As I walk around Unecha, I wonder what it is about this place that feels so nostalgic to me. I can’t help but think about all the events that took place in order for me to be here as a stranger: the Russian revolution and World War II, which sent my father’s side of the family first to China and then, finally, California, and my mother’s chance meeting with my father. I don’t feel like I am of this place, but I also don’t feel completely severed from it.
