Our attachments is the source of our problems. You are attached when you think your life would be impossible without what you are crazy about.
Ten years ago, I was standing in the long line behind the doors of British embassy in Moscow with supreme trepidation and wish to see London where I had never been. My attachment was Anglo mania and sincere belief in superiority of universe with epithet British over universe with epithet
Russian including advantages of English breakfast tea over Russian tea.
I was accompanied by middle-aged gentleman – my pen-fiend from Eastbourne, who entertained ideas about Russian women approachability and hoped to bring me to UK, he was bold and shaking – not because of anxiety, but because of being ruined by diabetes and two heart transplant operations he had come through.
I had not passed embassy interview, because could not give direct answer to the question of stern looking English woman separated from me by glass as in prison or zoo, how many times I executed sexual acts with my English friend. I flushed painfully, and in this fire, my Anglo mania was burned. I destroyed books of my favorite English authors and threw pages down from balcony at the heads of Moscovites.
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