Sometimes, life writes stories so profound that only time reveals their true meaning. Mine is one such story, a journey that began in uncertainty and unfolded into a lifetime of memories, love, and deep connection to a distant land that became my second home.

In 1989, Sri Lanka was in the grip of severe unrest. It was during this turbulent time that I was preparing for my highly competitive Advanced Level examinations. For nearly six months, I could not study. Yet, with determination, I travelled from Matara in the south to Kurunegala and walked straight into the examination hall.

Against all odds, I gained entrance to university.

But the start date was uncertain, it could take years.

Then came an unexpected opportunity: a scholarship to the Soviet Union. Out of nearly 2,000 applicants, I was fortunate to be one of just six selected.

On the 4th of September 1990, I arrived in Moscow, joining more than 500 international students who had come in search of knowledge and a new life. Soon, I was sent to Leningrad, a city that would forever remain in my heart.

“I love you, creation of Peter…” wrote Alexander Pushkin.

Only when I stood there did I truly understand those words.

I studied at Saint Petersburg State University, where we were provided excellent accommodation and world-class facilities. Our preparatory faculty was designed to teach the Russian language from zero, using advanced methods.

Our first teacher, Aksana Vladimirovna from Ukraine, spoke six international languages fluently. Yet inside the classroom, she spoke only Russian. From 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., we lived entirely in the language. Within six months, we spoke Russian fluently; in the following months, we studied all subjects in Russian.

It was not just education, it was transformation.

I still remember walking along the majestic Neva River, where the wind seemed to carry poetry through the air.

I remember the life and rhythm of Gostiny Dvor, the historic heart of the city.

I remember the golden fountains of Peterhof Palace, shining like something out of a dream.

I remember the underground metro stations so grand they felt like palaces beneath the earth.

And above all, I remember the awe of the Hermitage Museum, where history, art, and humanity meet.

“And I will long be dear to the people…” wrote Pushkin again.

And in those streets, I also felt the quiet depth of Anna Akhmatova, whose spirit still lingers in the city.

In 1995, I completed my Bachelor’s degree, and in 1997, my Master’s in data encryption.

But the most beautiful part of this journey was love.

My wife, Rasika, was also one of the six scholarship recipients. We travelled on the same flight, seated in the same row—each by a window, separated only by the aisle, yet completely unaware of each other. By what can only be called fate, we ended up in the same university, the same class.

Thirty-five years later, we are still sharing the same life.

On the 7th of April 1997, we left Leningrad. It was the saddest day of my life. We boarded the legendary Krasnaya Strela, travelling to Moscow. The journey took exactly 5 hours and 59 minutes—down to the second.

We sang Russian songs… and we cried. We were not just leaving a country, we were leaving a part of ourselves behind. 

In honour of this great land, we named our children Svethlana and Dimithri.

In 2002, we made New Zealand our home. Yet, Russia has never left us. We still gather with Russian friends, sharing meals of Borscht and Plov, remembering those beautiful years.

My dream is to one day take my children to Saint Petersburgto show them our university, our hostel, and the streets where our lives truly began.

“Russia cannot be understood with the mind alone…” wrote Fyodor Tyutchev.

And perhaps he was right.

Because Russia is not something you understand.

It is something you feel. And that feeling will stay with me forever.

By Krishan Gallage (Krishanchik), Auckland