Letter to Mom

Victoria City Live: A Heart Left in the Mountains. A Letter to My Mother

There are things in the world of big business and ambitious projects that we don't usually talk about out loud. We are used to wearing masks—of being strong, independent, and unshakable. But behind every facade of success, behind every line of code in Victoria City Live, stands a living person with an unhealing wound. And my wound is eleven years of separation. Eleven years of living far from the one who gave me her last, even when the world around us was crumbling.

I was never a "mama’s boy." Life in the nineties quickly taught me to be tough, to take responsibility, and to stand my ground. But as I’ve grown older, once the euphoria of moving and new horizons faded, I felt it in my skin: I am running out of air. And that air isn’t in the climate of a different country—it’s in the quiet sound of my mother’s voice. A father is the backbone, the support, but a Mother… a Mother is more than just a word. She is the one sacred thing a man has left when everything else loses its meaning.

My journey began with an escape. I left for a place where I felt I wasn't being treated like a human being, hoping to find peace and that "tranquility" they write about in books. For the first few years, I lived in euphoria—new places, different opportunities. But after five years, something inside me broke. I began to realize: I am constantly comparing. I am always comparing this foreign nature to my native forests, the rivers, and the majestic mountains that I see in my dreams at night. There is forest here, too, there is nature… but it is "not the same." It doesn’t smell like childhood. It doesn’t keep me warm.

Yes, I have found a home here. I have a beloved wife, my true partner; we do everything together, and she is my salvation. But even in my happiest moments, a thought catches me: how is she doing there? How are her hands? Do her legs ache?

Eleven years is an eternity if you measure it by scheduled phone calls. The most painful part is realizing that she needs your help here and now. Not money in an account, but your physical presence. Just to fix that faucet, to move a heavy cabinet, or simply to sit nearby and talk. I visit once a year, and those days are like a gulp of oxygen before a long dive underwater. I see how much she misses me. I feel it through the phone screen, through every "take care of yourself." She wants me to be near. And I want the same.

Mother is the one who, in those harsh nineties when there wasn't even basic candy on the table, would quietly give her only cookie or sweet to us. Not because she didn't want it herself—God, how she wanted it!—but because her love was stronger than her hunger. She wanted us, her children, not to feel that poverty; she wanted us to feel loved. And I remember that. I remember every such gesture, every sleepless night by my bed. Any other person might have given up, but not her.

Now, I have a choice. And I know I will do everything to bring her here to live with me. I want her to stop waiting for that short vacation once a year. I want her to be a part of my life every single day.

This article is my confession. If she ever reads this without me, I want her to know: Mom, I love you so much. I miss you so much that it is sometimes a physical pain. Every time I fly away, I leave a part of myself on that platform. To me, you are everything. You are the reason I haven't become arrogant despite the success of Victoria City Live. Because I remember where I came from and whose hands blessed me on this path.

The creator of Victoria City Live is not a cold businessman. He is a son who still remembers the taste of that cookie his mother gave him. And I want to thank everyone who has read this to the end. In this world, there is nothing more important than humanity and love for our parents.

Mom, just wait a little longer. I am coming for you. We will be together. Because without you, no city—not even the most perfect one—can be called a home. You are my heart. And I am coming home to you.