Fleeting thoughts on my Russian-ness — 11+ years into immigration

It’s not that I obsess over or overanalyze my identity, but it does come up — sometimes in conversations with my kids, my friends (some who left Russia, others who stayed), and my parents.

The cultural disconnect surfaces in unexpected ways. For instance, while my phone playlist is mostly Western music, there are quite a few Russian songs on it. When one of those songs comes on while my kids are in the car, I usually skip it because it sounds cringe to them (and they don’t hesitate to confirm it).

Often, it even starts sounding cringe to me. For one thing, the sheer passage of time has impacted my identity. Decades have passed since I listened to and adored some of those Russian artists. During the early years of my journey to the West — when I was studying in England — I felt deeply connected to my home in Moscow. I was often homesick and longed to be back, whether for school breaks or even something more permanent, like my future career. At the time, Russian rock music was… music to my ears. It was my spiritual bridge, a source of sentimentalism and nostalgia.

But as I grew older and got the true taste of what I wanted — experiencing Russia as an adult — my romanticism waned. Well into my adulthood I still had warm feelings toward Moscow, my home city, but I also found myself conflicted — struggling to reconcile the deep exposure to the West I’ve experienced and the values acquired through that experience with Russian realities.