All That's Known

It is... Difficult to express. Particularly to those who do not understand it.

The place of birth does not matter. The military banks itself on pride. Pride for it's country, pride in the strength of it's people. There is a sense of pride when people with one such similarity come together.

But they point, over their shoulder with a thumb; аутсайдер.

Outsider, I believe.

Though, the language does not fall from my tongue so easily. I've been told I am not made for it. The accent doesn't quite fit. And after the decade serving along the Mediterranean Sea in Africa, it is muddled to the point where it remains unrecognisable. Perhaps that is why I was there. Because the juxtaposition did not sit well with the others. Cold and distant. Supremacists? Perhaps. More than likely, just arrogant and self-righteous. Still... Loyal Russians above all else.

At any rate, Manya would say blood or not, the willpower displayed is what cements one to the faction. What, a willingness to work and serve despite the discrimination? I've never been one to complain.

Like many other things, she left me with simple thoughts and a clear lack of understanding.

Later - years later - I revisited the topic. Ivan and I rarely speak about - Anastasia finds it discomforting and we respect that. But he believes Manya was... Not wrong, but misleading. Or rather, the willpower in question is not will, but power. It was important to prove one's worth as an asset, not one's determination as a person.

You were what your abilities made you out to be, and his made him a candidate for the life they gave him. But this is past. In the present, we are not defined by what we do or the numbers we achieved.

Nor are we to be embarrassed.

I have a sister. She is significantly younger than I. And she is also adopted.

Even so, I've never felt the innate desire to return to Russia. The act is often forced upon me. So I do visit from time to time, mainly at their request.

She...

I would describe her as an open book; her emotions and expressions are easily readable. She loves to smile. She loves the city of Muravlenko. Every time she writes, she says she has a new story to tell me. And every time I visit, I hear them. When she asks how I am, I am never sure what to tell her.

So I give her a smile and find a new way to say that all is well. And that nothing has changed.

Admittedly, I still struggle to see her as my sister. And yet she accepts the relationship as if we were blood-born relatives. But nothing ties us aside from the fact that our adoptive parents are the same parents. To me, that fact establishes nothing. My adoptive parents know this. But they seem to think they know why; that they have all the answers.

They often argue that the military has taken me from them. I haven't the heart to tell them that I was never theirs to begin with.