Hairdresser and writer Siarhei Kalienda: "There are people who say: 'After such a book, I wouldn't go to you for a haircut there'"
Writer and hairdresser Siarhei Kalienda, in an interview with "Salidarnasts", spoke about emigration, the syndrome of postponed life, and his favorite activities.

— Siarhei, how do you introduce yourself to someone who doesn't know you: as a writer or a hairdresser?
— In different ways. Some people come to me for hairdressing services, some know me as a writer. There are interactions where people can both discuss books with me and get a haircut. I once liked it when "Radio Svaboda", I think, wrote the phrase "stylist-writer". I thought it suited well — my two main passions in life.
— Your Instagram indicates that you studied hairdressing in London, Venice, Prague, and Riga, and as a writer — in Germany, Sweden, Latvia, Lithuania, and the Czech Republic.
— Yes, these are some of my main scholarship programs.
— Can one learn to write books? Or is it a talent a person is born with?
— A difficult question. It's as eternal in literature as life itself. There are great books written by writers who intentionally studied literary writing. And there are self-taught writers who write wonderfully and have a feel for language.
I've just started a literary program — and it seems to me that I know nothing again, can't do anything. Life shows that it's not enough to have a desire to write; a great deal of work must stand behind it.
— After your book "Cuts and Writes", based on real-life stories, was published, did your clients in the hair salon stop trusting you with their secrets, telling you personal things about themselves?
— No, mostly jokes appeared among clients like: "Listen, I read that story, you wouldn't do that, would you?" I say: "No, that's literature." So, on the contrary, there are clients who might deliberately collect stories to tell.
The book itself also consists not only of my personal experience but also of stories from other master hairdressers, from tales people heard. It's like a radio that broadcasts something on its different frequencies, and you just tune them, find something for yourself, and jot it down.
When I moved to Vilnius, the environment changed, other stories emerged. But every time you move to another country, you still find the environment you need. And it often doesn't differ from the previous one.
There are those people who expressed: "After such a book, I wouldn't go to you for a haircut there." I say: "Well, that's fine, it means we don't suit each other." I published the book not to mock something. I honestly collected what can genuinely happen in this life, in this profession.
— Do the prices for services differ in Minsk and Vilnius hair salons?
— It's the same all over the world. There are segments of expensive salons, middle class, and cheap ones. You can get a haircut for five dollars anywhere in a basement, or for 50 euros in a hotel spa center.
Somewhere, for example, there will be 10% expensive VIP salons, while in another large city, such salons will make up 50% of the total. It all depends on the number of clients who can afford such services.
In this profession, the master himself chooses where to move. Someone with golden hands might remain at the five-euro-per-haircut level. And he will suffer — firstly from clients, because there will be many of them, and secondly — as practice shows, the cheaper the haircut, the more dissatisfied clients you will have.
But the most important thing I've noticed is that there are client segments that can be structured by corresponding behavior, cultural communication, jobs, views, subcultures, and so on. And for each of them, there will be a suitable master. For example, one who will work only with people who need comfort in life.
They come not only for a haircut and shampoo but also for a head massage during washing or some additional service. But it's all slow, calm.
There's, for example, a "business client", with whom you need to be very careful, delicate, and fast; you especially don't chat with such clients.
Most of all, I love clients who are called "trendsetters" (trendsetter — a person, brand, or community that first introduces, popularizes, and forms new trends in fashion, technology, lifestyle, or culture, — S.). With them, you can invent something new. 70-80% of a hairdresser's work is what they do every day.
With a trendsetter, you start to remember that you also have a place at work for art, for an explosion of something new, interesting. And with them, you discover new boundaries in this boundless creativity.
There are clients I call "bio-clients". For them, the most important thing is the chemical composition of dyes, styling products, shampoos. These are people who strive to eliminate as much bad as possible from their lives, starting with what they consume.
— Let's return to your second life's calling — literature. Your son Thomas became the main character of a children's book you wrote. Please tell us how this happened. And what did your son feel when books about him were published?
— I entered a "children's" period in my life, like all parents. Every day I read children's books. In my son's first year of life, I accumulated several dozens of books — Andersen, the Grimm brothers… Of course, I filtered it, because the Grimm brothers' collection was uncensored in its first editions, and naturally, not everything can be read to a child. When I started to discover the world of children's books more closely, I realized that it strongly draws me in and impresses me. We read every evening. At nine in the evening it starts — and that's it, it takes off.
I read my son an adapted book — "Don Quixote". When I was at university, he was a knight of the sorrowful figure to me. But now I look at him differently and understand how much he, though clumsy, reflects human life. These attempts to fight and be a knight where you are not believed and are considered crazy.
…Thomas and I invented several fairy tales. One evening my son told me: "You and I made up a new fairy tale, let's write it down."
I say: "Well, okay, we can make a book of fairy tales." He looks at me and says: "But it needs to sell well." And I realized how different our generations are. My generation grew up romantics: to write a book — to express your emotions, thoughts. But here the approach is simple and pragmatic: we will write so that it sells.

The first story in the book "Boy Tomchik" appeared after a vacation in Egypt when Thomas cried constantly. We made up a story in which everything in the world cried: the sea, the desert, the waiters. Thomas says: "And the suitcases cried." — "Yes, and the suitcases cried." At that age, it's enough to observe a child to create children's books.

Thomas grew up — the second book appeared, with more adult stories. Now he's six, and my final third book, "Boy Tom", is already ready. The start of school is a boundary when a child becomes uncomfortable talking about books published about him.

My son showed the first book to everyone in kindergarten, carried it with him, told stories. When the second book came out, I was invited to talk about my profession, and I came to my son's school without warning that I would bring the book. I walk in, he looks at me: "Oh-oh… Oh no…"
And that's it, I already understand that I won't be able to present the third book about Thomas in his class. The period when it was fun and interesting is ending. That is, he will be happy when the book comes out, but he won't want to show it to anyone.
— Did your son ask how the book was selling?
— Several times during all this time Thomas asked: "How is it selling?" I say: "Fine." — "And how much?"
I understand that when he grows up, he might say: "Yes, Dad, where are my percentages?" I'll tell him I've made him an heir.

— Siarhei, tell us the story of your departure from Belarus to Vilnius. When did you realize that you could no longer or did not want to stay?
— From 2018, it turned out that my wife and I traveled a lot and thought about where we would like to live.
The year 2020 pushed us to start acting more in this direction. When the protests began, we wanted to stay — to participate, to observe what was happening, not to leave. But then, you know, you look at your children, at your family, and you realize that you want a different life. A calmer one.
February 24th pushed us to leave. We didn't leave with the thought that we were leaving Belarus forever. We decided to go and see. We met friends we hadn't seen in a long time.
Now our eldest son is in the seventh grade of Skaryna Gymnasium. He has his own circle, a football team, friends. Thomas is finishing zero grade there. Our life here is taking root deeper and deeper. And I see myself here too.

I remember myself as a teenager in the mid-90s — there was no opportunity for travel, or anything. We were a poor family, my father worked at a factory.
When I was 12 years old, through the Protestant church my parents attended, and where I attended Sunday school, I was sent to Scotland for a whole month in the summer. When I returned, my worldview changed significantly. I realized that Minsk and Belarus were not enough for me.
At that time, I studied in a school with advanced English language learning and dreamed of getting to London. Such an opportunity arose a few years later when, after participating in a hairdressing competition, I was invited to London to work for the Toni&Guy franchise. After that, I traveled a lot, lived in different countries.
For me, freedom and the opportunity to be where I want is very important. I cannot stay in a country that is under sanctions and behind an iron curtain.
Therefore, I am very happy that I can now open a website, buy a ticket to the Netherlands and fly. This is a very important feeling of life and fullness of life. I will never wish for my children to end up in a country where they will not be able to do anything. They will wake up in the morning, go to school, sing the anthem, receive ideology lessons. No dictatorial country accepts it when people think a lot and are too smart.
— How has emigration affected you generally? Did you experience the "syndrome of postponed life", where you don't buy things because you think you'll soon return home?
— I've been critical of that for a long time. It's idiocy. If the curds or condensed milk aren't right — it all goes to hell. There are other things here that are much tastier and more interesting. And you can miss your homeland in different ways. You can wait to return, or you can live your only life. And in this regard, I look at emigration much more simply, more optimistically. Perhaps because I've lived in many places.
What I miss is visiting my mother's grave. I lost the piece of land in my homeland where I wanted to build a dacha. But at the same time, I understand that if I constantly cling to these thoughts, I won't live. My life will indeed be postponed. And I cannot do that, because I have a family, a dog. And what should I postpone? I would rather look for and develop life here.

When we first arrived — it's a common misunderstanding of circumstances for everyone, where everything is located. But with time, you learn something new every day. You enter a new street, discover it for yourself.
The same can be done in Minsk. You might think, as if each of us who left our city in Belarus knows it like the back of our hand. No. Your hometown, where you were born, is as unfamiliar to you as Vilnius is unfamiliar. Because you cannot fully know any city, any space. And you must live the life that is here and now.
Most of all, I want to know what's happening in my family, not Trump's biography and life. There's so much noise in the space that prevents you from listening to your own thoughts and desires. Saving money or plans for the future is a wasted life.
Raman Tsymberaŭ, a young publisher, recently passed away suddenly. Nothing foretold it. We saw him a few weeks ago…
So living by postponing life is very unwise.
— You recently wrote a heartfelt, desperate post on Facebook, where you said you had a great disappointment with literature because you went through hate, felt no support, and therefore had no desire to pursue the craft you were passionate about. And now you are looking for a proofreader for your new book. What gives you the strength and inspiration to continue? And who believed in your talent and continues to believe?
— I wrote that before New Year's, to close what was bothering me. Sometimes I practice that — talking to someone, not just myself. I received very strong support. The PEN Center supports me. Writers and publishers wrote to me personally. I received several letters from readers in America and Canada. "You're completely crazy, we like everything, keep writing" — that was the message. And I felt the strength in myself to continue.
— When do you find time for literature? Work, family, life in emigration — it all requires a lot of effort.
— Until I had a family, I worked like this: I wrote five pages every day. Then I forgot about them. After a month or two, I'd find the text, edit it. I had a structured work routine — a book came out every year, or there were many publications in various magazines. But when a family appeared, there was less time for creativity, and I started to find it in gaps where I had an hour or two a day to write something or read. The ideal time is seven-eight in the morning until noon.
— Siarhei, what makes you happy?
— Simple things. I recently went to Berlin with Thomas. I was happy when I bought a bottle of cold beer. That is, I can't say that I rejoice at sunsets. I rejoice when something cool happens during the day. A client might make me happy, who comes and tells me what happened to him over the month we haven't seen each other. I can then rejoice in that story for a week. That's how it happens.
You can order Siarhei Kalienda's books here:
Some books can be listened to:
"Journey to the Edge of the Bed"
"Baltic Socks" can be listened to in the "Knižny Voz" (Book Cart) app, here is a link to the pdf.
Books and the magazine can be ordered via Patreon.
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