All of which is to say, I am dual in every way, and my plethora of multicolored passports is a worthy symbol of the cultural mish-mash of my personality. The first thing that you’ll notice when you get to Russia is that the women are astoundingly beautiful and immaculately presented.
And in that strange and romantic moment I thought, “One day I’m going to put this in a story to explain my convoluted relationship with Russian men.” I should preface this story by saying that I am Russian.
But I’m not going to lie: Part of me was turned on.
Here was a guy protecting my honor, placing himself into bodily harm on my behalf.
And when I say “provide,” I don’t even necessarily mean in a monetary sense as much as in a paternal one.
This sense that they are obligated to look out for you, not because you’re weaker or feeble-minded, but because you -- as the fountain from which life springs forth -- are precious and valuable.