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Walking through the picturesque places of my native St. Petersburg, I feel myself out of time. How is this possible? All thoughts about problems and responsibilities leave my head and I float along the course of my Neva in an unknown direction. At such moments, I forget about my friends, family, and even my own name dissolves in my mind, as if it does not matter. It seems to me that I know and feel this city better than any artist or architect. We are inseparable from each other and this place is my only motivation in life. This is my heaven on earth.
If you only knew how much we went through together. This city seemed to be alive, it always reassured me. How many tears were shed on Nevsky Prospekt! How much laughter was heard by the walls of the musical comedy theater on Italianskaya Street! These thoughts make my head spin and a big smile appears on my face.
After such long reflections and an even longer walk, I return home and as soon as I touch a warm bed, I immediately fall asleep. With thoughts of her ... About my small homeland, which occupies a considerable place in my heart.
This is how my weekends go, but not every one. As much as I would not like to finally become part of this city, a building or a cultural monument, but I am a person who has a large number of internal inconsolable sorrows, duties and anything else that distinguishes an adult person from a small child.
My name is Selenia, by the way. I am 22 years old and besides the fact that I am in love with the city in which I live, I have to earn money for myself to continue living here. My profession is not that unusual and is connected with art, as I would I wanted to, but nevertheless very important for our difficult times.
My mother taught me foreign languages since childhood, enrolled me in various courses and wanted me to follow in her footsteps. I am extremely grateful to her for this, and now, at my age, I work as a translator in a large company and can freely travel around the world without feeling a language barrier. It is insanely interesting to learn other languages and compare them with each other, visit different countries, delve into local traditions and customs, and understand that so far there is no such city on the entire globe that could compare with St. Petersburg in its depth and soulfulness.
It would seem, what a busy life I have! In fact, I just know how to present myself so that the mini-autobiography will interest people who ask what I am like and I really love to hear words of admiration and surprise, but everything is not as smooth as I'm talking about myself.
Of course, I did not lie about my profession, and even more so about my elated feelings towards Peter, but in fact, other than that, I have nothing. I have not felt truly happy for a long time, which makes ordinary girls of my age happy. If I work and admire the city where I have the honor to exist, then in the meantime my peers fall in love, get married or open their own beauty salons and get paid from them a fortune. What is happiness, really? I guess I haven't found it yet. I’m glad only on those very weekends that I don’t have often, when I can afford to penetrate St. Petersburg completely, to the marrow of my bones. It sounds sad, but this is a reality from which many try to escape. But it is faster, it catches up and covers a man with a head. For good.
You may be wondering why, at the age of 22, at one of the early stages of my conscious and adult life, I feel unhappy and give out insanely sad thoughts. It is enough for a person to get burned once in order to lose hope. It was an indescribable experience from which I had to make an appointment with a psychologist and go through a long course of rehabilitation.
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