Me in 1951.
Music: Stanislav Vazhov.
Lyrics: Denis Davydov. 1812.
Vocal: Alexander Baskakov. 1950-2013.
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As I reached my 64-Th birthday, I have an urge to make an attempt of explaining myself, perhaps to myself.
I was born in post-war Soviet Union, when people still tried to recover after the disaster within the margins of a very strict economical and political system, which was called "Socialism" by the rulers, but in fact was just a slavery. Every citizen was supposed to be a slave for the "party" (read "ruling class"), and if they did not want to be slaves, they were imprisoned or killed.
Basically, from the historical perspective, after Tatars invasion, Russia adopted slavery as a norm, but political forms of that slavery kept replacing one mask after another.
For centuries the best, the bravest, the smartest, the most honest and independent people were killed by millions or driven away, until only ignorant idiots remained.
And when all intelligent people are gone and the country is populated by idiots and slaves, the country is inevitably bound to the disaster.
Anyway, here I was born in 1951 to a single, ruined woman who had experienced all the tragedies one could imagine, her entire family dying of starvation in front of her eyes including,
and the last thing she needed was the result of a short lived romance with a stranger.
As abortions were illegal in the Soviet Union (rulers needed more slaves and canon meat, as they always do) my mother had no choice but to have the child.
At that time she lived with her aunt in 6 square meters room, with no heating (except a wood stove), no hot water, no telephone, no TV, no gas, no bath, no money, no food, but a lot of bed bugs.
In the same old apartment three other families lived. With one toilet and kitchen shared. The food was prepared on kerosene heaters.
And suddenly the child is born, an unwanted, misfortunate child with weak health (my mother was a smoker), but with a quick memory and good linguistic abilities, cute face and beautiful red hair. That was me.
My mother tried to leave me in the state orphanage, as she was not able to take care even of herself, let alone the child, but her aunt took me from the orphanage and raised me.
So we all lived together on six square meters, and I was sleeping with my grandmother in the same bed till I was 15, when the city assigned us a bigger room, of 16 square meters, for me and my mother, and my grandma was left in her room...
So, with my fast memory I said my first word "Da" ("yes") when I was two weeks old.
By eight months I was speaking like an adult. At three I learned all the Russian alphabet by myself, and by four I was reading books to other children in the kinder garden (state day care).
By ten I had read all the books in children library, and the librarian took me by the hand and walked me to the adult library, so I could keep reading.
In my childhood I attended free ballet classes till I had to move out of the area into our new room which was not in the center of the city but in the cheap dwelling area..
Besides reading and dancing, I was interested in singing, music, photography, science, astronomy, languages, etc.
So, basically, until sixteen I was a prodigy, a wunderkind, in the society where they were not needed, not encouraged, and not welcome.
Yet, being a child, I did not know all that and took my "stardom" for granted, as a natural thing, given for free like books in the library and dancing classes.
At that time, I did not know that nothing is for free, and there is a price for everything.
As soon as I reached adulthood, I discovered that slaves born into slavery are supposed to remain slaves...
The transition from a "wunderkind" to a mere slave was shocking.
Needles to mention, that that room for me and my mother also was located in a communal apartment with thin walls, small kitchen and tiny bathroom.
Another family lived there and shared the kitchen and that tiny bathroom with us.
Yet, there was gas stove, central heating and hot water!
So, overcoming those crazy living conditions, the inherited family tragedy and loss of the status of a prodigy child was very painful.
My mother worked really hard, and I still was nothing but a burden to her.
And having another family in tiny apartment was a nightmare.
Of course, the private life was a joke. There was no privacy.
Later on I discovered that men did not value me at all, and that for young boys I was nothing but a free piece of meat.
Besides, they were slaves, too.
In addition, my appearance started to fall apart, too.
At seven my teeth started to grow in different directions, at fifteen I put on 30 kg, which I tried to get rid of for the rest of my life.
So all in all, this is a story of a beautiful prodigy, a star, an angel, all in the wrong places and at the wrong time, a child who lost everything which was initially given to her by Fate.
I was blessed with a few little talents, like musical abilities. cute voice, dancing abilities, basic drawing ones, writing and poetic abilities, but none of those talents was big enough to develop and grow into something considerable.
So, I have always felt that I was some sort of a caricature on Leonardo da Vinci, who was beautiful, kind, intelligent, an engineer, a musician, a scientist and an artist.
I am free of envy, but seeing really beautiful artists, males or females, with talent and beauty combined, makes me adore them and feel happy about them, but very sad about myself.
They are everything which I did not become. And which I wanted to be.
It always felt as if some Angel gave me so much when I was born, but as I was growing up, destiny took everything from me, one thing, after another, so eventually I lost everything.
And being a perfectionist by nature, seeing myself in such condition, of an unrealized prodigy, unfolded bud, with unfulfilled potentials made me cry.
And even now, being an old lady without future and with a lot of troubled past, I still cannot stop from crying about something that could be, but never became.
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