It is with great despair that I watch our world crumbling under the weight of so many wars.
My heart bleeds every time I stroll my feed on X or read the news in legacy media. People are dying, are trapped in poverty, don’t even have a chance for a better life.
I often reflect but what would be better, how could our world change for the better?
You see, I did experience a beautiful world once. I was happy in it. I was granted a privilege to be born in the best country on earth: The Soviet Union. The name of the country stayed in my passport for a long time, before at some point it was changed to Russia, as if the Soviet Union didn’t exist.
But it did, and it managed to contain the rest of the world from major wars. It acted as a massive force for good, and for justice. Different religions and nationalities were united together, where everyone was given the same chances as everyone else. Each of us had access to the top notch education, excellent medical care, and there were no homeless people, poverty and despair.
Of course, I was probably a bit more privileged. I was born in Moscow, the capital of the beautiful land. But two years of my childhood I spent in Eastern Ukraine and in the south of Russia, and then would return there each summer, to spend time at the farm of my grandparents. My cousins lived in Donbas, and life, in terms of material comfort, was the same as in Moscow. We all had access to the same products, the same books, the same music. There were only two channels on the TV, and thus, we grew up watching the same movies, cartoons and singing the same songs.
It was a beautiful life. We didn’t spend much time in the shops, because the choice of products was very simple: you could get two types of cheese, and one type of sausage. As a result, we communicated with each other more. We ate simple delicious meals and we talked a lot. About life, its meaning, the books we read, our dreams, and aspirations. During the summers in Ukraine and Russia, we would assemble in the local park, light up a fire and sing along with a guitar. It was so simple and wonderful, that each day we woke up as happy children, to the smell of pancakes my grandmother was making for us. We had a roast on Sunday, and food from the garden on other days. Back in Moscow, I would go to museums or theatre each weekend. Everyone could afford it. No one was poor. People received more or less the same salary, and led a simple, yet fulfilling life.
Growing up in the Soviet Union taught me a lot of things, namely the respect for all religions, nationalities and walks of life. And now, when I watch what is happening to our beautiful world, the memory of how life can be, is the only thing that still gives me hope for our humanity.
(that’s me)
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