout of a completely meaningless conversation I had online with the boy I like, but I made a joke and he said L O L so I think maybe he likes me too.” Come to think about it I continue being a total dork, so that’s another thing.

I also still feel a little strange but only a little, just like anyone else. So I still want to be seen for the little that’s special about me. Still really happy. Still enjoy sometimes being sad. I almost tear up when I smell fresh snow and wish desperately for peace, like all my friends.

***

I went outside around half past midnight and it was still so bright. It felt so special. There were people out throwing snowballs and building snowmen until about 1 am. I was kind of grateful for the English incompetence when it comes to snow. It felt like for once the world stopped with me. Everyone was excited with me.

And though they don’t have to go through the heartache at least we can share the joy.

***

I came from Sainsbury’s tonight with a box of After Eights. Julz said:

-You have a disgustingly good taste in sweets. I didn’t think I wanted anything, but now I saw these…

Talk about being seen! Yes. Yes I do.

P.S. Please consider donating to support the Ukraine’s Armed Forces.