She turns a critical eye on the massive statue of Lenin looming above her. The memorial once seemed as immutable as the old regime. Now, spattered with red paint, it looks a little silly and forlorn. "If I had some dynamite," says Yulia, "I'd blow it into little pieces."
But despite everything—the shortages, the delays, the abuse—Yulia won't even consider leaving their home in Bulgaria. 'Until recently, life here was quite decent," she says. "The easiest thing would De for us to grab our belongings and go. But as long as we stay and continue to cause problems, those in power will not be at ease. I don't know if any of them really care about me. Still, it's home, and we belong here. That's a great feeling—to know that you belong."