Only by allowing yourself to be imperfect will you finally start moving.
Don’t be afraid to look stupid, ridiculous, or weak.
Be afraid of staying stuck in the same place.
Playing with Shadows – Projecting Light – Gerardo Medina
The song must be on repeat while you read.
Do not read this without it, guys.

I look at Alpha.
Come on, man. You can do this.
Alpha holds my hand.
I’m scared.

I try not to cry.
My dear, I’m here.
You’re not alone.
Come on, man.
We’ll handle this.

Guys, I’m writing off the top.
I don’t have the energy to go through this twice.
Besides, I’m still not fully recovered.

Haters.
I’m not talking about the ones who say nasty things.
I’m talking about bastards.
About the people who humiliated us.
Hurt us.
Deeply offended us.
Who hurt us so badly it stayed in the heart forever.
It might not have been intentional.
A boy was dancing.
He dressed up for New Year’s.
He wanted to show off.
He came out smiling, showing himself to everyone.
Like — look how handsome I am.
His father
closed his eyes.
His brother immediately started laughing.
The boy was wounded.
He’s ridiculous.
He’s stupid.
Is he gay?
What an idiot. The brother laughs like a moron.
He’s as stupid as his father.
But there’s no one next to the boy.
No one says:
Hey, boy, you did great.
Cool costume.
No.
The mother starts pulling him and his brother apart.
Enough already, always fighting.
She’s tired after work.
The father’s at the TV.
He doesn’t care at all.
Just survive until they grow up and can support themselves. That’s it.
He doesn’t need much.
Just let him watch TV.
The boy is crying in his room.
The mother, tired, but she comes in.
Sweetheart, don’t be upset.
They’ll pity the boy.
But he will forever put away that costume.
That shameful, ridiculous, pathetic part of his personality.
Men will laugh at him.
He’s ridiculous.
He’s an idiot.
He’s such a moron for liking to dress up.
That’s all woman crap.
He says he doesn’t care.
He says it doesn’t matter.
But the poor boy cries.
It’s not true.
He loves dressing up.
He loves making everyone laugh.
Dressing up and fooling around.
But who cares about that?
He has to grow up into a man like his father.

In 2022
Roman and I had to urgently return from Turkey.
The flight was at 4:15 a.m.
Roman was one and a half years old.
He’s asleep.
I’m packing and crying.
I’m completely alone.
I don’t know anyone here.
I’m terribly scared.
With my appearance, everyone easily assumes I’m one of them.
A Muslim country dictates its own rules.
The only thing that gives me the right to speak
is my Russian passport.
The suitcase is heavy.
I’m trying somehow to calm myself down.
I wake my son.
Sweetheart.
Kitten.
My dear.
We have to go.
Roman doesn’t understand anything.
Outside the window — drunken noise.
I go downstairs to the taxi.
It’s dark outside.
I try not to tremble.
Roman weighs more than the suitcase.
There are three guys in the car.
Why three?!
Shouldn’t there be just one?
I’m terribly scared.
I look over the car.
It’s completely tinted.
Even the front windows.
You can’t see anything.
Damn, why tint it that completely?
Why?
I’m trying not to faint.
Tears are pouring down.
God, is there really no one to protect me?
There’s no choice.
I try to watch the car. The road. Where we’re going.
Which way.
I try to memorize everything.
Roman is on the seat.
He’s sleeping.
I pray
that they take us where they promised.
The men speak Turkish.
From stress and fear
I can’t think.
It’s 4:15 a.m.
I can’t protect myself.
Not my son.
Not myself.
This foreign country.
I don’t know what to do.
In the end they took us there
and helped us unload.
Everything ended well.
But if it hadn’t —
Everyone would say:
It’s her own fault.
What kind of stupid woman gets into a tinted van alone, with three men?
These women are so stupid.
How can someone be that dumb?
On the plane
I made sure Roman was asleep
and went to the bathroom.
I fell to the floor and cried until there were no tears left.
My hands are shaking.
My legs won’t hold me.
I’m completely alone.
I have to smile.
Come on, Nazokat.
Roman is there.
He needs a mother who solves everything.
Who knows what to do.
You’re not a child.
Come on, my dear.
You can do this.
You have to.
You have to. Pull yourself together.

Office.
Friend.
Alpha is breathing heavily.
Friend.
He’s almost crying.
I have no strength.
I’m crying myself.
Come on, Alpha, you can do this.
He shouts: I’m scared.
I’m scared.
I know.
I know.
I know.
My dear.
I
know.
What if I can’t handle it?
What if I ruin everything?
I’ll screw it up.
Nothing will work out.
Alpha starts to panic.
I slap him across the face.
I want to hug him, to comfort him.
But he’s a man.
I can’t let him melt.
My heart hurts for Alpha.
But I can’t do anything.
The world is built this way.
Men have to shut the water off immediately
and take their stance.
Alpha switches on.
I wipe my tears.
My brain runs analysis.
He’s scared.
He’s in pain.
His legs are shaking.
It’s hard for him.
He needs you.
I shout back:
Leave me alone!
What can I do!
I can’t do anything!
I pull myself together.
Come on, Nazokat.
The guys are counting on you.
We can’t let them down.
I look at Alpha.
Ready?
Ready.

Key.
Guys.
I don’t care whether you believe in this or not.
I absolutely don’t care.
Every time it’s scary.
When it hurts.
When you’re alone.
When it aches.
When you desperately need support.
Guys.
You need to close your eyes.
Tightly.
Very tightly.
Lock yourself somewhere first before that.
The space has to be small.
So no one hears.
And we cry, guys.
We don’t freak out, guys.
We cry.
We cry like a boy cries.
Like a man cries.
Like a human cries.
Weak.
Idiot.
Moron.
Let it be
But until you pull the splinter out, it will keep aching.
Let the tears pour.
Let them cleanse.
Key.
Guys, the more splinters come out,
the more pain comes out,
the stronger Alpha becomes.
He gains unprecedented power.
No one will call him weak.
Key.
Guys, you can’t postpone this.
Run the moment it bursts.
Clean water will quickly pull you out from under the ice.
You can’t hold it back.
Everything else can wait.
Let those bastards wait.
We need to recover.
We need to put ourselves back together, guys.
Those assholes around us think only about themselves.
They’ll survive.
Let them wait.

Guys.
Key.
Those who laughed back then.
Those who drove the splinter in.
They are no longer here.
And if we’re completely honest — if they saw what Alpha has achieved,
what he has become,
they would still find something to humiliate him for.
Something to mock.
They.
Those animals.
They can’t handle the fact
that they failed to choke him when he was a child.
They tried so hard.
This is unconscious, if we’re talking about parents.
Not about relatives, guys.
About parents.
A rare lion is happy about the birth of his cub, guys.
It’s terrifying, but his own son is a future threat to his strength.
Uncles. Aunts.
Grandmothers.
Grandfathers.
All of that is the next blood.
That is not parents.
Don’t confuse it, guys.
That cannot be confused.

Key.
Bad parents — excluding real sick bastards —
they didn’t know, guys.
I’m not justifying them.
Because there’s no room for justification here.
There is only the past that already happened.
Guys.
They were surviving.
Children don’t care.
Dance with me.
Buy me this.
I want.
I.
I.
I.
They don’t think they need to eat.
Or that they need to pay the bills.
Children don’t think about that.
They live in a different world.
Ideally,
in a beautiful and blessed future,
we’ll see people have children when they’ve found themselves, when they know themselves.
But it’s hard, guys.
Very hard.
No one understands anything about adult life.
But somehow you have to manage.
Before you even notice, your wife is pregnant.
Then the second one.
You have to somehow figure it out.
There are no options.
And that “somehow” — for everyone it just goes however it turns out.
Even if you read books,
you can’t prepare for this.
How the hell do you find a manual for life?
Where is it written how to be a parent?
How to stand on your feet?
How to be a good spouse?
How to carry love through the years?
How, guys?
So parents were also somehow managing.
As best they could.
But they managed.
Deep breath.
Guys, usually the problem isn’t directly childhood.
It’s when we’re already adults.
I mean, okay, back then — but now we’ve grown up.
And the disrespect is still there.
The same jokes.
No one really takes you seriously.
But we’ve grown up, and we really don’t like that kind of treatment.
We’re sick of it.
That’s what I mean, guys — we’re not even angry about childhood anymore.
We’re angry that they never understood.
Nothing.
Guys.
They’re all
the same.
The same television.
The same channel.
The dullness is obvious.
The degradation is obvious, guys.
That’s the key.
Do you know who wins all the awards?
Who rushes forward like crazy?
Who will rip their own skin off?
Do you know people like that?
They split into two types.
One group does it because of inhuman pressure.
They want to repay their parents.
They want to prove they justified their expectations.
The second type — those who prove themselves to the world.
Endlessly. In circles.
They need facts.
They need weight.
They have to achieve more.
Always stay on guard.
They must.
Must.
Must.
Must.
But both types are damn exhausted.
If only someone would cover them.
Someone who would say:
Breathe.
I’ll stand in for you.

Key.
Guys.
Those who laughed in childhood.
Or now.
Or ever.
They will lose power not when we prove something to them.
Not when we show them — see, I’m not worthless.
See where I am.
I’m at the top.
That won’t help.
It’s not about those bastards, guys.
It’s about the chains.
My dear.
I gently take Alpha by the chin.
I turn his head toward the door.
Behind the door —
Alpha’s whole family.
His children.
Damn, even the dog came.
And of course —
me.
I ask Alpha to look down.
Down there — those bastards.
Even from the height of his office you can clearly see their quarrelsome, dissatisfied faces.
My dear.
I turn him back to me again.
Darling.
We shouldn’t waste time on them
when we have our own family.
A real one.
Alpha, my dear.
Throw those bastards out and never go back to them.
They’re not our people.
These are ours, my friend.
These — right here.




Guys, 19 texts have been destroyed.
They won’t let me lead you any further.
This is the final therapy.
I have no way out, guys.
There’s just no way out.