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Culturally distant from reality

Как-то вяло, said Sabrina, looking down on her New Year’s present. A thick pair of jeans. Frustration wouldn’t begin to describe it: she hadn’t showered for days because the water in the building had been turned off — turns out pipes do freeze and her nails, oh, her nails… A disaster. Not something a woman like — her — should be showing around. You see, Sabrina met Georgiy, which now went by George in the United States, while serial visiting museums, theaters and boutiques in Moscow, she would eat cans of caviar without thinking of tomorrow — ведь девушка так должна жить, пуская Георгий придумает откуда икры еще взять. This, in her head, was the real her. And George’s American pay check took her Her away from her... Every. Month. He’s the man, she thought, why, in her artistic mind, was she now forced to work, to simply make rent and edibles? Why on Earth? To work at the groceries 30 minutes away by bus. In thirty minutes she’d Moscow’s center! But here she was leaving from nowhere go…
Postagens recentes

Malibu, 2025.

Malibu, 2025. Note to self. It had been already snowing. Awfully early to, but it was Moscow. Normally, after the first snow I’d meet Seda and she would complain about every single aspect of her life and connect it to the snow fall and the coming winter. Now, however, it was just me. I remember I had been looking for emotional sustainability. I, yet, couldn’t find the equivalent of “green, sustainable” for feelings. I was not sure either it was a color. Oh. Right. It was exactly the things that happened after we graduated that defined us. I died my hair blond, took off to Vienna to meet old affairs and taste the Austrian cuisine (all of it, but I specialized on schnitzels and apfelstrudels). Martin moved with Masha and Domenico to the countryside, after which they became gypsies in the alps. Seda took off with Gennady to the United States in the pursuit of happiness according to the American constitution. I became a vegan after that, but remained blond. Seda ended up working temporar…

Depression and the change you can be

A lot of people will say I'm silly, that I have everything: opportunity, privilege, money, a highly helpful Uber app, a nice set of teeth, that I sound like the average western prick that is looking for the meaning of life. Whatever, the point in writing this is bringing up people to speed to a real problem: Stop blaming people for being "sad", "depressed", "down", it can often be a medical condition. I don't mind "feeling naked" if that will help at least one person.
You don't blame anyone for catching the flu, do you? My point.
There is a lot of stigma in medicine. It's our version of racism. What is the "moral ground" for it? The idea that of a sick person is to blame for his/her condition, then we should stigmatize that person. You name it: HIV+ patients, clinical depression, lung cancer. You have done it, I'm sure, at least one time (even if only in your head). I have always taken a deeper interest exactly at …

HIV: a burden one cannot unsee

I'm in a great rage now, as I understand how many lives we have lost, he thought to himself, as he took a flight back home from South Africa. Home had become a toll of guilt for him, every time he took this very flight, away from the desperate need of change, droughts, lack of all things human and unvalued by a good part of people on the other side, in Canada, the idea of home had become too foggy. We would never have an HIV epidemics, he reassured himself. No, they had been relatively lucky. Not on the other side, his side, his home, which came now with the price of privilege.
His last trip had been life-changing, like many others, but this time he was ready to present his book in Canada — Race Against Time— and maybe put some color about the other side, about the HIV epidemics in Africa, the one he would so like to combat systematically, even if as an individual. He had been agitated the whole flight, there was absolutely no message he could deliver in that opening that would …

Формула хорошего врача

“Не ищите ответов”, - сказал он четко. Однако мне потребовалось несколько лет, чтобы понять эту фразу. Её произнёс профессор Философии и пациент отделения кардиологии. “Умейте задавать себе правильные вопросы”. Я на него смотрела и донца не могла понять смысл сказанного. В тот момент мне хотелось лишь выспаться, но с того дня я «допрашивала» себя чаще: зачем я год за годом, отдаю медицине лучшие годы своей жизни? И так уже шесть лет. Мы скоро, буквально через пару месяцев, будем врачами. Что же мне необходимо, какие профессиональные и человеческие качества я должна развивать, чтобы допустить себя к людям в худший момент их жизни? Оказывается, есть многое за пределами учебников. Задавая себе все время вопросы, я понимаю, что приближаюсь ближе и ближе к ответу. Дифференциальный диагноз, интерпретация анализов, написание истории болезней, правильно собранный анамнез — это те термины, которые мы слышим каждый день, которые мы за шесть лет должны уметь применять в пользу пациента. Дост…


I wish I had
enough heart left to
fall in love with
this emptiness is everywhere
is every me
I have grown immune to
things like
If I could only
get a naiviness shot
I'd fall in love with
first thing in the

amorousé equals to
not knowing
take me
(I know this path
I have spilt this
I have been (shredded)

when you
close this heart
after you
(tape me)

Quem não escreve, respira sem ar.

eu te encontrei
haviam lá mil correntezas que me levavam ao mesmo lugar
eu nao te amei
saibas que sei mentir quando preciso nadar
nos calculei
e perdi a conta de quantas vezes precisei falar
e de uma so vez
redigi palavras cuspidas no ar
a pontuação - larguei freios corri a te amar
as mil armadilhas que me convenciam a voltar
avenidas com teu nome que sempre me guiavam ao lar
enquanto te escutava mas ja nao sabia te amar
mal afundei e
desacreditei nossos planos; so quis poetar.
essas tantas vezes que quisera dissertar.
quiçá quem não o escreve
respira sem ar.