Habibullo-Eugene Kiselev

A Synopsis of my Life
2017-11-08 22:22:59 (UTC)

November 8th, 2017, Wednesday, 10:22:59 p.m.

Yekaterinburg, Russia. GMT 05:00
Today is my Birthday. My Birthday. Yeah…
“Birthday, the holiday of childhood” – sings Igor Nickolayev (Russian: Игорь Николаев), a famous modern Russian pop-singer. By the way, he is a son-in-law of Paul Proskuryakov (Russian: Павел Проскуряков), a very well-known Ural lawyer, barrister and poet, who I know just by sight. We met at the poetry seminar held by Professor Yuri Kazarin several times.
Okay. I have just turned thirty-one today. This day was a day of frequent mood changings; however faint notes of depression were dominating. So, I spent nearly all day in a hospital, I went there to take several prescriptions from my doctor. I left the hospital cross and furious, when it had already been getting dark.
Galina Chilek (Granny Galya), the sister of my deceased granny, sent me a voice message, when I still had been sleeping. “Zhenechka, I wish you a Happy Birthday, all of us wish you all the best. We wish you success in your creativity and in your life as well” – she said. (Note: Zhenechka or Zhenya is an affectionate diminutive form of Eugene in the Russian language tradition). My Muslim friend, Dmitry Kharitonov, gave me a call in the morning. He congratulated me; we talked for nearly ten minutes discussing the clergy of the “Ramadan” mosque, etc. My ex-wife, Anna Kochtygova, also called me when I was on my way to the hospital. We talked for just a while; she promised she would call me back tonight, but… It is already late in the evening; I have not received a call from her yet. Eugene Lobanov, my Teacher, sent me an e-mail, where he wished me a happy Birthday, poetical and other intellectual fruitfulness. Olga Brezgina, my aunt, called me at about 9 o’clock. She wished me good luck at my work and in my creative activity.
When my Mom had arrived from work, she gave me a wonderful bouquet of three white chrysanthemums, which had a delightful scent. I was glad to receive this present. However, as I know, white chrysanthemums are a symbol of death and mourning in the Indo-Buddhist and Confucian traditions. Also, white chrysanthemums are used at funerals in Italy. By and large, the white color is considered to be a color of sadness, grief and sorrow in China, Japan and other countries of the Buddhist culture.
Also today, I started translating the “Metadannye” (English: Metadata), which Alexander Shorin has sent to me. Apropos. I agreed to work with him, because my Mom asked me to. I could not go against my Mom’s will, like an obedient Jewish boy. (Ha – ha – ha – a! I am not a Jewish boy, to be honest!)




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