As I stood on the threshold of the airport, I contemplated the step I was about to make. I'd made it countless times before, but by now this hesitation had become a sort of ritual, a reaffirmation of the choice I was making. Behind me lay complacency; I could go back to my secure home in LA and live a normal, average life as a normal, average American. In front of me towered the gray, uncertain Moscow, with its mass of contradictions, its chaos and corruption evident in everyday life. I knew that out there, I would see the people close to me facing the societal problems, systemic failure, and uncertainty about the future that are not nearly as well hidden as in my California suburbia.
As I grew up, I traveled between Russia and America more times than I could count, never spending more than two consecutive years in either. And while lately it has only been two-month visits for summer vacation, the problems I see hit me deeply. Whether it is seeing the militia occasionally stop a car to demand bribes or the isolation and lack of patriotism I see in the people, it can be terrifying, and unlike my friends, I only spend summers there. With one step, I could easily just turn my back on this chaos and the difficulty I face every year re-assimilating two cultures as distinct as night and day. Go back to America and forget this constant conflict.
Then, my thoughts turn to long afternoons leisurely spent relishing the works of Pushkin with a traditional cup of tea, one cultural nuance that has survived the chaos. The fierce determination to survive and passion for life I see in the eyes of my friends despite their being robbed of opportunities or safety from the very police supposed to protect them. Here, in chaotic, post-Soviet Russia, I have been part of a society that has pulled through and thrived, that still has a culture and history that resonate through the stones.
However, it's not the gift of being able to read Chekhov and Dostoyevsky in the original language, or the cultural diversity and global viewpoint it affords me that draws me here year after year. It's the people, the resilience and life they possess, and the way they taught me the value of perseverance that truly makes me proud to call myself Russian- even when so many Russians are not as proud.
America gave me the confidence and opportunities to pursue my dreams, but Russia gave me something to work for, and the mindset to always go on no matter what. I look at the foggy city in front of me and think, "one day, I'll make this better." I was never one to take the easy road out. Do I dare disturb the Universe? I stepped on the uneven ground and moved forward.
all right- my main worry is that it's too generic- do I need more examples? How about authenticity? and if you spot any grammar or sentence mistakes, please let me know. also, does it flow well? thank you! (and maybe the bit about the Russian authors sounds too standoffish?)
As I grew up, I traveled between Russia and America more times than I could count, never spending more than two consecutive years in either. And while lately it has only been two-month visits for summer vacation, the problems I see hit me deeply. Whether it is seeing the militia occasionally stop a car to demand bribes or the isolation and lack of patriotism I see in the people, it can be terrifying, and unlike my friends, I only spend summers there. With one step, I could easily just turn my back on this chaos and the difficulty I face every year re-assimilating two cultures as distinct as night and day. Go back to America and forget this constant conflict.
Then, my thoughts turn to long afternoons leisurely spent relishing the works of Pushkin with a traditional cup of tea, one cultural nuance that has survived the chaos. The fierce determination to survive and passion for life I see in the eyes of my friends despite their being robbed of opportunities or safety from the very police supposed to protect them. Here, in chaotic, post-Soviet Russia, I have been part of a society that has pulled through and thrived, that still has a culture and history that resonate through the stones.
However, it's not the gift of being able to read Chekhov and Dostoyevsky in the original language, or the cultural diversity and global viewpoint it affords me that draws me here year after year. It's the people, the resilience and life they possess, and the way they taught me the value of perseverance that truly makes me proud to call myself Russian- even when so many Russians are not as proud.
America gave me the confidence and opportunities to pursue my dreams, but Russia gave me something to work for, and the mindset to always go on no matter what. I look at the foggy city in front of me and think, "one day, I'll make this better." I was never one to take the easy road out. Do I dare disturb the Universe? I stepped on the uneven ground and moved forward.
all right- my main worry is that it's too generic- do I need more examples? How about authenticity? and if you spot any grammar or sentence mistakes, please let me know. also, does it flow well? thank you! (and maybe the bit about the Russian authors sounds too standoffish?)