“C’est la vie” on a Russian Christmas

Today for me is Christmas. Yes, that is correct. In Russia, on January seventh, everyone celebrates Rozhdestvo or the birth of Christ. It is a time of rest and relaxation after the lively, fun, and hectic New Years celebration. One of the things I like to do on quiet holidays like Christmas, is reminisce about the many joyful moments in my life.

As I sit on my cozy couch, wrapped in a warm and fuzzy blanket, my thoughts go back to the winters of my childhood—some snowy, some rainy, some spent with friends, some spent at work, and many others I simply cannot list. But, there is one that keeps coming to my mind today: the first time I ever remember spending winter with my mom and dad together.

When I was six, we moved to a new city. The one room apartment we moved into was small, and needed lots of work. The creaking wooden floors were like music to me as I danced and jumped around. As I would stare into the sunset on a cold wintery day, the ice on the window, caused by broken pipes and a lack of heat, would always catch my attention. I would be mesmerized by the many designs and patterns left there by Father Frost. This was our home, and I could not wish for more. I was with my mom and dad again.

Before that moment, my dad had been working a world away, working in the gold mines of Oymyakon—the coldest inhabited place on earth. There, the temperature gets as low as −70 °C (−96 °F) and is over a thousand miles away from where we used to live. This meant my dad had to be far away from us, but would be able to provide for my mom and I.

My only real childhood memories of him while he was working at the mines were his phone calls. I would cling to the receiver and say “Papa!” and then gasp for breath from excitement, because I got to hear his voice once again. I was so dumbfounded that I could not even talk, and I would just hold the receiver as if I were hugging him and listen.

But this winter was different. My dad was there. I could listen to his voice, hug his strong arms, feel his prickly mustaches as he gave me a goodnight kiss, and see his smiling face every time he looked at me.

However, as he was working hard and making good money, a sudden downturn in the economy hurt the livelihood of many Russian citizens. People lost their savings, money was denominated, and inflation was growing rapidly. You could be a millionaire one day, and then be forced to scrimp and save money to buy bread the next day. My father was no exception.

As a preschool child, I had no way of knowing what my mom and dad were going through. Besides, they taught me to focus on the positive and see the silver lining in all that came our way. When times seemed hard, they would always say “C’est la vie,” French for ‘such is life.’

So despite the economic crisis, my family had enough resources left to afford a nice two bedroom apartment in a decent town. My mom and dad made all the arrangements necessary, and we were ready to relocate.

However, a couple of months before moving, there was an unexpected turn of events. The ownership of our new apartment was illegally and forcefully taken away from us, and we were left with a small one-room apartment in a rather troubled neighborhood. Since we could not get our money back, we had to accept what we were given. The apartment had no water or utilities. There was only one large communal restroom to be used amongst a couple hundred residents, and even that had no toilets or running water.

Despite all of this, I never remember my parents getting discouraged. My dad quickly learned how to run a pipe from the nearby water pump to our apartment. He then built a partition for a toilet, and bought a little heater to warm up the cold pump water. After my dad made all these basic arrangements, he made the two-day trip back to my hometown to help my mom and I move in. Everything was supposed to be perfect. The furniture would be nicely arranged, and beds ready for us to take a much-needed rest.

As we excitedly opened the door to our new apartment, we were struck with the realization that everything in our apartment had been stolen, and there was not even a pillow left. My dad quietly said, “C’est la vie” and went out on the streets and found a couple of wood boards and a stone to be used as our table. We then borrowed some bedding from our neighbors, and I could not be happier. I was perfectly content as I felt the prickly mustache of my father touch my cheeks as I went to bed.

Someone may look at our story and say that times were really hard, but we never looked at it as such and this made all the difference.

I have learned from these experiences that no outward circumstances can determine our inner joy. We are the ones that are responsible for our happiness. Life has its ups and downs, but such is life. There are things in life you can’t change, but life is worth not giving up. “C’est la vie.”