Borsch - the most important of possessions

For most, it’s just an odd-looking beetroot soup. For me, it’s much more than that.

Kiev - the old town perched high on its steep hills, clasped by the river. In summer, its narrow streets are drenched in lilac and chestnut blossom, generous under the sun. In winter, snow falls in heavy flakes, turning the city shiny, grim, and mysterious in the dark.

Kiev is grandma’s borsch. Flushed pink and pungent, impossible to forget, impossible not to return to.

At twenty-three, I crossed Australian border security with two hundred dollars, a suitcase, a new husband, and a baby bump. Who needs more to start a life? What I didn’t know was that beetroot soup came too, undeclared. It was the most important of all possessions.

Decades later, it still is. Because the most important possession is who you are.