Back to Russia(n) – Part 3: I Left a Piece of My Heart in Moscow...

Language as Survival

Again, language helped me avoid many panic attacks during police controls — one of which happened in the hallway of my own building — or while talking to passport officers on my way out of the country. I still ask myself how I would have coped if I hadn’t understood a word. Just being able to follow the conversation was often enough to stay calm.

There was one moment during an identity check where I took my glasses off, and after some time, I put them back on, thinking the paperwork was done. The officer snapped: "There is nothing to see." So, I took them off again. That was the tone of the place. By then I had accepted it: "OK, that's the default mood..."

One day, two officers at the entrance of my block of flats were apparently doing a routine check. I only had a copy of my passport with the Embassy's stamp, and one of the officers was clearly not pleased. But the other said, "No, look at the stamp of the Embassy." That word - "Embassy, Embassy, Embassy" - probably saved me quite a bit of hassle.

They asked for my flat number and my phone number. And that was it. But again, I ask: what if I hadn’t understood anything? Following and grasping is always better than sinking into confusion.

The Bubble and the Outside World

Most of the interns I was in touch with barely left their apartments. The language barrier was simply too high. And I couldn’t help but think: what a waste of time, what a waste of opportunities. This sentiment feels even stronger now, after the start of the war. Who knows when the next students will be able to have a similar experience?

I remember an alumnus of my university who once came to speak about going abroad. He said: "The biggest thing you're going to bring back from your Erasmus or internship abroad is the language." And it’s true. Let’s be honest: 80% of what I got from that experience came from what I did on my own, in my free time.

Discovering What I Don’t Want

Working at the Embassy showed me one thing very clearly: diplomacy was not for me.

What shocked me most was seeing diplomats with poor language skills. If someone knows they’re going to spend at least a year in a country, shouldn’t they at least try to grasp the language? Of course, that’s my personal opinion, but I cared about the Russian side of my experience far more than the Italian bubble I was placed in.

In fact, the Embassy’s disorganization turned out to be a blessing. I was often placed in the same room as the Russian translators and interpreters — the real companions of my Moscow adventure. Their kindness, their chatter, their energy: unforgettable. I was immersed in Russian for eight hours a day, every day, for three months. Maybe that’s why I still understand 90% of Tatyana Klimova’s YouTube videos...

I tried to live as intensely as possible: meeting Italians, Russians, and even celebrating Nouruz at the Iranian party. I did what I could in three months. But every time I mentioned the Embassy with other Italians, their reactions were sarcastic at best. They gave no instructions or guidance. I understand the idea of "throwing people into the mess," but I could have saved a lot of money - and time - with just a bit of information.

Labels I Never Chose

Of course, those Italians weren't sarcastic about me personally, but the system. Still, with every joke about me working at the Embassy, something inside me shifted.

I realized I didn’t want my name attached to someone else's poorly done work. I remember an intern who left me a mess to clean up. She had already gone home, and I had to stay longer to fix it.

This feeling peaked in 2020, but I had already decided to quit my previous employers. I started hating labels. Even when I liked my job, I didn’t feel proud of saying, "I work here." I stopped wanting to hand out my business cards. I preferred something personal, like the label-free card I used in Moscow (designed by my brother!).

A Gift Wrapped in Chaos

In the end, I understood that hierarchy might be necessary, but I hated it - especially when it meant working under people I didn’t respect.

I’ll always carry the Russians, the translators, in my heart. As for the Italians? I’m still in touch with one of them, but I don’t miss that environment.

I’m not ashamed to say I want things to return to some sort of normality, just so others can have a chance to live what I lived. 

Also, I used to think I rejected that Embassy label because of what I had seen from the inside, but six years later I realize: I probably would have ended up rejecting any label.

The Last Week

The last week I spent in Moscow was tragic. I was happy for being "nobody," for having my freedom, for the thrill of living alone for the first time.

Every evening, I had a ritual. I took the metro from Smolenskaya to Ploshchad' Revolutsii. From there, I walked to Okhotnyj Ryad. I sat on a bench at Manezhnaya Ploshchad', watched that majestic view, and cried. Helpless.

Over time, I even gave this feeling a name: The Muscovites — that strange wave of Moscow-sickness that still hits me now and then. When it does, I just listen to my Russian playlist on Spotify and let the memories take over.

Lessons I Brought Home

I have a strong sense of individuality. I don’t mind doing things alone, and I rarely feel lonely. I have a very intimate circle of people I trust.

In Moscow, I went everywhere on my own. I didn’t wait for others to step outside. I wasn’t scared. I was simply high on adrenaline for three months straight. The crash back in Italy? Oh yes, that came. But I would do it all again.

I’ve learned that I never want to be responsible for other people’s poor work. I’ve learned I need my freedom. And I’ve learned that language is not just a skill — it’s the key to unlocking the world.

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Let the journey continue.