I heard the news on the 13th of October, the same as everyone else: the national network. No, I will not write about the reason, and neither will you, so this is a good moment for politeness. It is enough to say that my daughter in Seoul cannot open the blog. My son in Almaty cannot either. The grandchildren cannot read what Dedushka writes.
So I have decided: every post I publish here, I e-mail to them. This is the only change. Vika writes back from time to time, a short line. She prints the posts and puts them in a folder. She writes: "Appa, it is like a letter from the 1930s: slow, and it has to travel across a border."
I never thought that a blog would teach me the meaning of a sealed freight car, but a small piece of it, yes. It is not the same thing. It is a small piece of the feeling: you have the family, they are alive, and a door is shut somewhere.
I will keep writing. For the box with 212 photographs, for the Kim family, for the day when the door opens.
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Viktor Pavlovich, I will print each post for my mother, too. She says it's better on paper.
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