A movie about Dad through his music is made —Simon & Garfunkel to Piazzolla, Vertinsky to Zaz. His soundtrack echoes across generations. The daughter reminisces about the music they loved – songs that shaped her taste and funny stories about mispronounced lyrics and kindergarten runaways.
The village church overflows with mourners as the narrator confronts the crushing weight of her father’s absence. This is his legacy: a life spent collecting both rare treasures and fractured souls, now reduced to silent artifacts and unanswered questions. What is now left? His cluttered office, his unfinished plans, and her mother’s clenched fists in an echoing, empty house.
They tiptoe around the word ‘coma,’ draping it in euphemisms. They say: ‘He’s sleeping’ – shared incantation against the unbearable. A mother moves into a small room near the ICU. Her world shrinks to hospital halls and the sound of church bells. Fall turns to winter unnoticed. We know – dad may never wake. Faith remains.
She lingers in grief’s bargaining stage, refusing to believe her father is truly gone. A desperate self-deception: her mind pretending this is just another game of hide-and-seek, that any moment now he’ll reappear with a laugh and open arms.
Dad is playing Hide and Seek Read Post »
Rushing from Canada to Moscow to visit Dad in intensive care — unrecognizable after just a month. Hiding shock behind forced stupid jokes. The storyteller in a spacesuit trying to trick death. Collapsing into a stranger’s arms. The sterile air, skeletal hand, Mom’s silent vigil—none of it feels real. Only the guilt remains: fear of the body that used to be so alive.
Royal bedrooms don’t save you from loneliness if you’re not allowed to scream, kiss, or laugh outside the etiquette. When you’re raised as a princess, everything is handed to you — but you live by someone else’s rules. To descend into the ordinary, you end up sleeping on a mattress in the kitchen.Is freedom more important than propriety? Or would you choose luxury without freedom? I still ask myself what I need more—to be with the man I love or with the son I love.
What is the cost of this freedom?
Delayed flights, vanished luggage, lost passport, airport meltdown, French-Canadian bureaucracy, grief, stubborn optimism, and a ‘little black dress’. Real-time chronicling of a chaotic route via Toronto, Montreal and Dubai with Emirates as the unexpected hero and Air Canada as the ultimate mess-up.I still ask myself what I need more—to be with the man I love or with the son I love.
What is the cost of this freedom?
Flight Vancouver – Moscow Read Post »
Disguised behind sunglasses and a Tilley hat, she lives as “Lesbian Brenda” – hiding from coworkers, motherhood, and expired documents. Her children prepare to fly alone to Moscow. One never to come back to Canada. She’s blocked her mother and her ex. It feels like living in a The Academy of Fools sketch – a clown released from the Cuckoo’s Nest.What is the cost of this freedom?
Brenda the Lesbian Blocks Her Loved Ones Read Post »
A reflection on family, distance, and the immigrant experience. Envy to Starbucks’ happy families. Memories of Moscow mornings – grandfather’s stories, grandmother’s pancakes, father’s steady presence – clash with the loneliness reality of a new life abroad.
Immigrant Longing: When a Stranger’s Mother Feels Like Home. J brings his spectacular mother to Starbucks, a desperate hug blurs borders between “here” and “home”.