04/17/2026
I used to think home was only the place where I was born. In 2013, I left my hometown in Siberia — the place I spent so much of my childhood trying not to understand, trying not to accept. Back then, I kept wondering why I was born there at all.
Now I understand it differently.
Now I feel grateful that I was born there. Grateful that Siberia is part of me, that it shaped me, and that I carry it with me everywhere I go.
Over the years, I’ve been lucky to spend time in different places, and each one has left something in my heart. I’ve learned that there is the home you are born into and then there is the home you create through love, through life, through the people you build it with.
Maybe that’s why this place means so much to me now.
It also makes me smile when people ask where I’m from and I say, “Siberia,” and they respond, “Wow, I’ve never met anyone from there before.” There’s something special in that. Something beautiful about coming from a place that feels distant and almost mythical to others — and still being deeply, proudly connected to it.
Home is where I was born.
Home is every place that held me.
Home is every place I’ve loved.
And maybe, in the end, where we love is home.
