I never thought it would be that scary to leave the country I grew up in.

As you probably know, things are a bit turbulent in Russia right now. A little recap: in March, almost 80% of my close friends and business associates fled the country, and rightfully so. Commercial projects tumbled, and retrospectively I became aware of how depressed I was during those weeks of what felt like a widespread collapse. Now, September turned out to be much, much worse. It is not an exaggeration to say that out of almost 300,000 people who left the past month, the remaining 20% of my friends and associates also joined that number. The only people I got here are my partner and our parents. I guess this speaks volumes about me and the state of my finances. I fucked up for many reasons during my entire lifetime, but the main one was not deciding to leave earlier, which is why I'm in a rather confusing state right now. 

I consider these posts to be as honest as possible, even when I sound like an unbearable child. So here's full disclosure: it was impossible to do practically any work for the past two weeks, so instead, I dove into the abyss of self-destruction more progressively. There are many reasons to be desperate, some more obvious than others. For sure, it may sound humorous. Like, I'm scared to start anew, even though I'm not that old. I'm anxious because it feels like every opportunity I ever got has been wasted for good; thus, the voice in my head tells me that I'm destined to fail in this particular endeavor too. I was also becoming accustomed to a certain level of comfort that got pulled away from me and made it impossible to plan anything ahead. My head fucks with me, I know. 

All my friends who'd already left told me explicitly that they see no future in this country. I get the picture, and it's a scary one. I know I must do something to get out – and that's where I feel stuck between the need to leave and the fear of life-shattering change. So FYI, I'm still in Russia. A bit paralyzed, but I'm making some slight motions toward the state borders to avoid the possibility of being a part of war crimes conducted on the land of my ancestors. But it's a relatively tiny stimulus compared to all the possible scenarios of my future living here that have been flashing up recently. 

With all the sanctions and the number of political decisions to cut Russia off from the global world, on the economic side, I see how complicated it's going to be. All these things – to invest in anything, build a competing product with a worldwide release, and assemble a team of professionals around the globe with easy-to-access solutions on payments and salary – are now more challenging than ever, if not impossible. The most brutal balancing act is to figure out exactly how important all these things are for you. Because here's the caveat every fleeing opportunist must seek: if one decides to stay in Russia, it would probably be a decent life (that's if we won't nuke ourselves out of this planet till the end of 2022). It's a decent living with job security, a retirement account, and well-priced government and medical services. And the costs of this life would be even cheaper than today. But here's what I, or any other person around my age (30-40), need to consider on the other hand: statistically speaking, life has just started for us. We still have lots to give and build – and risk – throughout the rest of our time on Earth. The scariest thing is to accept the fear of the unknown: there's a high probability that you will mess up at some point in this transition. There's also a strong chance that your partner in crime or a close one will abandon you in all this chaos and financial uncertainty. But people like us who are stuck in this position need to take a leap of faith toward a better future because we have nothing to lose except time. And that's why the period of sitting in a country that is most certainly destined to fail in the long term is the most depressive thing that should bother me right now. 

So, yeah, in my head, immigration is a done deal. The next logical step – is to decide where to go. Leaving Russia has become impeccably hard since March of this year, and it's getting difficult with each fresh piece of news. Our red passport is a major red flag in almost all the significant historical destinations for immigration. Each member of the EU doesn't want to do business with Russian citizens. The USA is unattainable since you can not apply for a visa inside Russia. Maybe with the help of the embassies in the EU – but surprise, you can't enter the EU. This situation leaves us with a relatively small list of available countries. In order of priority, we are looking at Turkey, Serbia, Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Kazakhstan. For a residence permit, some countries from that list require a local work contract or a stable source of income (which I don't have at the moment), while the others ask for proof of funds (which I do have, thankfully). With my partner, we primarily focus our resources in two directions: proof of funds and a permanent source of income. What also complicates matters is that our Visas and MCs went bust after the first block of sanctions-hit Russia. A portion of my funds has gone bankless since then, but it's not enough to compensate for a loss when it comes to exchanging magic internet money for real one. And if you're not moving fast enough, the regulators come crashing faster. And as a cherry on top: we have a cat. An old one, to be exact. That's a pain in the ass. 

I can go on and on, telling you how unfair the current collapse is toward regular citizens who wanted nothing more than a sense of comfort and a land of opportunities. But there's little point in doing just that. This whole situation is an abomination, and makes me feel nothing more than utter disgust. There are no long-term winners in any scenario. That's why on our little personal level, we plan things relentlessly. There's little time (and energy) to do any work, but I'm trying to keep my connections afloat. And learn new skills too. And write a lot because that's what will matter the most when we finally leave the Russian-speaking world for good. This blog helps, though I'm sure some issues here already feel like a naive infant wrote them, including this one.

Talk to you soon, hopefully, from another country. 

I never thought it would be that scary to leave the country I grew up in.

As you probably know, things are a bit turbulent in Russia right now. A little recap: in March, almost 80% of my close friends and business associates fled the country, and rightfully so. Commercial projects tumbled, and retrospectively I became aware of how depressed I was during those weeks of what felt like a widespread collapse. Now, September turned out to be much, much worse. It is not an exaggeration to say that out of almost 300,000 people who left the past month, the remaining 20% of my friends and associates also joined that number. The only people I got here are my partner and our parents. I guess this speaks volumes about me and the state of my finances. I fucked up for many reasons during my entire lifetime, but the main one was not deciding to leave earlier, which is why I'm in a rather confusing state right now. 

I consider these posts to be as honest as possible, even when I sound like an unbearable child. So here's full disclosure: it was impossible to do practically any work for the past two weeks, so instead, I dove into the abyss of self-destruction more progressively. There are many reasons to be desperate, some more obvious than others. For sure, it may sound humorous. Like, I'm scared to start anew, even though I'm not that old. I'm anxious because it feels like every opportunity I ever got has been wasted for good; thus, the voice in my head tells me that I'm destined to fail in this particular endeavor too. I was also becoming accustomed to a certain level of comfort that got pulled away from me and made it impossible to plan anything ahead. My head fucks with me, I know. 

All my friends who'd already left told me explicitly that they see no future in this country. I get the picture, and it's a scary one. I know I must do something to get out – and that's where I feel stuck between the need to leave and the fear of life-shattering change. So FYI, I'm still in Russia. A bit paralyzed, but I'm making some slight motions toward the state borders to avoid the possibility of being a part of war crimes conducted on the land of my ancestors. But it's a relatively tiny stimulus compared to all the possible scenarios of my future living here that have been flashing up recently. 

With all the sanctions and the number of political decisions to cut Russia off from the global world, on the economic side, I see how complicated it's going to be. All these things – to invest in anything, build a competing product with a worldwide release, and assemble a team of professionals around the globe with easy-to-access solutions on payments and salary – are now more challenging than ever, if not impossible. The most brutal balancing act is to figure out exactly how important all these things are for you. Because here's the caveat every fleeing opportunist must seek: if one decides to stay in Russia, it would probably be a decent life (that's if we won't nuke ourselves out of this planet till the end of 2022). It's a decent living with job security, a retirement account, and well-priced government and medical services. And the costs of this life would be even cheaper than today. But here's what I, or any other person around my age (30-40), need to consider on the other hand: statistically speaking, life has just started for us. We still have lots to give and build – and risk – throughout the rest of our time on Earth. The scariest thing is to accept the fear of the unknown: there's a high probability that you will mess up at some point in this transition. There's also a strong chance that your partner in crime or a close one will abandon you in all this chaos and financial uncertainty. But people like us who are stuck in this position need to take a leap of faith toward a better future because we have nothing to lose except time. And that's why the period of sitting in a country that is most certainly destined to fail in the long term is the most depressive thing that should bother me right now. 

So, yeah, in my head, immigration is a done deal. The next logical step – is to decide where to go. Leaving Russia has become impeccably hard since March of this year, and it's getting difficult with each fresh piece of news. Our red passport is a major red flag in almost all the significant historical destinations for immigration. Each member of the EU doesn't want to do business with Russian citizens. The USA is unattainable since you can not apply for a visa inside Russia. Maybe with the help of the embassies in the EU – but surprise, you can't enter the EU. This situation leaves us with a relatively small list of available countries. In order of priority, we are looking at Turkey, Serbia, Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Kazakhstan. For a residence permit, some countries from that list require a local work contract or a stable source of income (which I don't have at the moment), while the others ask for proof of funds (which I do have, thankfully). With my partner, we primarily focus our resources in two directions: proof of funds and a permanent source of income. What also complicates matters is that our Visas and MCs went bust after the first block of sanctions-hit Russia. A portion of my funds has gone bankless since then, but it's not enough to compensate for a loss when it comes to exchanging magic internet money for real one. And if you're not moving fast enough, the regulators come crashing faster. And as a cherry on top: we have a cat. An old one, to be exact. That's a pain in the ass. 

I can go on and on, telling you how unfair the current collapse is toward regular citizens who wanted nothing more than a sense of comfort and a land of opportunities. But there's little point in doing just that. This whole situation is an abomination, and makes me feel nothing more than utter disgust. There are no long-term winners in any scenario. That's why on our little personal level, we plan things relentlessly. There's little time (and energy) to do any work, but I'm trying to keep my connections afloat. And learn new skills too. And write a lot because that's what will matter the most when we finally leave the Russian-speaking world for good. This blog helps, though I'm sure some issues here already feel like a naive infant wrote them, including this one.

Talk to you soon, hopefully, from another country.