aBout
I was born in a Tatar family of Tatar-Mongol and steak Tartar fame. With passing centuries nothing changed. When not in hell, we live in yurts, boil infidels, and eat raw meat with no cutlery, occasionally playing tennis and modeling lingerie.
Zoomed in, growing up Tatar means being a part of a large patriarchal tribe. We pray to Allah, value hard work, and sing sad songs at get-togethers. Human self-sacrifice is mandatory and is expected.
A famous clairvoyant1 once predicted my country’s collapse. Soon after I was born, a bald man with a large birthmark on his head put an end to the Soviet Union.
Russian Federation in the 90s was bloodshed and drunk freedom. Mafia, terrorists, American pop culture, and astounding Russian dance music (playlist in DMs).
Russian culture is a captivating cocktail: two thirds poetry, equal parts trash and suffering, a twist of profound insight. You know what? It’s messed up to teach young kids Tchaikovsky and Tolstoy – then to throw them onto the gutter! BUT. This soil makes some delicious odd fruit.
Take my granddad. Union leader during the Soviets – he became a Mullah. First he organized the workers; when they got older, he organized their souls for the afterlife.
Grandma was a legend. Ppl from villages far away would come watch her ride wild stallions backwards – through the mountains, while singing Stravinsky, juggling butter.
My mom inherited grandma’s mystic powers. She’s been everyone’s favorite pediatrician for 30 years. Voted most likely to have a hospital named after her. <3 truly deserved.
My dad was a spy, a martial artist, a black-market dealer, a health supplements delivery clerk, an oil-pipe-something-thing, corn industry fixer, and an owner of glow-in-the-dark souvenir business2
And that’s how I came to be. Myth, occasionally modeling lingerie, juggling butter.
