Simona Kust

I’m a guud person,
I’m a goud person,
I’m a good person, Simona Kust tells herself when she hesitates, whether her words and actions are good.

Simona was the second person who participated in my project “Your Story By Me”. It was in Moscow, on the 31st of January 2019. She was 16, lived with her boyfriend at Barrikadnaya, was driven around the city by taxis, smoked “Chapman” sweet cigarettes and didn’t go to school.

I was 27 and was learning how to interview people.

‘You speak Russian, Swedish and English languages. Which one feels closer to you and why?’ I asked.
‘Russian’, Simona answered and squinted her almond shaped eyes of deep taupe colour. ‘It is a many-faceted language where you can express yourself in dozens of different ways. It’s not easy to get. Even more I love those beautiful and absorbing swear words.’
‘Absorbing?’ I questioned.
‘Yes, you can’t simply get rid of them’. Simona said and licked her frost-flaked lips.

Simona was born in Stockholm, though her early childhood was spent in Moscow. Her mother is Russian and her father is Ukrainian. When Simona graduated from elementary school, her parents separated. Little Simona and her mother found themselves on the island with stilts, trade unions, red-green coalition; Volvo; and the famous lagom.

‘What about Sweden’s language? Do you like it, or not?’ I asked.
‘It is a beautiful language. It sounds like Elven songs,’ she said in an unusually soft and tender voice for a Russian. ‘And the Vikings, of course, are hotties.’
‘I’ve heard that you will remain a stranger in Sweden even if you live there for a long time and master the language. How far is it from the truth, what do you think?’
‘It’s hard for me to tell. It really depends.’
‘Were you faced with this problem? Are you accepted now?’
‘Yes and no. All of my schoolmates are multi-racial and it has never stood between us. But there are others with their own views. No matter what they say I feel it home in Sweden.’ Her lower lip had chapped, I saw a small drop of blood appear.

‘May I smoke?’, she asked.
‘Yes, but we must go to the balcony. Follow me!’

While walking to the balcony Simona told me that when she started modeling, traveling and communicating more in English, she noticed that expressing herself in Russian became a struggle. ‘I often make mistakes because words from three absolutely different languages mixed up in my brain.’

We stepped out on the balcony. It was dark and cold. Simona lit up the brown cigarette.
Her pale white hands appeared to be child-like, with nails trimmed in a ragged uneven fashion.

‘When I was in Paris a couple of months ago, perhaps in September, I watched the spectacular Saint Laurent show.’ I said. ‘Models walked on the black mirrored water with the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the background. And you were one of them.’
‘Yes! I still can’t believe that! I felt like Jesus Christ,’ she said and smiled.
‘I think that’s exactly what it was designed for,’ I smiled back. ‘I also looked at your Instagram. You are on the billboards of Saint Laurent and Paco Rabane all over the world.’
‘If we are speaking of my achievements I am also very proud of covers in Numero, Document and Interview Germany magazines,’ said Simona and blushed, hiding her pink cheeks.
‘How did your life changed with this success?’
‘Personally I can’t notice any difference. Life goes on as it was before: old friends, new friends, travels. Of course, I now have economical stability now but it didn’t change me as a person.’
‘Economical stability,’ I repeated and wrote it down.

‘At what age were you when you earned your first pay cheque?’
‘I started to work at 13. I was making papier-mache and looked after children in the workshop of a Swedish artist. Soon enough, at 14, I got into the modelling business.’
And all hell broke loose, I thought and smiled.

‘Now you live in Moscow. Do you like it here?’
‘Moscow is dynamic. Here people compete and judge each other all the time. I don’t like it: all this masquerading reveals an unknown hostile environment; it offends me,’ she answered in a sincere manner.
‘And what about Stockholm?’
‘Oh, Stockholm – it is the city for a people. In Stockholm I learned how to love myself.’

Her upper lip was a reflection of the lower, as neat, wide and lush.

‘What do you love most about yourself?’
‘That I’m a good person,’ she said.
‘You hesitated, am I wrong?’
‘No, I know I’m a good person, but I’ve heard a lot of bad about myself lately from the people who I barely know. It makes me hesitate and question whether my actions and words are correct, am I living in a right way?’
‘As Dovlatov wrote, it would be good to ask yourself constantly: am I crap or not?’ I said, looking into my notes.
‘Never read that,’ Simona said and gathered her pale-amaranth hair in a ponytail, tightened with a simple black elastic band.

Small fragile snowflakes were dancing in the big sky.