Nikolai's Palace

I wonder … at least i have been wondering about the concept of national identity, not in general sense, although it can definitely be seen by an individual and collective eye in a broader spectrum, relating to my own life. I was born in Russia, in a major metropolitan area of St. Petersburg’s most unpopular district. I have been raised in Russia, in a major metropolitan area of Moscow suburb. I spent good three revolutions around the sun wasting my life to drugs with my friends, the lost children of confused generation. I came to notice, although i can be wrong, that every new generation comes to face some sort of rebellion, mostly against their parental upbringings and usually resulting in confusion of identity induced by absence of the feeling of belonging, fitting in the old regime. Then a change of scenery suddenly barged into my life (i didn’t grow up then yet and was pretty much a hooligan and an asshole). Looking back on the time i lived in Russia, that is hazed by all the drugs and alcohol i consumed, and lookingthrough larger perspective, a question arises: does either Moscow or St. Petersburg define or at least come close to defining who and what is this, mother Russia and whether she is in fact a mother, is she married and does she have any kids. My answer in no to all of above except the kid part, that is metaphorically obvious, yes i am a kid of mother Russia, but i am still sure there are a lot of people who disagree with me. Before i can really spit out what being Russian means, i have to define Russian on its own. Is Moscow considered a Russian city, no doubt, it is the capital. Does it embody the culture and customs of Russian people, certainly partially, but not on the surface, deep beneath the skin. In Moscow, you have to dig deep beneath the skin to taste the two thousand year blood that has been running through her veins. Before Moscow can be called Russian, it is an European city, and it is the same with Petersburg (that can be said due to the fact that St. Petersburg held an original purpose to Westernize lagging Russia by Peter the Great). On the surface the city i lived in wears a mask, a mask of appeal to the Western world. Because of its geographic proximity to Europe the heart of Russia developed an identity crisis. It doesn’t know where to belong. It can’t rely on its humble roots, because that will throw it out of competition and diminish it’s valued pride and it can’t fully sacrifice itself to the Western model, because that would imply the dissimilation of two thousand years of cultural development. Therefore it is torn between two worlds, angry and full of short-lived pride. If a tourist decided to take a trip from the capital to the village 100 miles away from Moscow in Eastern direction, that tourist will be surprised the see the cultural gap between the two regions. It is vast. That is where i come in. At the gap, only i bear the privilege of being also a partial American. What that means, partial? Living in the country for considerable amount of time to change my cultural skin color and adopt to the ambient social, economic and political environment. I have become the capital of the hear of Russia, the city that has been burned down by its own people twice, the confused, lost in doubt Moscow. I can’t go into the dark terrain of Russian culture, i don’t understand it, i don’t have the experience of living with it. I can only look from the outside, observe old Russia like it is a new dress behind a glass window and never wear it. And then there is America, a land of the brave and the free. I am not brave or free then, i wasn’t born here. Many come here to fulfill an “American dream”. I didn’t even know what that meant when my airplane landed in Chicago airport in 2002. It is as though some outside force brought me here, dragged me here. But i am happy, i am glad that the force allowed me to start thinking about what i am. I know if i stayed in Russia i would never adopt a dual perspective on my situation and would stay forever ignorant of lookin at myself from outside, looking at my country from outside. I can proudly say that i don’t consider myself either a Russian or an American, it is har for me to conform to a singular identity. I am simply, a human. If there is a universal quality that unites us all it is the heartbeat that keep on going. It is enough for me to feel secure under the vast blue sky to experience life not as an endurance but as a celebration. To know that when i look up i see one thing, and one thing only, the beautiful blue sky, and i am answered. After that I don’t care much for being able to drink gallons of Vodka in 30 minutes, wear Adidas jumpsuits all the time or other sensless stereotypes that tail national identity. That doesn’t affect me. The fact is that i have some valuable assets, i can speak two languages fluently, i can think in two different ways. I can adopt, but the sky above my head will always provide a secure abode to where i can retreat as a human being, united in nature. I wonder, at least i have been wondering, how long can i feel secure with such delusions of unity, and whether the sky will pass like life, a fleeting thought in a pool of conlgamorated uncertainty. Maybe uncertainty is the only security i have, that nothing lasts forever.