March 3, 2026

There’s a word in Russian, тоска́ (pronounced tasca), that is difficult to translate into English. The word itself represents an intense yearning or longing, sometimes the feeling we associate with nostalgia or deep sadness. It’s described as a “dull ache of the soul,” always present, but not often discussed or recognized. 

When I first arrived in Kyrgyzstan, I felt this a lot—even the grocery store was a foreign and confusing place to me. I now find that тоска́ has weaved its way into the much smaller things; the niche inside jokes that don’t translate into Russian, the American films no one here has seen, the childhood foods I loved, my favorite snacks that simply don’t exist here. It’s not so much this feeling of homesickness, but rather a desire to be surrounded by things that are familiar to me, cultural norms I know how to follow, and a language I am proficient in. Growing up, I remember perceiving Russia and Russian culture in a very specific way, the phrase “mother Russia” always coming to mind. Now that I am an expat living in a foreign land, I can understand a part of what might motivate others to call their land the “mother” land. It’s a pride for your country, people, and a deep respect for the resilience of your culture through good times and bad. It’s a yearning to be back where you feel the most familiar and the most understood. 

In my Fluent English class this semester, we’re tackling big questions in a discussion based format. This past week we talked about why people leave their birthplace and travel abroad. As I know from personal experience, there are many reasons why people leave their homeland. The lucky ones leave as a personal choice, determined to experience other cultures and travel for work and leisure. Individuals on the opposite end of that spectrum leave because of governmental corruption, lack of infrastructure and opportunities in their country, religious freedom, war, genocide, the list goes on and on. My students understand this idea well, as they themselves have thought about leaving for better opportunities elsewhere. They’ve also witnessed the immigrants flooding into Kyrgyzstan from countries like India and Pakistan, hoping for a better life here or to make money for their families. For the first time in my life I can empathize with those who might experience this desire for the feeling of home, not just in the literal sense of the word but in the emotional way that home brings peace and family and comfort. 

There are people in Kyrgyzstan, and all over the world, who are quite literally fighting for survival. There are people who, if they get the opportunity for a goodbye, kiss their loved ones and never, ever return back to their homeland. Lately, when I feel homesick or I struggle to grasp the cultural norms here, I think of the people, all over the world, who will never get to taste their mother’s cooking, hear the laughter of cousins, feel the embrace of a sibling, or walk through the town where they grew up in again. What I am attempting to say, with the limited writing skills that I do have, is that there is always more than one story. The story I remember from childhood is often one of toilet bowl cleaners and cherry tomato pickers. What I don’t remember being talked about was the community, grit, and resilience that it takes to be an underdog, and coming to Kyrgyzstan allowed me to see that. Frankly, I realized that the biggest trials and obstacles I’ve overcome in my life have really been opportunities that millions pray for. It doesn’t make life easier, but it gives my life meaning and perspective. It motivates me to work hard for my future, one that I choose to believe is hopeful and full of peace. Not because others around me have done the work, but because I have made it so. 

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that if you feel тоска́, whether it be for a lost loved one, a career path you never got to explore, an opportunity you didn’t take but regret, or even the one who got away, you’re not alone. Lately I’ve been hearing a lot of “us” and “them,” when I really wish to hear “we.” I want anyone reading this to know that you are part of my “we.” The fact that we have the capacity to experience suffering and turmoil only means that our ability to feel love and friendship is heightened. And though I know that “it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things,” (2 Nephi 2:11), I also believe that “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me” and “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:4, 6). 

Oh, and I still haven’t eaten horse. 6 months down, 4 to go. Until next month.

-B

There is a really beautiful park near my apartment that I like to visit. They recently finished all of the brickwork so you can walk up and down the entire length of the park now. I seriously almost cried watching these cute kids and their parents play at the park. It reminded me of summer days during my childhood when we would go inside only when it got dark, and sometimes not even then. The sunsets here are always incredible. 

My amazing highschool students doing a "palm reading" activity that another Fulbrighter made. They seriously loved reading each other's palms and making predictions about their futures. So grateful I get to teach them, their English is improving so quickly!