I used to think that freedom was a choice. But after I started making forced decisions for political, emotional and moral reasons, I stopped feeling free.

In these verses, I reflect on how a person reveals his freedom to the world, what he does with it. I wanted to create a kind of polyptych that would, on the one hand, tell the story of observations and experiences of the lyrical "I", on the other, show the limitations of human existence. Is it freedom to choose delusions for the sake of complacency? Is it freedom to dream of a lost homeland? Forcing yourself to live is freedom? Is silence for the sake of security freedom? Is killing freedom? Here is an approximate series of questions that occupies my head.

I always struggle with autobiography. Probably, if I wanted to captivate the reader, I would use storytelling. After all, it’s fashionable and interesting. But to pass off your life now as an intricate story with unexpected plot twists seems to me something artificial. I guess I don’t really like to talk about myself.

I can only confine myself to dry facts. I am 24 years old and married. I came to Bishkek more than six months ago from Siberia. I am a philologist by education, I studied at Tomsk State University. The topic of my thesis was "The image of the city in the poetry of B. Ryzhy". This research is dear to me.

Before coming here, I had never lived outside of Russia, and I really miss home. But it seems that the house that I loved so selflessly is no more. The feeling that I saw something that cannot be seen. I do not know what will happen next.