In the fall, I bought an old soap dish. Lo-fi photography brought back memories from my student years. I walked along the cold streets and took photographs. And looked at the dim screen and remembered pictures from life.
Yesterday I stood under the shower and remembered that in my student years, while bathing, I sang a song: “cold, cold”
My 2000s are about the cold.
I’m 12, I was sent to my first children’s camp. First time alone: joy and freedom? No, something is going wrong. The camp is called children’s creative cottages. Almost everyone sings and dances, they already have dozens of awards and are shown on TV. And in our camp they have concerts and performances every other day.
Almost all. A small part of children turn out to be uncreative. I can’t sing, I can’t dance. I can’t do anything, it seems. I look from my chair at the stage, wondering what’s wrong with me.
After the first glasses of beer, I notice that alcohol turns me into a cheerful girl. Who is not afraid to speak, laughs a lot, breathes freely. Now I leave the house with the words: buy me a beer. I started with Baltika Nine) Then there was vodka with crackers at the entrance. Burnt vodka. You need to call the apartment, a hand will take money through the slightly open door and pull out a bottle for you. My friends knew the places.
Looking back, I see these same 2000s as a warm home. A home where I’m cold, where I rush around and can’t find a place, but still a home. Where are mom and dad, where I am confident that tomorrow this house will still exist and wait for me. And there’s no need he will grab the first things he comes across and run anywhere at breakneck speed. Think about how to leave the country and where to get the money for it.