Bout

I was born in a goldmine of material. Tatar family, Muslim minority, Russia.

Childhood in post-soviet turmoil. Mafia’s bloodshed, terrorist attacks, unstable government, russian soap operas.

My grandad went from being a union leader during the Soviets to becoming a Muslim mullah. It makes sense — when young, he was organizing workers, as they aged, he was organizing their souls for the afterlife.

My grandma doesn’t like to waste things. She’ll brag about sneaking slightly-expired pickle juice in the meal we just polished, ‘So now I don’t have to throw it away!’.

My dad was a marital artist, a black-market American cash dealer, and an owner of glow-in-the-dark souvenirs business.

My mom is a doctor, respected and generous. This year for my birthday, she offered me Botox. When I declined, she didn’t miss a beat: ‘Put it in your armpits, that’ll make you sweat less!’.

My family is nuts in a very inspiring way.

But enough about me.