Hi. My name is Anna, I’m 18. I live in a small town where everything is familiar down to every crack in the pavement. I’ve been that quiet girl who listened more than she spoke. I’ve always been more interested in watching people than being the center of attention. I love mornings when the house is still asleep and I’m already sitting with a cup of tea just looking out the window. In those moments it feels like the world hasn’t become too loud yet. I study, I read a lot (especially prose and a little poetry), sometimes I draw in a notebook — badly and only for myself. It’s important for me to feel real. Not “perfect,” just myself — with a little awkwardness, with the wish to sometimes hide behind my hair, and with a sincere smile when someone says something kind. If you’re here, it means you’re interested in exactly this version of me. And that makes me happy. I don’t promise to be the brightest or the most cheerful. I promise to be honest.

I often think about how strangely relationships between people are arranged. We so quickly say “friend” or “close person,” and then it turns out there’s almost no real warmth. I’ve always found surface-level communication difficult. I can smile and keep a conversation going, but inside I stay a little distant. Real closeness for me is when you can be quiet next to a person and not feel the pressure to “entertain.” When you can say “I’m having a hard time right now” and they don’t try to fix you, they just listen. I value the rarity of such people. There are few of them, and I carefully protect those who have appeared in my life. Sometimes it seems to me that many people are afraid of real closeness because it requires honesty. And honesty is a risk. I’m afraid too. But I still keep looking for those with whom I can be real.

My dream is quite simple and at the same time very important to me. I want to one day live in a small apartment or even a house where there will be a lot of light and quiet. So that in the morning you can open the window and hear only birds or the rustle of leaves. I dream of earning money doing something I truly enjoy, and at the same time having the chance to travel not for the sake of a checklist, but to feel new places. Not necessarily far away — sometimes even a neighboring city can become a small adventure if you look at it carefully. I also really want to learn not to be afraid of being vulnerable. I dream of people nearby with whom you can be silent and it will still feel comfortable. And of one day looking back and realizing: I’m living exactly the way I wanted, not the way I “should.” I’m still only at the beginning of the path. But even small steps toward this quiet, real life already make me happier. And you? What do you truly dream about when no one is listening?

My hobbies are quiet things that fill me from the inside. I really love walking alone, especially in the evening when it’s already getting dark but not completely. You put on headphones, turn on something calm, and just walk. Sometimes I photograph things that only seem beautiful to me: the shadow of leaves, an old streetlamp, a cup of coffee on the windowsill. I also love cooking simple food. Not restaurant masterpieces, but homemade things — porridge with berries, soup that smells like home, or just a perfectly toasted piece of bread. When something turns out tasty, I feel a small pride. Sometimes I write short texts in my phone notes. Not posts, just thoughts I don’t want to lose. And I collect playlists. I have a lot of them — for rain, for morning, for “when you just need to sit and do nothing.” Hobbies for me are a way to stay myself when there’s too much noise around. If something of this feels close to you — tell me. I’m always interested in how other people live in silence.

Sometimes at night, when it’s completely quiet, I ask myself: why all of this? Not in a heavy way, just… why. And every time I come to the same answer: the meaning is probably not in big achievements, but in the small moments that you truly lived. In a cup of warm tea in the morning. In a conversation after which your soul felt lighter. In the fact that you managed to be kind even when it was hard. In the fact that you didn’t betray yourself. I’m still very young and I don’t have ready-made answers. But it seems to me that the meaning of life is learning to be alive. To feel. Not to hide too much. And to leave behind a little more warmth than there was before you. Even if you just wrote someone kind words or helped a person feel that they’re not alone — that’s already something real. I’m still learning. And if you sometimes also want to talk about such things without pathos and ready-made formulas — I’m here. You can just share what you’re thinking. I’ll listen.