(Why We Don’t Smile and What Happens on Friday Nights)
✍️ Who I Am
I don’t look for myself. I assemble myself — in the mornings, in the evenings, between meetings. This isn’t a search; it’s a construction project. I might forget my keys, but I don’t forget who I am. I might oversleep, but I am never late for what is critical. I am not perfect. I am alive.
And the guy from Berlin? He probably doesn’t assemble himself—he schedules himself. His life is a timeline. He knows exactly where the keys are and doesn’t oversleep because his internal rhythm is like a train arriving to the second. He’s not exactly alive; he is stable.
🪞 The Mirror as a Stage
I don’t look into the mirror—I cross-reference the data. Do I match myself? This isn’t about style; it’s about suitability for the job. Shirt, gaze, skin tone. Everything must be in the moment.
— You look good.
— I just didn’t oversleep.
I don’t look for approval. I check myself against myself. Sometimes with a hangover. Sometimes with the remnants of yesterday’s mission.
📱 A Conversation with Myself
I keep an Obsidian account where I write not plans, but phrases that need to be said. I have drafts where I rehearse my intonations. Sometimes I write myself: “Don’t be a plank.” Sometimes—”You’re a ledge.” Sometimes I just send myself a meme to remember that I can still laugh.
— Who are you writing to?
— Myself. So I don’t forget who I am.
I don’t share my thoughts; I structure them. Or just save them to reread a year later.
🚇 Self-Perception in the City
I don’t get lost in transit—I scan. I read news that I will forget as soon as the phone hits my pocket. I don’t get annoyed in queues—queues are from childhood; I don’t notice them. I don’t walk the street—I execute the route. Sometimes with coffee, sometimes with a hangover, sometimes with someone next to me.
— Where are you stomping off to so confidently?
— I’m not confident. I just decided.
I might be in a hoodie, but inside, I’m always flint. I might be in boots, but I move as if in trainers. Sometimes with headphones, sometimes with thoughts, sometimes just with an empty stare.
And the guy from Berlin? He doesn’t scan; he trusts. He trusts the schedule, the signs, the system. If he’s waiting for a train, he waits for a train. If he’s walking, he walks. He doesn’t execute a route; he enjoys the comfort and stability. He probably doesn’t need flint inside, because his street is already solid enough.
🍻 Self-Perception in Company
With friends, I’m louder. I joke, interrupt, argue. I know they listen. I know I’m almost the main man—in this room, at this hour. We rarely meet: everyone has their own business, their own schedules, their own “games”.
— You interrupted everyone again.
— Because I know how it ends.
I don’t want to see my colleagues outside the office. But every Friday after work, we hit the club. And there, I’m no longer the team lead, but just the bloke who knows the best bar, how to skip the line, and who’s playing on the second floor. Role separation.
❤️ Self-Perception in Relationships
I am no romantic. But sometimes I scan the crowd for a match. I look for her—in the feed, in the crowd, inside myself. The one I love but forget to text. The one where everything isn’t simple, but everything is critical.
— Did you text her?
— No. But I thought of her. Does that count?
I’m not always nearby, but I’m always inside. Sometimes that’s frightening. Sometimes—it saves me.
🧠 Why Does This Matter?
Because in Moscow, you cannot be accidental. You must be assembled—even when no one is looking. Even if you’re just hanging out. Even if you’re just living.
Self-perception isn’t about feelings. It’s about construction. About choice. About being yourself—even if you’re a bit of a hooligan. We need this inner rigidity because we cannot rely on the absolute stability of the external world, as perhaps the guy from Berlin does. He can relax within his system. We, however, must assemble ourselves every time we walk out the door. That is our Code.
📎 And if you haven’t read about the Moscow speech code, start with this post.