On Falling Out of Love With Moscow
I grew up in Moscow at the tail end of the Soviet era. Despite its grand title—the capital of the USSR—the city of my youth held little charm.
The author grew up in Moscow during the final years of the Soviet Union, a period marked by severe economic scarcity and limited personal freedoms. Life in the city was characterized by monotony and drabness, with few opportunities for intellectual or creative stimulation. Schools offered little beyond basic education, and extracurricular activities were nonexistent. The author and their friends spent much of their time wandering identical neighborhoods filled with identical apartment blocks, broken-down parks, and stores with empty shelves. Cultural exposure was restricted to smuggled VHS tapes of American movies, which depicted lifestyles in the U.S. as vastly more exciting and free. The author longed for experiences like visiting malls, eating in restaurants, or wearing Western clothing such as Levi’s jeans and graphic T-shirts, which were inaccessible due to the Soviet system's isolation.
After the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the author moved to New York City with their family. The transition was initially overwhelming as they sought to make up for lost experiences. The author enrolled in numerous classes at New York University (NYU), attended parties, shopped, visited exhibitions, film screenings, and concerts, and explored hobbies like painting and dancing. Despite New York’s excitement and the sense of belonging it provided, the author unexpectedly missed Moscow. During a visit, they fell in love with a man in a rock band and married him secretly. When the author became pregnant, they decided to return to Moscow to raise their child in a Russian-speaking environment, though personal attachment to the city may have also played a role.
In 1997, the author returned to Moscow with a degree in philosophy and a newborn baby. The city was undergoing significant changes during the late 1990s, a period known as the Wild Nineties, marked by economic instability and chaos. Despite these challenges, Moscow felt vibrant and full of potential, with a growing sense of democratic progress. The author began writing professionally, publishing a novel and later securing a job at a women’s magazine. Their marriage ended, and they became a single mother supporting themselves and their son through freelance journalism. In 1999, Vladimir Putin became Prime Minister of Russia, a role he used to consolidate power, including orchestrating a series of apartment bombings in 1999 that killed hundreds and were falsely attributed to Chechen terrorists.
The apartment bombings in 1999 served as a pretext for Putin to launch another war in Chechnya, which boosted his popularity and paved the way for his presidency. The author recalls watching news coverage of the bombings, fearing for their life and that of their two-year-old son. The attacks were later linked to the FSB (Russia’s security service), which Putin had previously led. Over time, Putin used terrorist attacks and hostage crises to justify increasing control over the country, restricting freedom of speech and consolidating power. Despite growing repression, the author still loved living in Moscow, describing its energy, beauty, and cultural richness. The city’s subway system was particularly notable, with stations resembling palaces, adorned with marble, mosaics, and chandeliers.
During the early and mid-2000s, Moscow underwent a dramatic transformation as rising oil prices brought wealth to Russia. The city became more dazzling, with new parks, museums, public spaces, and cultural venues opening. The service industry flourished, offering unprecedented convenience such as 24-hour haircuts, home deliveries, and medical services like MRIs at night. The author’s career in journalism thrived, and they rose to senior editorial positions. However, many Muscovites, including colleagues, chose to ignore the regime’s corruption and repression, focusing instead on their comfortable lifestyles. The author occasionally voiced concerns about the political situation, but many dismissed these worries, attributing the country’s stability to Putin, despite evidence of widespread corruption among his associates.
By the mid-2010s, the author felt increasingly unsafe in Moscow and no longer felt they belonged there. The regime’s repression intensified, and the author linked this to ghouls, a term referring to state apparatus members such as police and secret services, as well as oligarchs and corrupt officials who controlled the city. The author described these individuals as men in expensive suits who seemed to own the city. In 2014, Russia’s invasion of Crimea and subsequent repressive laws further eroded the author’s sense of belonging. They decided to leave Moscow permanently but faced practical challenges, including needing to get married to secure a U.S. visa for their partner. For two years, they lived in limbo, walking through favorite neighborhoods with a sense of impending loss.
The author finally left Moscow in 2016, a decision they described as heartbreaking. Before departing, they had a conversation with their best friend, during which they used the term *ghouls* to describe those who had seized control of the city, including state officials and oligarchs. This conversation inspired the author’s novel *The Undead*, which serves as a parting reflection on Moscow. The title refers to both a horror film within the story and the city’s new rulers, as well as those who live in a *zombified state* of ignoring political realities. The protagonist, Maya, represents this latter group, enjoying her life while remaining oblivious to the regime’s abuses until politics directly affects her. The author now lives in New York but acknowledges that Moscow was the city they loved first. Returning to Russia is no longer possible due to laws that could result in imprisonment for criticizing Putin or the war in Ukraine.

