My childhood was spent in Moscow in the 90s. It was a time of economic struggle and political turbulence for the whole country, as well as my parents. I was growing up sharing a room with my older sister in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city. Despite the difficulties, our parents managed to give us a good education, interest us in reading, and teach critical thinking. It was a common thing for our family to discuss ideas, concepts, literature, and movies. We genuinely believed that the truth is born in respectful and thoughtful disputes.
As years were passing by, we started to disagree with our parents more often. There was less and less flexibility in all of us, and we were not as ready to accept and even consider each other’s points of view as before. Often, tired and upset about the disagreements and controversy, my sister and I used to tell each other: “That’s it, from now on we will only talk about flowers”, which meant talking about everyday things, something trivial and safe.
In February 2022 Russia invaded Ukraine, and opposing opinions about it divided a lot of families, along with mine. Different feelings were tearing me apart. Sometimes I wanted to just turn away and stop keeping in touch at all, sometimes – to try convincing my parents of my understanding of the truth. At the same time, there was a strong desire to maintain contact no matter what, going around the sharp edges in conversations. I chose the connection - a thin thread, ready to break at any moment under the weight of a great human disaster.
As years were passing by, we started to disagree with our parents more often. There was less and less flexibility in all of us, and we were not as ready to accept and even consider each other’s points of view as before. Often, tired and upset about the disagreements and controversy, my sister and I used to tell each other: “That’s it, from now on we will only talk about flowers”, which meant talking about everyday things, something trivial and safe.
In February 2022 Russia invaded Ukraine, and opposing opinions about it divided a lot of families, along with mine. Different feelings were tearing me apart. Sometimes I wanted to just turn away and stop keeping in touch at all, sometimes – to try convincing my parents of my understanding of the truth. At the same time, there was a strong desire to maintain contact no matter what, going around the sharp edges in conversations. I chose the connection - a thin thread, ready to break at any moment under the weight of a great human disaster.
We had the first narcissus blooming at dacha
My childhood was spent in Moscow in the 90s. It was a time of economic struggle and political turbulence for the whole country, as well as my parents. I was growing up sharing a room with my older sister in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city. Despite the difficulties, our parents managed to give us a good education, interest us in reading, and teach critical thinking. It was a common thing for our family to discuss ideas, concepts, literature, and movies. We genuinely believed that the truth is born in respectful and thoughtful disputes.
As years were passing by, we started to disagree with our parents more often. There was less and less flexibility in all of us, and we were not as ready to accept and even consider each other’s points of view as before. Often, tired and upset about the disagreements and controversy, my sister and I used to tell each other: “That’s it, from now on we will only talk about flowers”, which meant talking about everyday things, something trivial and safe.
As years were passing by, we started to disagree with our parents more often. There was less and less flexibility in all of us, and we were not as ready to accept and even consider each other’s points of view as before. Often, tired and upset about the disagreements and controversy, my sister and I used to tell each other: “That’s it, from now on we will only talk about flowers”, which meant talking about everyday things, something trivial and safe.
We had the first narcissus blooming at dacha
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