In the Russian novel The Golden Calf by Ilf and Petrov, one main character asks another: "How much money do you need to be happy?
I ask myself: How many things do I need to live?
Over the last year I have lived in three countries at once - in Turkey, mostly in Russia, and at the beginning of October we moved to Germany - me and my beloved wife, who is my inspiration for all my endeavours. This work is dedicated to her.
Having laid out my belongings by country of origin, I realised that my lifestyle has not changed significantly anywhere, with a few exceptions - roughly the same plastics, papers, metall.
What's the first thing we need in a new country? That's right, a mobile phone, hence a new SIM card. I have two phones. One I use to talk on, the other I use as a safe depository for SIM cards. I got the second phone after I lost my Russian SIM card in Turkey. I know what I'm talking about. So, I can stay in touch in any of the three countries.
Today's basic need for internet and connectivity has been met. What's next? Money, of course. Once upon a time I had just two cards that I used all over the world. Now it seems like it was about never. I still carry Russian cards with me that I can't pay anywhere with now, as if hoping for some miracle. Some of them have expired. As you know, hope dies last. Now there is at least one card per country. I have already stopped counting how many I have - I speak as if I were some kind of Scrooge McDuck. I don't actually have a vault of coins.
In fact, I have a lot of coins too. They hide so insidiously in the coin slot of your wallet, and then when you're already out of the country where you can pay with them, it's a shame to throw them away. It's still money! So I carry them around with me. By the way, Maria gave me a wallet with our photo and fifty Serbian dinars inside as a memento of the country where we met on my first birthday abroad. I can't show you the dinars. It's too personal.
I also have a lot of travelling tickets. I used to have a car. But I sold it. Because I prefer to travel light. As a matter of fact, all my stuff fits in one suitcase. Anything unnecessary I either gave away, threw away, sold, or sent in boxes to my parents' house until better times. Thank you to my parents. For everything.
The photo that stood out from the series was the photo of reams of papers for all occasions legitimising all the pieces of plastic. It's very German. I think I fit right in.
I don't have a home anymore and I don't have a home yet. But I have fond memories. And things that, when I look at them, I can not only dream about, but use if I suddenly find myself somewhere there again. The things I need most.
