From the memoir

A Country Disappears

Chapter Three · Lost Generation · printed with the author's permission

History never asked my permission.

One day I was a child living in the Soviet Union.

The next day I was not.

Of course, it did not happen in a single morning. Countries do not disappear overnight. Empires die slowly. People continue going to work. Children continue going to school. Buses continue running. Life pretends everything is normal long after everything has changed.

But eventually reality arrives. And when it arrived in Estonia, it changed millions of lives. Including mine.

The Soviet Union collapsed. Estonia became independent. For many people this was a dream fulfilled. Freedom. Self-determination. A chance to build something new. A chance to return home.

I understand that. Today I understand it even better than I did then. But history creates winners and losers at the same time. Every revolution does. Every new beginning leaves somebody standing outside the door.

My mother and I suddenly found ourselves in a strange position. We had not moved. Our apartment had not moved. Our city had not moved. Yet somehow we had become foreigners without going anywhere.

Narva remained where it had always been. A city on the edge of Estonia. A city where Russian was spoken everywhere. A city where nearly everybody around me spoke the same language as my mother. Yet the country around us was changing rapidly.

I was too young to understand citizenship. Passports. Governments. Politics. But I understood something else. People had started looking at each other differently.

Human beings are not paperwork. Identity is not paperwork. A passport can tell you where somebody is registered. It cannot tell you who they are.

Years later I would carry what became known as an Alien's Passport. Even the name sounded strange. Alien. Not a citizen. Not a foreigner. Something in between.

Sometimes people ask me whether I feel Estonian. Sometimes they ask whether I feel Russian. Others ask whether I feel Georgian. The truth is more complicated.

I feel human first. Everything else comes later.

And without realizing it, I had become part of a generation caught between two worlds. Too young to belong to the old one. Too complicated to fit perfectly into the new one.

A lost generation. A generation searching for home while standing inside it.

Chapter Four · School of Fate

Looking back now, I realize those years shaped me more than prison ever did.

Prison taught survival. School taught identity. School taught loneliness. School taught me what it feels like to stand alone in a crowd.

Most importantly, school taught me something I would carry through every prison, every addiction, every country and every mistake that followed.

Nationality is an accident. Language is an accident. Birthplace is an accident. Character is a choice.

— Sergei Šarašenidze

The rest is in the book — two hundred and eighty-seven pages, no movie ending. Inside the book.