Some may know, and some may not: a sociological phenomenon which exists between two particular nations; these two nations are Russia and Ukraine. This sociological phenomenon is not only in force between these two peoples, but also between other pairs such as China and Japan, England and Australia, and so forth. I think you know what I'm getting at.
Between Russians and Ukrainians, there is maintained an understanding that one is "better" than the other.
Russians use a slang to describe Ukrainians (pronounced ha-hol [male]; ha-hlu-shka [female]) which implies them as sly, shifty, deceitful, duplicitous, untrustworthy, and cheapskates. The traditional understanding, however, differs. Traditionally, hahol was derived from the word ha-ha-lok, which was a hair style used by Ukrainians generations back. Through time, especially when more of them were moving to the land of milk and honey (America), the definition for this term was modified; a common saying explains the definition: a Ukrainian lives in Ukraine, and a hahol lives where it's better. Later still, some areas adopted the definition which I mentioned first.
Ukrainians, not to be outdone, also have a slang which is used to describe their Slavic counterparts. This term is pronounced kah-tsap. Amongst the Russians of much, much older generations (most of them dead), a certain look "earned" them this stereotypical term. This look was a long, thin beard, much like older Chinese men had---especially in martial arts films. Katsap comes from the word tsap, which is a type of goat that typically has that long, thin "beard" growing from the frontal corner of its jaw. Unlike the stereotypical slang used for Ukrainians, the slang used against Russians had not developed so richly. Nevertheless, it still exists today, even though it seems to pale in comparison with the usage factor of its counterpart.
So there I was in the midst of Slavic people in an American city. I heard this term (hahol) used all over the place (in the Slavic community). I didn't quite understand its implications to the fullest extent, but I knew that it wasn't good, and that Ukrainians were all hahlih (plural form of hahol). One thing was for sure: I would certainly not marry a hahlushka! No way! I was Russian, clearly a superior race, the dominating force of the Soviet Union, second only to God. Proud? Highly.
I promised myself, swore to myself: my blood will be pure. This stance towards Ukrainians only grew in strength as I matured (although, it was clear that that aspect of my mentality was very much in the immature stages).
As a young Russian, I had only two goals: (1)be cool, and (2)get a hot Russian wife. As it was "back in the day" here in the USA, the Slavic community sees marriage as a crucial aspect to one's life being complete, or at least moving forward. If, say, one was to turn 30 and had not yet married, he would be looked at with curious eyes, usually leaning towards the negative type of curiousity (as in, "what is wrong with this man?"). To be "cool" meant having a high-paying job, a high-end car (usually German, i.e. Mercedes, Audi, BMW), listening to techno or Russian rap (Russian+rap=lol [don't tell them I said so]), and an expensive leather jacket (usually black leather).
Despite my lofty opinions of my race as opposed to Ukrainians, I was the opposite of what I claimed to be. I was not cool, and the only girl I had at the time might as well have been drawn on my hand (something I am not proud of---it was just...sad). Meanwhile, my Ukrainian "buddies" had good jobs, cool boy-racer cars (granted, they weren't German cars, but they had fart-can mufflers and big spoilers), and girlfriends. What did this Russian have? His dad's '84 Honda Civic, and Star Trek. Sad, sad little Russian. Nevertheless, I was a Russian and therefore a god! The world (and the Ukrainians) were not yet ready for me to unleash my divinity upon them.
I continued to mature (amazingly enough), and realized that my race was not a race of gods, nor was I even a pure-bred Russian. Even so, my disposition towards Ukrainians did not change. At the age of 17, we moved to Alaska into a small town called Delta Junction. Even though I came from a Slavic community, it was microbic compared to the Slavic community in Delta Jct. There is even an area there which has been named the "Russian Village" by the local Americans. At the time, there were about 4,000 residents, half of which were Slavs. Now there is about 6,000-7,000 residents, and still half of which are Slavs. I was not accustomed to so much Slav-ness. My closest friends in North Dakota (the place of my childhood) were American, and outright nerds. Here, though, 14 year old boys were selling cars and making money by the thousands, and starting to build houses for their future spouses. Meanwhile, I, a 17 year old, was still heavily into nerdathon fiction without a dime in my pocket. Suffice it to say that I made some enemies real fast without even realizing I had made them.
My quest to find "the one", who had to be Russian, was off to a poor start. There were plenty of Slavic girls to go around, but none of them seemed very interested in the new nerd-boy in town. At least I had a Honda with a fart-can muffler on it...
At age 19, I moved up north to the city of Fairbanks. Slowly but surely, I began to move away from the Slavic community, and started to make more friends amongst the Americans. At this point in my life, I had quite a "distaste" for Slavs, especially the girls---Russian and Ukrainian alike. I began to step away from the culture I was raised in, the faith I was taught, and the principles which my parents worked hard to instill in me.
At age 22, my best friend was getting married. I was asked to be his best man, and his bride had asked her best friend to be the maid of honor. I had to drive down to Delta for the rehearsals, and during this time in my life, I had a good paying job (for my age and situation), a nice truck (top of the line Nissan Titan, black, crew cab, black leather interior with 3 DVD screens...I was cool...), and a woman who I was seeing (American). Even though I could've been considered "cool" by the Russians, I didn't really care what they thought.
The maid of honor was not a stranger. I knew her from a number of years back. The first time I saw her, I asked if I could give her a ride. Her quick and curt reply was, "No." That was her first word to me, and my first impression of her was: hahlushka. If this wasn't a hahlushka, I didn't know who was. She spoke Ukrainian like she was...Ukrainian! Sometimes it was hard for me to understand what she was saying, but I could connect the dots, for the most part. Contrary to popular beliefs, Ukrainians retain their own culture and their own language, just as the Russians have their own culture and language. Russian and Ukrainian dialects have similarities, but they are not the same languages.
As these rehearsals progressed, I was forced to communicate with the hahlushka. I probably should mention that during my stay in Delta Jct, there was a period where I visited her family often with a buddy of mine. She and I flirted, but I didn't take the situation very seriously. She, however, did. Being the pig that I am, I basically threw out the all-too familiar line, "I'm not good enough for you," and moved to Fairbanks, leaving her young heart broken.
At these rehearsals, my impression of her began to...change. I started to like her. There was something about this hahlushka that attracted me. The woman I was seeing was pressuring me to start sexual relations, but it was because of the time I had already spent at these rehearsals that I gave this American woman the "friend" ultimatum (no sex, but let's be friends).
During the wedding, all the groomsmen and their maids sat next to each other, while the maid of honor and I had to be seated next to the newly weds (she at the bride's right hand, me at the groom's left hand). I was not liking it. After the wedding, though, the whole group went up to Fairbanks to take pictures the next day (while it was -35 outside, during the evening). At the end of that day, we all went to the movie theater, and the maid of honor and I got to sit nice and close to each other.
It was a phenomenon of phenomena. Why? A pompous Russian's heart was melting for a hahlushka, and you ask why? It was almost oxymoronic!
After that time, I began to visit her again. In about seven months, this proud and abrasive Russian married a 17 year old hahlushka which changed his view of race immensely. Now we have two beautiful children together, and have devoted our lives to each other and our ministry.
This hahlushka stirred my soul, and because of my association with her, beginning with those rehearsals, I began to revert back to those principals which my parents had so painstakingly tried to teach me, and back to the faith which I had abandoned for pointless self-gratification which made me feel hollow and void of life. This hahlushka was the turning point of my life. Now I look back, and my life before her seems unreal, like it never existed, like it was a dream... I can't imagine my life without her. Maybe the reason for that is because I had no life before this hahlushka became a part of it.
Thank God for my hahlushka!