Immigranto

I was a child when we came here. I still remember holding my mother tight in my arms, cradling her face and wiping her tears as the train took us away from our home...HER home...as I promised her that I would be her strength wherever we would go...

America was THE dream. That magnificent something where anything was possible. I
I got only a glimpse of our country. The way our government punished us for years. Individuality...intelligence...passion...were repugnant.
Sins for which we payed.
Secrets we hid in our kitchens late at night.
When we gathered at night we listened to underground rock bands who sang of that unreachable place...and tears clouded the world as we danced in the candlelight.

You will never know what it is like to be on a waiting list for an "forbidden" book. To stand in endless lines for a piece of fruit for your child. To battle every day so that your child feels loved and special. To beg for a phone...to pray that one day you won't have to share a 3 bedroom with 3 families and the kitchen will have only one fridge and not three. That running water won't be orange. That you can move to a city simply because you want to and not require a permit from the government to do so.
How does this still exist??

She was an actress then...the best memories of my childhood were spent in that old theater with her bohemian friends who treated me like one of them and shared everything they had with me as if I deserved it. We longed SO much to come here. We hoped that our lives would simply fall into place and become the glossy perfection we saw on screens late at night. And though in some ways our expectations have far exceeded anything we could have imagined then, the road has been paved with blood and tears. I still remember watching these melancholy young actors...kids, really, beautiful in their tragedy...delicate in their sadness...tell jokes by a fire, give their souls for their art, search for meaning, in a country that was never going to give them anything except disappointment. The country that would beat them into submission and make them faceless clones passing time until death.
It is so difficult to put into words what we thought the world...and America...was. The reality is not bad (that is not my intention)...but it is hard to convey with words those fleeting images of this far away land that we thought gave you happiness as soon as you stepped onto the ground. No, it was not realistic. But I miss the naivete nonetheless.

I thought things got better in my homeland. But tonight, when I watched our "Grammys" I saw a singer who sang about flying over Moscow away from the "cage" to Europe. And the crowd, usually sullen and morose...smiled and clapped and waved...and cried. Because they are still there. Trapped, persecuted, unable to fulfill their potentials. Artists, intellectuals...the forgotten children of Europe.
We are not a third world country, far from it. Yet this response shows how deeply unhappy we still are.

The song playing now cannot be translated. It is a goodbye to America - where the singer has never been. He is mourning the loss of something he never possessed. He faces the reality that life will never change. Years later, though I have never lived communism how my mother or my friends have, it still brings back pain. That delicately excruciating pang of nostalgia for my childhood...my youth...my beautiful country that I so deeply loved and didn't want to leave. The self pity I feel for never being able to belong anywhere since... and the unforgiving realization that no dream is ever real. The perpetual guilt I feel for having my success be paid in my mother's youth and happiness. The America I thought I would find...that Paradiso that we created in our heads.
I have made the most of what she gave me, far more than either of us had expected. I have taken "The American Dream" and I have pushed it to its limits. I am the story parents tell their children. And I worked to the bone to get it. And now, on the almost eve, of another decade I am reflecting on what once was. I look to the future...but I can never forget the past. I was but a child, but those memories are burned in my soul.
My blood is Russian. My heart is American. Where the rest of me ends up is anyone's guess...

New York...

Back to the city I adore.

A wedding...the MET (finally!!!)...kissing in Central Park...and truffled egg toast.

Sometimes one needs a big city to remember that this world is big and promising. It is not filled with people who live and die within one square mile.
New York is always a good time. How could it not be? You need not ever make plans here...it will create your trip for you.

I got my skinnies on, my aviators and a camera. It's on.

A lazy morning

Day in Paris #3:

Today you woke up later then expected...perhaps it was because the rain drops softly thumped on the window pane lulling you to a dreamy haze...the sky is overcast but it is warm and breezy.

You grab a cup of coffee and head for a walk along the Seine. To some this is probably just a river. It can be a bit stagnant and sometimes murky. There are no sunbathers or row boats filled with Wasp-y graduates  in their pastel polos. An occasional riverboat slowly waddles by carrying along tourists taking pictures of every foot.

It is just a river you say. But you keep walking...each of the 37 bridges along the Seine are different..interesting...unique in their construction and appeal.
The Invalides bridge is spectacular.
You walk along the river past Notre Dame and cannot help but marvel at how beautiful "goth" can be. Pont Neuf peaks your curiosity..in the distance you get a peak of La Tour Eiffel.

You browse the books and art from centuries past that is sold by the bank on Sundays. Here perfectly preserved 18th century anatomy pages neighbor Marilyn Monroe kitchen magnets and post cards from the 20's. The banks are filled with people...couples in love, couple in rage, families.. and loners like you.

You don't notice but as you walk and stare at the water memories flood your consciousness. You feel fleeting sadness and happiness, nostalgic for a time that seems perfect through the looking glass of time. You feel calm and strangely happy.
This is the Paris not everyone will see. This Paris does not intimidate you with it's cornucopia of lights and sounds...it is softer. Unobtrusive in it's elegance. Confident in it's timeless perfection.

This water has flown through these walls for centuries. It has seen flourishing kingdoms and gruesome revolutions...it has been saturated with blood and memories and managed to absorb them seamlessly beneath its weight. It is magnetic.
Strangely, you feel inspired to write something...anything...to capture this mood because you know that as soon as you walk away the hectic world will engulf you again and this brief glimpse into your own self will fade under the mandane tasks of the everyday.
You take a picture hoping that looking at it will remind you what you felt that day. How you were just walking along a river in this beautiful city enjoying a simple lazy morning...

Escaping from the world...

It is finally here. We are off to the Paris of Latin America...Buenos Aires. No phones, no email (ok limited email), lazy mornings lounging in bed and late nights filled with wine and dancing. Just us...

Although we never make definitive plans a few key items are definitely on the itinerary.
Teatro Colon? Claro que si!

And, of course, knowing me, a trip to La Recoleta.
Stunning, isn't it??  I cannot wait to see who lives here. And the sculptures are going to be spectacular.

Being fiendish lovers of anything modern we will definitely spend one day here:

MALBA. (giddy face!)

There will also be several underground tango clubs, foodie adventures and many a wine tasting.

I so desperately need this. I want to get away. 

To forget what I do and where I come from.

To be in love and nothing else. 

To get lost in a strange city...to emerse myself into a place full of colors and sounds and exuberant LIFE.

Travel reminds you that this world is unbelievably big. It is incredible, infinitely amusing and glorious. To travel is to LIVE.
If I could not travel I don't think my life would be worth living. It is that important. And though I do not travel as much as I would like now, when I am done with my training, I shall take off on trips every chance I get. It is a necessity, a basic need. The experiences and memories gained from stepping outside one's boundaries cannot be substituted or replaced. 

The warm wind is blowing through the car window...the music fills the air...a plane is waiting to whisk me far far away to a beautiful country. PURR.