I came from a country that no longer exists.
I left the rubbles of the once almighty USSR, but it never left me. It, the invisible force of my upbringing, permeated every corner of my being in subtle whispers and reflective bouts. I spent decades purging seared memories of that life.

Having enough food to eat has been my life’s prerogative. It gently taps me on the shoulder, ‘Look, there is two for one.’ It still murmurs in the supermarket to take three bags of flour instead of one, just in case. ‘Lucky we have a Soviet mum,’ our boys said at the first Covid lockdown, praising our stocks of essentials.

No food ever goes to waste, as ancestral tales of the Great Ukrainian famine replay in my mind. It’s called mindful consumption.

I live with a heightened awareness of waste. Mine came from scarcity and since stayed. In the age of abundance, I reuse plastic bags, fold away used foil, and do not throw away things but find new homes for items and clothes. They call it environmentally friendly.

It screws with my style and sense of fitting together and is a source of general apathy for that aesthetic obsession. I go with what I like, unguided by philosophies, rules, or fashion.

It urges me not to succumb to the new ideology- Consumerism. It screams at the sight of long lines to a clothing store on the first day after the lockdown. Are you that desperate to part with your money? I had to consume everything that came my way to return to the origin- being pragmatic in my consumption.

It hurts me to think of how many people perished in the crevices of my country’s collective memory without a trace for a thoughtcrime, for daring to think differently about their experience of being pimped by the government reality. A thoughtcrime is back in vogue.

My fear of the police is on a cellular level. I still flinch at the sight of the police car or police patrol on the street. I think different. What if it‘s for me?

It guides my life with a general suspicion of one’s good intentions. What’s the catch?

I refuse to follow. I followed enough.

I have contempt for too many rules and anything too organised; it impedes one’s creativity. Rule-breaking got us to graduate from the USSR. After all, we are all equal in our inequality.

It soothes me with the hope that extracting the good, the bad, and the in-between of your upbringing enables you to tell Your story.