Why it sucks to be a journalist (and why people do it anyway)

In the West, the news is a commodity, a product. And the customer is always right. If you’re not giving the customer what they want – you’re usually screwed. In places like Russia, the news is more like a government-owned resource. And the government gets to set the agenda on how said resource will beContinue reading “Why it sucks to be a journalist (and why people do it anyway)”

Summer night Kiev blues

I was born in Kiev, Ukraine, I was young and running wild – “Be a darling,” said the raven, “Keep my beak inside your heart.” I was born in Kiev, Ukraine, Beak in heart and heart in throat, Acid bubbling in the tear ducts, Muscle in a Gordian knot. I was born in Kiev, UkraineContinue reading “Summer night Kiev blues”

Jack of hearts

Men have always said, “Don’t you dare write about me.” Max never said anything of the sort, because writing didn’t exist for him, not really. It was real the way Australia might be real to someone in Europe. You’d see people from Australia posting on Twitter when the night was too hot for sleep andContinue reading “Jack of hearts”

Kiev’s brittle spring

I’m one of those people who can’t sing by herself. Someone else has to hit the first note for me. Two of my aunts are music instructors  – one disabled, the other partially disabled these days – and they both say that it’s an issue of confidence, of being sure. As if that hidden first noteContinue reading “Kiev’s brittle spring”

In a Kiev that might as well have existed one thousand years ago

I realized that outside of time, the Kiev that exists today and the Kiev that existed a thousand years ago is the same. I also realized the other day that you need a glimmer of happiness inside you to be able to tell sad stories – so that you have perspective. The act of tellingContinue reading “In a Kiev that might as well have existed one thousand years ago”