This domino set belonged to my grandfather. He taught me how to play when I was fairly young, and the stakes were pretty high—a Milky Way bar. Only later did I realise my grandfather had as much of a soft spot for gambling as I did for sugar at age 7. Everything we did together was structured around a win-or-lose game where he had a hard time losing. I don’t know if he was ever a betting man, or if he ever truly embraced the sentiment. Although we spent a lot of time together, only recently did I start to realise how very little I know about the man whose eyes I find every time I look to the top right corner of my mirror where his picture is pinned, and then again when I look into my own.
I know he flew a cargo plane, and I know he flew groups of scientists all around the Tundra desert. I know all the stories I heard before bed when I was little. I know my classics that are still heard today. The staple tale: and I saw him across the dance floor, and I thought “Oh what a catch he is, he would never ask a silly little grey mouse like myself for a dance” and then obviously he does, and then obviously, it was the most romantic evening of my life and you got to find yourself a nice young pilot like I found in your grandfather. And then the standard set of questions follows. When? Who? Why not now? When are you getting pregnant? Tik-tok-tik-tok…
At one time I’d get irritated by the questions and snap back, but I’ve been hit with the Born-to-Breed anxiety myself. It only happened recently. Berlin’s meteorological conditions shifted to sub-zero and I fetched out my dog’s neon-orange fleece jacket. Pulling it over her little head and wrapping it around her waist reminded me of what I was not: a mother. I felt grief. I grieved for my unborn children, as if something was being taken away from them because I, right now, in present, failed to meet criteria at a job application. My smooth baby-brain was not attuned enough to the current job market and that, according to the Born-to-Breed anxiety, is my fault. I might as well turn homicidal, I ought to be incarcerated.
I still consider Milky Way the top-notch candy at the counter.
Lisa Lagova is a graphic designer and writer. She co-runs BarGum in Antwerp alongside Damien Troadec and Lou Vandam. She is currently based in Berlin.
This document is part of a series guest edited by Manon Lutanie.
