Anton, here next

Restaurateur Varvara Turova - about Anton Buslov

Once upon a time there lived a young man. By the name of Anton Buslov. Graduated from the Higher School of Physics. Worked in the specialty. Then he was fired - because he began to protest against the clericalization of MEPhI. He was a columnist for The New Times magazine. He sought the abolition of absurd bans (like a ban on photography in the subway). He lived terribly indifferently. Well, in general, read, look, there is a lot of information. Then he got cancer. It's called Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He asked to help raise money for treatment, more than 30 thousand people took part in the collection and the required amount was collected in a week. It seems to be the fastest fundraiser in our country. Then, after some time, he asked again, and they collected it again. Then the disease receded, and everyone celebrated. Then she returned again. Then Anton wrote on his blog: “With a probability of 99 percent next week I will be in the cold twilight of the morgue. And a week later in a bright hot flame in the crematorium. Thank you for the support you have given me. Without her, it would have been much more difficult for me. Thanks again! With such friends, you can think about the future.”

Anton died two days later.

His life, his way of being, meant a lot to a lot of people. The number of words “Until the last I hoped that I would get out” and “It’s a pity that the disease won” in the last two days are the most frequently repeated words in my feed, for example. “How he struggled…,” one of my acquaintances wrote about him. I want to write this text, although I did not know Anton, and until recently I did not suspect of his existence. I want to try to pay tribute, I want to salute, raise the flag, turn on the march, waltz and carcasses, and shoot into the sky with all the cannons - in honor of the winner.

I want to someday learn that strength and dignity, that joy and gratitude, that kind of gratitude and that stamina that makes a dying person write, “With such friends, you can think about the future.”
I really want to finally fit in my mind the fact that life, in fact, is not the main thing. I'm trying my best, honestly, brothers.

I want us to celebrate the brilliant life of Anton Buslov, and not mourn his stupid death. Which, you might think, has some meaning.

I am sad, many are sad, and his loved ones are probably heartbroken now. I would very much not want them to perceive this text as disrespect for their loss, for their loss. Vice versa.

I think that the phrase "The disease has won" means something completely different. I think it means anger, frustration, fear, aggression. I think it means resentment. Why am I, why am I, why am I, why am I sick, why am I ill, why not someone else. This means "the disease has won."

I think Anton won everything that can be won, won everything that can be won. I got everything you can dream of and for which you can try and fight for. A bright life, love, a devoted wife, an ardent caring heart, concrete results of one's own efforts, and grace, and fortitude, yes.

I'm not thinking about how Anton fought. I think about how he lived. I think about what an amazing example, another example of this very grace and resilience, I now have right in front of my nose.

4 days ago I sent a friend request to Anton on Facebook. He didn't answer. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe I didn't see it. Maybe it wasn't before. Maybe he just didn't make it. Anton, you are here, we will become friends, I really hope so.

Bravo and thanks.

See you.