I arrived at Moscow Sheremetyevo both times in the dark. Last time it was four o'clock in the afternoon, pitch black and minus 25 degrees. On Friday night, it was four in the morning, the sun was getting ready to come up and the 25 degrees made me sweat. What a difference 50 degrees make... The only thing that was similar was the dark; I was coming from the dark both times. That darkness came from uncertainty about the future. Two years ago, I didn't know what the end of the year would bring, and last time the end of the year was three days away. This time, that darkness seems way less persistent. And although I arrived in the dark again, the sky already lit up again. It's summer now so Moscow doesn't stay dark very long. Neither do I.
Places turn into the experiences we had there and so I wonder: will Moscow always be the place for me where I sent off my grad school application full of hope, accompanied by a significant man who would turn out to be an even bigger disappointment that the application failing? Two days into this visit, it turns out it doesn't. There's something magical about visiting a place twice, especially if the first visit was as significant as mine. I am currently sitting in a bar looking at the bridge of the Cathedral that man and I threw pennies off of into a frozen Moskva river. He told me to make a wish. We both wished for the same, and it wasn't that out future together works out. And it didn't. What we wished for also didn't work out - my PhD. Now I'm sitting here looking at this bridge, almost seeing myself stand on the bridge, knee deep in snow. None of my feelings are the same. And I love it.
I walked through the gates of Gorky Park earlier where I rang in the new year 2016. There was a fountain in the middle that was playing music and dancing to it. Last time, it was off. The whole park was buried under a blanket of (snow and) silence. I decided to accept this fountain as the difference between then and now. New Year's Eve 2016 sucked. There were no fireworks, literally and figuratively. The fountain dancing now, the mood lighter, the warmth engulfing much more than just my skin, mirrors my feelings. I am looking at a much brighter future than then. The despair is gone, the uncertainty of if I will ever get out of Egypt, the insecurity about this man I liked for a decade. Of course, I don't know what will happen by the end of the year but I know it will be far less soul-crushing than the year ahead when I was last here. I no longer hold out for someone to accept me; neither a school nor a man. I moved on from those dreams. That is why Moscow summer 2018 is a different place than Moscow new year's 2016.
This time, I'm here for football. To experience Moscow, a world-friendly, multicultural country that accepts every nationality (because that simply isn't the world we live in these days). That's not the Russia they live in, either. However, this experience beats every place anyone could visit. Moscow was great last time, but this time it was a pool of Croatian, Mexicans and Brazilians. Rivals were hugging, the whole world was here. I spent the night with two Georgians and four Mexicans. The Mexicans kicked me out of the world cup final and here they were, forming an umbrella of sombreros for me when the skies opened as soon as the game was over. In the end, they gifted their sombreros to friends they made along the world. This stuff simply doesn't happen very often.
I loved Moscow both times but this time it became a symbol. This second visit to a place I once considered to make home has been eye-opening. That person I was then isn't around anymore. I haven't changed but my life has. I now have fewer worries; that happens with age. I don't have to worry about the six dollars I just spent on a chicken skewer, I finally don't hold out for a future with someone anymore who's unwilling to have one with me, I will not be a doctor and I have the freedom, money, and experience to be whoever I want to be. Everything that happened in the last two and a half years made that possible. So visiting a place that stood for the absence of all of that is now the symbol of me realizing; that time changes everything, that my despair is a waste of time, that all is good in the end. Moscow is no longer the place of this man, neither is it the place of the FIFA World Cup. I look forward to coming back one day, sit in this restaurant and look back at what life has become.
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