Farewell to the Motherland – And to Mikhail
What if the hometown you were born in just vanished? How would people react if the motherland and city they grew up with disappeared, replaced by a whole new country and city?
Most folks wouldn't have an answer for that.
"Haa..."
But I'm different.
I was born in Leningrad in 1984 and lived my early years as a Soviet citizen. Then one day, the Soviet Union collapsed, and suddenly there was this new country called Russia.
Ukraine and Kazakhstan, places I could hop to on a train without a second thought, became foreign lands. The sweet old lady selling bread? Now a foreigner.
Leningrad got renamed to some bullshit like St. Petersburg, and the country went from the USSR to Russia.
Yeah, I was born in the Soviet Union, lived as a Soviet... but I went to bed one night and woke up Russian, with my hometown now St. Petersburg.
"Hey, did you see that guy who just walked by?"
"That build... he looks like he could rip a man in half."
In the end, I couldn't stomach the name St. Petersburg and left the city for the Far East peninsula clinging to the edge of Manchuria. The southern tip of that peninsula: the Republic of Korea.
Farewell, my motherland, my hometown. As I leave the vast Siberian earth of my mother behind, I say it once: Thanks for your service, everyone.
And so, in 201X, after over a decade in the military, I was discharged.
From there, I flew from Moscow Airport straight to Korea.
Not for any grand reason.
"From now on, I'll take it easy here."
The country that pulled me through after losing the Soviet Union and grinding through my soldier days? Korea.
To be precise, what kept me sane during that shitty military life was right here in Korea.
Heh heh heh, what's the point of saying it?
"VTuber!"
VTubers. While I was rolling in the mud of the Syrian civil war, getting battered left and right, what soothed my weary soul? Korean VTubers. What about it?
Just last year, I was watching them from the hellhole of Syria... memories still fresh. Can't a guy in his thirties like VTubers too?
"Now... where's the house..."
Anyway.
I flew from Moscow Airport to Incheon International Airport, then took a cab from Incheon to Seoul.
Nothing special – my dad owns a house in Seoul, so I figured I'd crash there.
Fucking St. Petersburg – the name alone makes my teeth grind. My hometown is Leningrad, absolutely, positively NOT St. Petersburg.
But the house was there, so I bolted.
"Oh, this must be it?"
You might ask if I really left home over that at my age in my late thirties – shove that age up your ass.
What can I say? Even my grandfather, who fought in the Great Patriotic War, couldn't stand the name St. Petersburg and fled to Korea. Why couldn't I?
Huh? I didn't fight in the Great Patriotic War? Tough shit – I rolled my ass off for four years in Syria with the Russian Federation Army. That count?
Fucking Africa, fucking Syria!
"Heh... we're here..."
But now, all that's behind me?
This big, imposing house in front of me.
Well, not that big or imposing, but plenty for one person. The precious house my grandfather snagged from the KCIA in exchange for Soviet strategy and tactics.
"Let's head in."
Yeah, the KCIA's long gone, and now it's just Dad's house from the safehouse days. No need to stand on ceremony – I open the door and step inside.
Damn, Dad cleaned it spotless.
"Hooah!"
I shipped my luggage ahead, so a quick rest first.
After grinding in Syria, I deserve this much. We rolled hard, didn't we? Yeah, yeah.
"Oh, nice bed."
Spotting the white bed in the bedroom at the back of the Seoul House, I dive right in.
Then I close my eyes immediately.
...You know the time difference between Moscow and here?
I'm beat.
"Just a bit, really just a little sleep."
I let my heavy eyelids fall and surrender to the sleep crashing over me.
How long did I sleep?
"Yaaawn...?"
I opened my eyes again.
"...Huh?"
Let's recap.
I spent over a decade in the Russian Federation Army.
Four years deployed to Syria total.
Yeah, rolled my ass off there. Took a bullet to the head, bombs dropping right in front of me – no wonder my senses are a bit off.
"...Who are you?"
But damn, did I roll too much in Syria?
We really did grind hard, yeah.
"...A woman?"
Didn't expect my dick to actually fall off, though.
***
"So, this is me?"
I definitely lay down on the bed and slept like a rock.
Then I woke up thirsty, yawned... and heard this frail woman's voice.
What the hell? I check my body... and holy shit, who is this?
"This? Is me?"
These hands are delicate. Well, not that delicate.
Correction: scars from knives, shattered bones, tears, burns – all still there.
These are my scars. But these aren't my hands?
I had these dark, rough mitts, but these are pale as fuck – what, some Irish ghost?
Not quite Irish-pale, but still!
"Ah, ah, ah?"
I test the voice pitch – so damn unfamiliar. Is this really mine? This? This?
I had a thick, heavy Soviet man's growl, not this girly squeak!
Thinking about it... yeah, girly fits.
Anyway.
"Ahem."
I scramble out of bed and head to the bathroom. Stand in front of the mirror and look...
"...No, seriously, who the fuck are you?"
The reflection isn't my familiar male face – it's some woman I've never seen.
Well, a bit familiar.
These perfect abs, the knife and bullet scars across the body, and these glorious Soviet tattoos.
This body is mine. It is... but...
"No, I'm not a woman!"
But I'm a guy?
Wait... these scars and tats are mine, right? What's going on?
Was I a woman? No, I'm a guy. Mikhail Vladimirovich Medvedev, born 1984 in Leningrad.
What the...? I rummage through my bag for my ID.
"Who the hell is Ekaterina Vladimirovna Medvedeva?"
I check the ID – the name's weirdly changed.
My name was Mikhail Vladimirovich Medvedev...
Now it's Ekaterina Vladimirovna Medvedeva.
Surname same, but first name and patronymic flipped to undeniably female.
"What the actual fuck."
I clutch my head, pondering. Headache hits, so I dig out a bottle of vodka and a cigar from the bag.
Tear off the cap, down the whole bottle cool as ice, light the cigar, and puff away.
Before I know it, the cigar's done. An hour of thinking, still no answers.
"Fuck it, just live."
Enough overthinking. If it won't come, it won't.
Don't cling to the past – focus on now.
I'm a woman now. That's reality. I was a man. That's past.
"ID seems fine."
Most worrying part: identity docs look good.
Korean ID, visa – all list Ekaterina Vladimirovna Medvedeva as female. Russian passport and ID too.
"Uh, Dad. Why'd you call?"
Just to be sure, I call Dad back home for confirmation.
"Dad, was I a guy?"
"My daughter, vodka in the morning already?"
"A whole bottle."
"Sigh."
"...?"
"Daughter, stick to three bottles of vodka a day max. More and you'll crash hard. You're late thirties now – caution above all. Got it?"
"No, Dad, but was I a guy befo—"
Click.
"...He hung up?"
Looks like that's fine too.
If Dad straight-up calls me daughter, we're good.
"Hmm..."
Back to the mirror, staring hard.
The woman reflecting back is beautiful. And young-looking.
Hard to believe late thirties. Yeah.
"Hmmm..."
But the ID confirms 1984 birth.
Ekaterina Vladimirovna Medvedeva.
F-4 visa holder flying to Korea to live, unemployed bum ditching vast Russia for the Far East peninsula.
"Nothing really changes, then."
Thinking it over... nah, not much different.
Name changed, but my memories intact. Dad, Mom, sister, grandparents – all clear.
So no changes, just live the Korean life I wanted... right?
"Oh, wait, hold up – what if...?"
I'm a woman now. Late thirties, but looks twenty-something.
Not just twenty-ish – straight-up twenty, auntie or not.
With my old drab uncle voice, no chance. But this look, this pretty voice...
Does that mean...?
"Can I do VTuber now?"
Can I be a VTuber?
Me, setting up the rig for a debut – totally possible!?
Finally, no guns – mouse and flower bouquets! No tanks – in front of the camera!
Time to fulfill that old dream!
"Blya! There it is!”
Fuck yeah! Right now!