WHY ARE YOU KILLING YOURSELF LIKE THIS? YOU'RE NOT GONNA KILL YOURSELF LIKE THIS.

My grandmother used to say: "One move equals two fires." And she knew what she was talking about - 7 moves and 4 countries in her history.

My experience is not as global, but I have some. I don't pretend to be an expert, but I want to tell you about something.

My social circle is emigrants. And I often hear women who have moved away berate themselves for what they have not yet done. They mention it in passing when they meet each other, as if apologising, complain at friendly gatherings, or cry at the therapist's office.

The lyrics to this song may be different, but the motif is the same.

I've been in the country for X years, but I still:

- don't speak German at B1, B2, C1, C2 level, still haven't become a simultaneous interpreter

- I haven't made a career, built a business, won the Nobel Prize in Biology.

- raised five children, planted a park, saved the world.

No, no, no, no.

And yet they completely ignore what they have done.

And they should. Because in a new place, even the simplest action can be stressful and time-consuming.

I, for example, could go weeks without picking up my mail. I was afraid of letters. And letters in the German reality come in tonnes. Every bank, institution, school, daycare centre, insurance company and pension fund writes letters for any reason and no reason. In an unfamiliar language with incomprehensible letters. But okay, the letters are understandable, but the meaning..... Bureaucratic turns, enumeration of paragraphs of laws, demands to appear, to fill in, to pay, to show.

Are they warning me here, suggesting me, or already demanding something?

Or here's another example - how do I put my surname on the doorbell? I taped it up. Someone kept taking it off.

Then some kind people explained to me that I had to go to the house master. Okay.

Who is that? And how do you go to him? And where can I find him? I went round the entrance, found a letter box labelled "letters to the Housemaster". So you have to write to him. Like Santa Claus.

What should I write to him? "Dear Housemaster, this is Lyusya K from the flat..." What flat am I from? Flats don't have numbers. I'd like to write my surname. "I'm writing to you from the flat where there's no name plate, ground floor, entrance from the courtyard."

And also at first there's always not enough money, because you have to buy just about everything.

Plates, spoons, forks, cups.

Blanket, pillow, bedding.

Pot and pan. Toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo. Mop and broom. Wardrobe hangers. The cupboard itself. The desk. A chair. Knives and cutting boards. Washing machine. The tumble dryer. Hoover. Shelving unit. Light bulbs. A bed for me and the baby. A coat rack in the hallway. A briefcase. A pile of shit for school. A pile of shit for after-school. A tablecloth, cos the table gets stained. A desk for homework. A desk lamp. Extension cords. Bread bowl. A corkscrew! Towels. Bin. Glasses. House slippers and a plaid.

̷В̷е̷р̷ё̷в̷к̷у̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷y̷l̷o̷.̷.

And that's without any frills like curtains, chandeliers, paintings and mirrors. You have to do that too, but later.

The bare minimum is done, we can take a break, what's next on the list?

Insurance!

- sickness insurance

- third party insurance.

- insurance in case I wreck the place for me and the neighbours.

- insurance for broken glass.

- insurance in case I lose my keys.

Insurance in case I suddenly go cuckoo, by the way. Why am I not surprised?

You also get calls and texts from the school all the time. Your child didn't bring something there, didn't say, didn't understand, fucked off, stood up wrong, sat down wrong, come to the principal.

+ work

+ health

Health starts a tantrum before anyone else. Shouts: "Master, hello! Slow down, slow down! Or you're so not only the cuckoo will fly, but everything."

And he starts shooting preventively, then his ears hurt, then his teeth, then his knees, then he shoots in the back. Paws break, tail falls off.

And here you are - such a smart and strong crow - you've done everything, you're sitting flat on the couch (you should have bought a couch too, by the way), you've already taken thyroxine, an antidepressant, ̷с̷т̷а̷к̷а̷н̷ ̷v̷i̷c̷k̷i̷i̷ in the morning,̷ you look straight ahead of you and all you want is for no bastard to write you a letter, call you on the phone or demand anything from you for the next hundred years.

So that you can switch on a soap opera. A simple, developmentally appropriate show for middle schoolers in an inclusive school. And watch it sitting in a rocking chair for the next couple of years. Then start rocking. Not a sure thing.

And at that very moment, from somewhere in the depths of your subconscious, in the unpleasant voice of your great-aunt on your grandfather's side, someone whispers: "You never learnt English!" She is echoed by the brother-in-law of her cousin's brother-in-law's niece: "When was the last time you did sports?"

A neighbour of a friend's neighbour says: "And you still haven't written your thesis."

And then you jump up like, "Oh, my God! The thesis isn't written!"

And you drop dead. End of the film, credits.