*Header Photo: “Funky Melody of Moscow” by Yana
And exactly like this, falling in love with someone, we are only fascinated by our own reflection in his eyes.
The relationship between a person and the city in which he lives is reasonably compared to the love affair between two people. Both are very similar: the same trivial scenarios, the same dramas, and even feelings that we endure for our loved ones and for our favorite cities are very, very similar.
The truth is that “I have a love affair with this city.” is not a metaphor.
For instance, my “me&Moscow” love story is very similar to the sacrificial and unconditional love of a woman to her negligent alcoholic husband, who is drunk as a motherfucker, eight days a week, but yet can sing and play the guitar wonderfully! Who sometimes, being drunk, would not fail to raise a hand on his selfless friend, so she would take it as a blessing with her holy faith: beats, then loves. She never tires of looking at his once clear and blue, and now hydric and restless eyes. And she never tires of loving him, as he is. Why? …
Moscow is my alcoholic husband. It beats me, but it loves me. I’m scared of it, but I still love it.
Most people find that type of love paradoxical. Like when you say: “I adore Barcelona!” …everyone would understandingly nod in response, because to love Barcelona seems so natural, as to love evenings by the fireplace in the cold winter, or to enjoy swimming in the ocean on a hot summer day.
Those things are too obvious. But to love Moscow – it’s a weirdness, deviation, one of those “-philias” with which you’d better visit a specialist. If you know what I mean.
Most of my acquaintances look at me with such pity as if I was really married to an alcoholic and would say something like: “Oh, this bruise I got accidentally, just by hitting my face on the open door of the kitchen cabinet. Yup.” They see scars of acquired introversion on my face and a hole in my pocket and they cannot understand how I can love this city, after all that it has done to me.
Moscow taught me to be a loner and to love my solitude, I usually say.
I have become a cripple here, they usually think.
Moscow took the place of my family and friends. Did the city substitute my life or just cut it off – is it so important?
Instead of long, exciting conversations with my mother in our cozy kitchen – here are my lonely walks along the Moscow River, with the contemplation of countless churches bulbs, sunset reflections on the water and the gigantic buildings.
Instead of my careless meetings with friends and our loud laughter – here is the noise of the Ramenka River and the smell of a dying fire on Sunday night.
Instead of long sleepless nights with gasps of love – here are my shots of extremely bright urban sunrises on Instagram.
Moscow replaced everyone for me. It overrides everything.
And I love it. And luckily I know some more freaks like me, so we got together to make this blog for you!
Let’s get it started!