#russiangirlproblems

This blog has been inspired by a website I ran across: http://www.russiangirlproblems.com

As most of you know (by 'most of you' I'm referring to the 5 people a day who read my blog – until I post sexy preggo Beyonce pictures to which my readership escalates to 10 a day) I am not from here. My folks moved from Azerbaijan, a predominately Muslim country located under Russia and at the eastern cusp of the Caspian sea.. I wont lie – most of the people residing in Azerbaijan look extremely – mmm lets say Turkish/Armenian. Luckily I was blessed with a light complexion, light eyes, and no excessive body hair.

(I'm not implying all armenian/azeri/turkish women look like this – RELAX my 5 readers, im just trying to be am funny).

Long story short – we did the good ol' refugee tour from there to Israel to Canada. Now, my parents are by no means super old fashioned or oblivious to these modern times – they just chose to disagree with western thinking. I hear things like “I don't care what you're friends do, I only care about yourself” followed be contradictory statements like “Why cant you just work at a bank like, your friend ________”. Growing up with Ruski parents is a lifelong blessing in disguise. I grew up cultured, well dressed, well mannered but also extremely contained. North American “Don't Ask Don't Tell” policies don’t apply with FOB parents. They want to know where you are, who you're with, if you're wearing a scarf and whether or not you've eaten within the past 2 hours. Getting phone calls at 2pm in the afternoon from my father asking “Its cold out, are you wearing a hat” is extremely common.

I love my Mother and Father but living at home at the age of 23 is definitely eating away at my independence and overall confidence. I'll keep it short because according to Google Analytics my readers only spend 2mins 40s on my blog a day.

Despite the fact that I had an extremely hard time growing up. What with kids making fun of me when I'd show up in full toddlers-and-tiara type gowns to chuckie cheese, and when I'd have to leave house parties before anyone even showed up to adhere to my 9pm curfew. I love my parents. I love that even though my mother bites her lip every time I finish a contract at work and am unemployed for months on end, she nurtured, encouraged and continues to have faith in me following my dreams – something that she was unable to do. Something that her and my father packed up, sold their weddings ring and bought a plane ticket to Canada for me to have a shot at.

Thank you!