Ludmila, February 6th, 1989, Novosibirsk

Dear diary, it’s Luda again. Something horrible happened today in school. However, I want to start at the

very beginning of my day.

Today was freezing even though the thermometer showed that it was only -13 °C outside. My parents

were finishing their breakfast and Roma was innocently playing with his wooden rocking horse when I

came down. I was already dressed up for school in a black dress and white fringed apron but with a

blanket over my shoulders, the ends of which I dragged on the floor. Mother gifted me with a

judgemental look without saying a word this time. I walked up to the table to see the nasty yellow mass

that could hardly be considered porridge on my plate. 

“When will we be supplied with other grains?” It was a rhetorical question that I asked; no one bothered

to answer. “What about milk?” it struck me “I haven’t had milk for at least a week!” 

“Your mother is saving milk tickets for your uncle’s wedding,” dad languidly glanced at mom “and a few

other coupons.” 

My red pioneer tie didn’t completely dry overnight after I washed off stains of beet borscht which that

little bastard Roma generously sprinkled all over me. So, I stepped out into the white in nylon tights,

valenki, which were so high that they reached the hem of my dress; a fur coat and red humid ribbon

around my neck. Today wasn’t a good day to be late to school.

Ruslan, April 12, 1987, Moscow

I slept through half of today’s lecture. The entire night I spent listening to the long-awaited vinyl of

Sting’s new album. Technically, it came out at least two years ago but I only got a hold of it now. When I

opened the track list, a specific and intriguing song title that instantly had my attention was “Russians”.

As soon as I read it, I reached for the tonearm and placed the needle on the 4th groove with the

confidence of a homeless man grabbing a lost wallet someone had dropped on the street. Half of the night

I spent replaying the record to write down the lyrics, the other half translating them. Closer to 3 o’clock I

figured that the song is about the Cold war. Sting sings “We share the same biology, regardless of
ideology/Believe me when I say to you/I hope the Russians love their children too." I was thrilled to have

one of my favourite musicians so delicately emphasize views that I can relate to. Resting in a cushioned

chair I listened to the rest of the songs, however, all of them seemed bleak in comparison to “Russians”.

My eyes closed for a second or two imagining what life must be like in America but almost immediately I

woke up to the sharp sound of a gunshot.

Ludmila, February 6th, 1989, Novosibirsk

Stepping into the hallway in snow-covered valenki, I didn’t hear the familiar voice of our school guard

yelling something about me making a mess. A bottle of Pepsi-Cola was left on the security stand on the

left of a huge poster gazette, otherwise, it was empty; only a lonely photograph of Khrushchev was

looking down at me, smirking from the wall. For a second, I thought that the nuclear attack has happened

and everyone was dead but that quickly went away because it would be hard to miss a bombing, even for

me. With such thoughts, I walked past the changeroom, down the green hall surrounded by green pot

plants. For every meter, there was at least a single plant which made the corridor seem overgrown, even

apocalyptic. 

Approaching my closed classroom, I quickly glanced at the board beside the door. “Доска Почёта,” said

the carefully painted, large, red letters on top of it. On the Board of Honour were printed the names of

successful pioneers, in short, the ‘school’s pride.’ I will probably never be on it, but at least I won’t have

my name written in the Corner of Shame either. A stomping sound interrupted my reading, appearing

from the other side of the door. It was loud but still, like hearing a plane go down for landing. My shaky

hand landed on the doorknob but before I could turn it the door slammed open and a figure in a gas mask

jumped on me. Its black round eyes stared as I fell to the ground, not sure if because it whipped me off

my feet or out of fright. Another mask appeared in the hallway, then another, then three more, five more,

and more, more. When the shock passed I realized how stupid I was to forget that today’s evacuation

practice was scheduled in the morning. These were not Chornobyl survivors, they were my classmates
running out of school, imitating a nuclear attack. I was still sitting on the ground when Ms. Smirnova

came out in a pencil skirt, heels and the exact same gas mask. She threw me one as well and might have

said something, but her voice was silenced by the noise of other students leaving their classes. Back on

my feet, I was pulling the tight mask on my curls that were all over the place after. The flow of students

took me outside in the snowy park. Guess it wasn’t so bad I didn’t take my valenki off. 

Ruslan, April 12, 1987, Moscow

I twitched and would’ve fallen out of the chair if Igor didn’t help me balance out grabbing me by the

blazer. 

“Thanks, friend,” I said drowsily trying to get into the position I was sitting in.

“What an idiot” he replied.

I rubbed my eyes and fixed my eggplant blazer that went so nicely with my black hair but was now

crumbled. I tried to focus on the tiny TV, figuring out what caused the gunshot. On screen, a spaceship

was breaking through the atmosphere. I realized that the loud snap wasn’t a gunshot but a part of a rocket

separating from its base. Cosmonautics Day has been celebrated ever since our compatriot Yuri Gagarin

became the first man to travel to space in 1961. We were rewatching the footage from the takeoff once

again to celebrate the greatness of our nation. It’s a reminder that Russia is superior to America, that we

were the first in space, yet everyone pretends like it has nothing to do with politics. “Russians” was still

echoing in my head: “There is no monopoly on common sense/On either side of the political fence.” Not

me, my friends or parents hate Americans, we respect them. Hopefully, in the future, I will get a chance

to visit the states because I want to believe that we have more things in common than nuclear arms. 

 
 Citations

https://www.bing.com/search?q=sting+russians+lyrics&qs=n&form=QBRE&msbsrank=6_6__0&sp=-

1&ghc=1&pq=sting+russians+lyric&sc=6-20&sk=&cvid=687FE1FC7B254E0EBFFAA1119D42CE0D

https://kidadl.com/special-days/cosmonautics-day 

https://www.bbc.co.uk/newsround/47122488#:~:text=The%20Cold%20War%20was%20a%20division

%20between%20Russia,-%20communism%20%28the%20east%29%20and%20capitalism%20%28the

%20west%29.