Some of my little friends from Far East, Russia

Marina was seven and Jula was five, like my daughter-to-be. I don’t know how old Jenya, Maksím, André, Dasha, Ksenya and Natasha were, but it would have been within the same range. I don’t remember the names of the others, though I have never been successful at driving their faces from my mind. About a dozen of them shared a dormitory room where two rows of children’s beds—with painted wooden headboards—waited for the child assigned to that space. Each bed was made…

Read the rest here, on Huffington Post