Kyiv, Maidan, back in September (or early October):
Moscow, a few days ago:
On a personal note, I'm totally unprepared to face all this cold and gloom - half a year of it or so - again. I'm thinking about my mother, who ran off to Sevastopol in the 1960s, because she had to live by the sea. There she met my father, and that's how we ended up in Kyiv, back north. I wouldn't want to live in Crimea now, even though I love the place and feel heartbroken about the politics and other shit taking place there. And it's not the sea that I miss, but the sun - and, most of all, the people who aren't used to having to freeze themselves every six months. I wish I'd had the guts to run off, too. Maybe it's not too late still. Or is it.