Every day was filled to the brim, but there was a certain harmony in this hectic rhythm. I felt that I was growing as a person, coping with difficulties, and learning to live in this complex but fascinating world.
On the evening of March 6, 2006, I was attending preparatory courses at MEPhI, as usual. We were having a physics or mathematics lesson. The teacher was explaining a new topic, and I was taking careful notes. This familiar academic rhythm was suddenly interrupted by a call on my mobile phone.
It was my boss from work. His voice was tense and anxious: “Igor, drop everything and go home immediately.” My heart sank. I quickly gathered my things, left the classroom, and rushed home. When I entered the apartment, police officers and an ambulance crew were already there, and my father lay dead in the room. My brother, our neighbor from the third floor, and my boss were there as well.
We were friends with the neighbor’s family, and her husband had once even worked for my father when he was building balconies. I later learned that she had called the ambulance and the police, probably after my brother came to her for help. Together, they even found my boss’s phone number. To be honest, I still find it difficult to remember exactly how my boss learned what had happened, but the fact remains that he called me during class and was already at my home when I arrived.
My boss was extremely surprised by the state of the apartment. Things had not been going well for my father in recent years, and the apartment had fallen into disrepair. Later, my boss offered to have the company pay for some cosmetic renovations, but I declined, saying that I would manage on my own. I do not even know why I made that decision at the time, but it was my choice.
My grandmother Vera, my father’s mother, took the next available train from Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, to attend his funeral. He was her third and eldest son. By then, all of her sons—my father, Uncle Gleb, and Uncle Oleg—had passed away, and this was an immense grief for her. I could feel how difficult it was for her, and her presence made the moment even more tragic. It was hard for me to watch her suffer, and that made those days even more painful.
My colleagues at work treated me with great understanding and gave me a great deal of support. Within the company, I effectively acquired the status of a “son of the regiment,” and our small team became a new family to me. My colleagues’ care and involvement helped me through that difficult period and gave me the strength to keep moving forward.
After my father’s death, my formal status changed as well. To enter any university, I now only needed to achieve the minimum passing score on the entrance exams. In addition, because of my difficult family situation and the need to care for my disabled brother, I was exempted from military service.
From then on, I was the head of our small family, which consisted of my brother and me. My boss raised my salary to $500 a month, and I began searching for my own path in life. I started seriously asking myself: How should one live? What should I do? How should I act? What principles should guide my decisions? What should I hope for, and what should I not? Where is my place in this world? Who am I? Why am I? All these questions suddenly stood before me.
Fortunately, some time later, while sorting through books at home, I found a collection of works by Dale Carnegie. It included three of his books: “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” “How to Stop Worrying and Start Living,” and “How to Develop Self-Confidence and Influence People by Public Speaking.” I began reading it eagerly every evening. Thanks to this book, I felt as though a glimmer of light was beginning to appear before me. It seemed to me that I was starting to understand how to live, how to conduct myself, and what to do. Gradually, I realized that I was not alone in my struggles: other people had already reflected on similar difficulties and suggested ways of dealing with them that I could try as well. I was particularly drawn to the quotations from Ralph Waldo Emerson that Carnegie included, for example from the essay “Self-Reliance.” I saw that philosophy and psychology had long addressed the same subjects I was thinking about. Books of this kind began to play an important role in my life. Vesta had laid the foundation for this, but after my father’s death, reading became a regular part of my life.
I should note that I had read before, but at that time it was mostly fiction or technical books. Since 1997, my father had been buying me large volumes about working with computers, using various programs, and programming.
I soon learned that my father had left behind substantial debts totaling tens of thousands of dollars. Creditors began calling me and demanding repayment, even though the question of whether I would accept the inheritance had not yet been resolved. One day, I received an official summons requiring me to appear at Lubyanka, in a building near the FSB headquarters.
On the appointed day, I took the metro, found the right building, and went inside. A feeling of anxiety and a certain unreality accompanied me throughout the journey. Inside, I was met by stern men who quickly escorted me to an office, where the questioning began. Sitting under the bright light, I felt as though I were beneath an interrogation lamp in a movie. They began asking me about the inheritance and my father’s debts, and I stated that I had no intention of accepting the inheritance, especially along with the debts.
Those words proved decisive. After a long conversation and an exchange of formalities, I was told that my father’s debts would no longer concern me because I was not accepting the inheritance. The apartment where my brother and I lived belonged to the state, had not been privatized, and therefore was not part of the inheritance. However, it carried a substantial amount of unpaid utility bills. I decided to pay them off gradually and eventually cleared the debt in full. Some time later, I was the one who privatized the apartment.
That summer, I craved adventure, and one day I happily bought a red mountain bike. Near the office where I worked was the warehouse of an online store that sold bicycles and other outdoor equipment. The purchase made me genuinely happy. My new two-wheeled companion, with 21 gears and impressive front and rear suspension, became a faithful friend. I sometimes rode it to work, and on weekends I could spend the entire night cycling around the city center and return home near dawn. At times, I met new people along the way, which gave those summer nights a special atmosphere. I loved my red “iron horse” and enjoyed every ride.
One summer day, probably in July, Katya was flying from St. Petersburg to Turkey via Moscow. We had met in the STS chat. She had several free hours between flights and suggested that we meet. Katya had previously confessed her love to me online, and before meeting her, I was not sure whether she still had feelings for me.
We walked around the city center and along Sakharov Avenue, and then I saw her off to the Aeroexpress train to the airport. It was an interesting meeting, one of my first walks with a girl—almost a date. Strictly speaking, it was not my first date, since I already had a strange relationship with Vesta at the time. But if that did not count, then my meeting with Katya really could be called my first date. Incidentally, Katya knew Vesta, and the two of them did not get along particularly well.
That same summer brought another important event: I was admitted to the evening program at MEPhI, majoring in Applied Programming in Economics. This new stage of my life was full of expectations and possibilities.
I also launched my own online chat, modeled after the popular STS chat. I hosted it on a server at work without telling management. I invited several acquaintances from the STS chat to join. Most interestingly, some of the regular visitors were second-year students at MGIMO. We quickly became close, and they began bringing new people into my chat in exchange for moderator privileges, which I was happy to give them.
I became close friends with the MGIMO students, and one day they suggested going to a club near New Arbat. I agreed enthusiastically—it was a great opportunity to spend the evening in good company. At the last moment, I invited Zhenya T. to join me; as always, he was ready for any adventure. I called a taxi, and when it arrived, we set off for Arbat. Amusingly, the driver warned us right away that we would have to show him the way.
When Zhenya T. and I arrived, I paid the fare, and the taxi drove away. That was when I discovered that I had left my wallet inside. It was a bitter disappointment: without money, we could not get into the club. Everyone was at a loss, but no one wanted to let the evening go to waste. We decided to have an impromptu party instead and first went to the nearest late-night store. The others bought drinks and snacks with their own money and treated Zhenya and me. After that, we headed into the courtyards near the White House.
Among the apartment buildings, we found a secluded spot and settled on a bench, passing bottles around. Time seemed to stand still in the cool night air. It was then, in the summer of 2006, that I tried alcohol and smoked a cigarette for the first time. The experience was strange and unfamiliar, but beneath the stars and among friends, everything felt especially vivid and memorable. We laughed and talked about everything under the sun while the city slowly fell asleep around us.
Night gradually gave way to morning, and the first rays of sunlight began to break through the buildings. Zhenya T. asked how I felt after becoming intoxicated for the first time and even suggested that I run around to experience the sensation more fully. When the metro opened, the two of us went home.
August 18–20, 2006, brought another trip that stayed in my memory as an adventure of its own: my first airsoft game with colleagues from work. My boss was a former military officer, and many employees were also former career servicemen. In our company, people with military experience were respected, and the idea of going out of town to play a tactical game seemed entirely natural to them.
At that time, I knew almost nothing about airsoft. To put it simply, it is a team-based military-tactical game: participants split into squads, receive missions, and use replicas of real weapons that fire small plastic pellets. For me, it was something completely new and felt almost like a live version of the computer game “Counter-Strike”: teams, missions, bunkers, hostages, plastic pellets instead of bullets, and very real emotions.
This was Bronnitsy. We arrived there in three cars at around half past ten in the evening. If not for the forest around us, at first it would have looked less like military training and more like a street-racing meetup: cars, headlights, commotion, conversations — almost scenes from the movie “The Fast and the Furious”. Then we set up the tent, I was introduced to the team I would be playing for, and the night gradually turned into long hours by the campfire. I never managed to fall asleep: I wandered through the forest, sat by the fire, and met the morning almost without sleep.
At nine in the morning, there was a wake-up call, the teams greeted each other, and the game began. Running across the open field felt especially scary: it seemed as if someone could start shooting from any direction at any moment, and there were mines and tripwires everywhere. The most interesting mission to me was one in the spirit of “Counter-Strike”, where we had to get into a bunker and rescue hostages. It turned out to be far from easy: for about two hours I had to stand in the rain near that bunker, watch the situation, and periodically return fire.
That first trip left me with an enormous range of emotions and impressions. I returned home tired and sleep-deprived, but with the feeling that I had entered a completely new world—one that was both a game and very real.
