Grandma.

It's still wet and gloomy outside, so I decided to post something from the archive. There are places that you know you'll never go back to again, sometimes by will, sometimes by chance, but my grandma's apartment in the Moscow suburbs is one of them. My grandma passed away almost three years ago and I have visited her old apartment only once since then. It's a strange feeling to visit someone's home after they haven't lived there for a while. It has all the same furniture, same books, same square footage, but at the same time everything is missing. I don't want to get all hippie here, but it seems that every person has an essence about them that they take with them wherever they go. When the person is gone no matter how similar you keep the place to when he or she was alive, that essence is gone. There are a few things in that apartment that remind me of the past: a bookshelf that was a tall apartment building in my imagination when I was little, strange dangly light switches, one of which was red, and many other things. A couple of days ago I remembered how I would have daytime naps when I was a kid and fall asleep under an orange blanket to the murmur of my mom's and grandma's voices in the other room. I'd look at the sun shining through the curtain in the room and feel safe, happy and sleepy.

The Olden Days.

Today I stumbled upon multiple CDs with old pictures on them. I saw pictures of times that seem to be so distant and yet so near. It's funny how you remember each exact moment in the picture: first snow, wearing a new jacket, first critique. There were pictures of people I've been close to at some point in life and don't stay in touch with. I found pictures of friends from only four years ago, but it seems like they changed incredibly. What surprised me was how many snapshots of myself I found. Not the staged, "I want to look pretty" kind, but very candid ones with teenage zits, smudged make-up and such. I also found pictures that would mean nothing to anyone in the world except myself like the ones where I have my hair straightened or new make-up. It was strange how much a quick shot of yourself remind you of the times when you were possibly less confident and maybe a bit naive, but when it was still a part of the person you are now.

Peace and a little bit of Russia.

I love those first days of spring when it finally stops being bone-chilling and everything gets warm and kind of quiet. A car or two passes by with music blasting and then it's back to people talking, dogs barking and all that in this calm and peaceful quiet that disappears around the first day of school in the fall. Today was perfect for exploration, so we headed to the Shawnee Mission park that has a huge lake that attracts families, cyclists, crazy old people, you name it. Beautiful place to bring make barbecue while enjoying the weather, water and friends. I guess today was a great day for fishing and there was a little community of old Russian men fishing. The guy in the picture caught a huge one and the look on his face was clearly out of the "I rock!" category. It was fun for me in seeing these old guys and hearing the language I heard growing up (you don't hear that much Russian here in Missouri). Their old voices reminded me of the times when I was a little kid hanging out with family and the older folks telling stories in their distinct old-man voices. Funny how a few old Russian guys fishing can remind you of things that used to and will never be.

Who does the arm belong to?

Looks like this is going to be a second day of memories for me, but this one is more of a purely aesthetic memories type of day. In this picture the man on the left is my grandpa with a coworker or maybe just a random acquaintance. What is the most confusing for me in this picture is how it was made and/or if it was just one of those accidental "trow-away" pieces of film. We can think that the darker tree and field are reflections on glass, but what are the fade out trees in the background? I'm guessing the railings are a part of a different picture, but whose arm is it then? Who was behind the camera? I love pictures like this one that make you wonder and guess. There's no real way to find out because my grandpa passed away many years ago and the second person is probably not alive either.

What on earth is personal space?

I read in many places and experienced myself that the US is a non-touch nation. If you're in an elevator, you stand as far from the other person as you possibly can and if you walk by someone too close at the grocery store you say, "excuse me". Each time I go to Moscow for a visit I'm amazed with how different everything is. It seems like that "bubble" almost doesn’t exist in that culture. When you're taking the subway during rush hour, people literally rub against you. They're not some sick perverts, but people who are limited to a small space and were not raised to think that the person next to you has his own "bubble". I believe that the oblivion of someone's personal space comes from childhood. As kids in Russia we were often surrounded by things and acts that we though were routine and normal, but if you look at them from a different perspective, awkward and disturbing.

The example that comes to mind is a humiliating medical test the girls got in 7th grade. The school nurse showed up at whatever class we were in and asked all the girls to come with her. In her office that was really just a small room with a bench, desk, chair and drawer, we were all told to come up to her one by one and take off our shirts. She'd measure each girl's chest and say "70 cm" or whatever the number was and ask if we got our periods. Coming up to a strange lady and taking your shirt off was weird, but not as embarrassing as waiting for her to tell you the measurements you'll be labeled with. If she says "next" you're normal and developing, as you should. I was one of the lucky "normal" ones, but I remember the unfortunate girl that came up to the nurse, took her shirt off and got: “I’ll have to call your mother and suggest a doctor that will figure out why your breasts are not developing normally". Poor girl was flat up to 9th grade and I'm sure she'd give anything to not get giggles about something she can't even control.

My point to the story is that after you take off your shirt involuntarily in front of fifteen of your classmates, you don't really have personal space anymore. I don't remember getting one single class in school that would tell me that I should respect other people's space or be uncomfortable with people getting into mine. My parents were the ones that told me those things, but none of that learning came from what is supposed to be the main source of education. I wish I could say that the breast measuring exam was the only medical procedure that the school nurse did not do in private, but there were multiple other ones, like flu shots in you rear end when you had to pull down your pants in front of the same fifteen girls. Add boys hitting puberty that are waiting for their shots behind door, daring each other to rush in and take a peek and you'll imagine the full experience.

I'm not trying to complain or say how bad my childhood was (it wasn't). It's interesting for me to try and figure out why such a little thing as personal space can be so different in two different countries. Luckily I'm not one of those people who rub against others on the train or talk inches away from your face. I'm also lucky I don't have insecurities about my body image or undressing in front of others. I got lucky, but I can't help but think if the slow-developing girl ever got over that embarrassing moment.