Family, birthplace, circumstances.
I care about my origins very little, but changing cultures taught me that people like to check where you come from to reduce their own barrier from your strangeness, and I am all for it.
I was born right in the center of a large city Donetsk, Ukraine, on the river Kalmius.
This beautiful city, which was full of roses and interesting buildings, is now largely destroyed by war.
About my birth city.
Ethnically, I am a mixed Slavic-German (~3/8 Ukrainian, ~3/8 Russian, ~1/4 German), with possible Swedish or other smaller parts. None of it matters much to me, but my ethnicity is "written" all over my face - high wide cheekbones, blue eyes, straight middle-blond hair, and stuff like that - and I am asked about it often.
A few more words about my etnic profile
My parents had me in their student years: my mother was 22, right before she finished her university degree in financial planning, and my father was 26, as a post-graduate student in physics.
I was the only child for both my mother and father. My mom did not like children, my dad did not care for them much either. They had other aspirations in life.
My mother was a ballerina in her youth. She was not happy with the perspective to retire early with nothing. She built a career in financial management instead, after getting a degree in finance. Now she is a CFO at a medical council of ~100 consulting doctors.
She had an infectious laughter, and was always fashionably dressed up in public. I rarely saw her without makeup. She worked long hours, building her career, and valued social status and financial independence the most.
About my mom.
My father was a brilliant child who finished schools with highest honors. He became a scientist, theoretical physicist, and later worked as a professor of physics, taught scientific worldview, and published a couple of books on narrower subjects (like solid-state physics) and articles (methodology, etc.).
He swam really well and played volleyball.
He wore formal suits, trench coats, and elegant hats (Fedoras). He used taxi for transportation. He loved strong coffee (Turkish style espresso), cigarettes, and food. He read a lot, and gathered a huge library of good books.
About my dad.
My grandmother on my mother's side was a Siberian Russian. She was very pretty and managed to have three kids from different guys. She loved men, her grandson, and persimmons. She worked all her life, mainly as a hotel manager, and was driven by pride.
About my mom's mother.
The father of my mom was German, he emigrated to the United States after leaving Europe for good in early 1950-s. My grandmother lost the contact with him for a long time after sending him the last photograph of herself with my mother as a little girl, I've seen a copy of it. She refused to talked about him, probably because of pain and caution. I know the story primarily from my aunt, my mother's 10-year older sister.
He had another son in USA. I arrived here too late to meet either of them.
About my mom's father.
My father's mother and father married against the will of my granddad's wealthy family. They never received any support or recognition from them, but lived a long life together.
About my paternal grandparents.
My dad's mom drove to her work in a store on a bicycle. She raised three kids. She was rather petite, wore simple but colorful, tight knee-long dresses, and had a wavy brown hair.
She had a great smile, but was not a very warm type. With me, she barely communicated. She talked with entitled calm and was usually unhappy with things when she visited my parents in her later years. She was close with her daughter.
About my dad's mother.
He was a thin and muscular guy who survived five years of war, built his own house, broke with his family of origin to marry his wife, with whom he had raised three children.
Blacksmith, gardener, and accordionist
About my dad's father.
Once in their childhood, my mom had badly beaten an older boy for hurting her kid brother.
Four months after I was born, my maternal uncle was killed in the army under undisclosed circumstances. He was 18, and I never met him. My grandma's long dark hair turned almost white then.
He look gorgeous on photographs, and I was told he was a kind soul. I had his antique post-stamp collection.
My uncle was killed in the military.
The closest person to a brother (I called him just that) was my male cousin, who was 10 years older than me.
How he influenced my life
About my male cousin on the mother's side.
Hi died young. We wrote songs together. He was the first husband of my father's sister.