It is slightly annoying to realize that what I feel is nothing more than a chemical reaction in the brain. Memories exist only as a single original copy, and everything that follows is just copies of copies. But I think I have made peace with that.

My parents, quite literally, gave me the chance to see this world. And it is beautiful.

My childhood years were spent in a park in Orsha and in a radio studio. Perhaps that is why I like parks and podcasts.

At school, I was bullied for wearing glasses. I had to fight. And in the seventh grade, my father taught me to do push-ups on my fists. Once, when I was skipping school at a computer club, an older guy put out a cigarette on the knuckle of my hand. I did not even flinch. It was a sensation.

My civic position was shaped by two years at the lyceum on Vorovskogo Street. And by the smoking spot behind the cafeteria.

I failed to get into the advertising program in Minsk. But I do have an archaeology degree from Mogilev. It does not help me in advertising or media in any way.

At 20, I thought 40 would never come. Now I know how long “never” feels.

In my youth, I was haunted by a nightmare — or rather, by the feeling of a nightmare. I would wake up in the middle of the night and realize that I was an adult, but could not remember any bright or happy moments in my life. For a very long time, this pushed me forward from the inside.

Twenty years ago, I dreamed of not living in Mogilev and working in advertising. Dreams do come true.

There is probably a reason why they say on airplanes: “Put on your own mask first.” I am increasingly convinced that this rule works even when there is no catastrophic situation.

I once hit a hare while driving at 120 km/h on a night road. My hand did not even move.

I do not know where all these thoughts about death come from. They help me find the strength to keep living.

It is surprisingly difficult to live without regrets, judgment, and getting stuck in nostalgia. But I am trying.

Five years ago, I was quite content with life in a slow-moving province. I never imagined living in capitals. I ran away from Minsk three times, failing to find any meaning there. But Warsaw let me come very close. I adore it.

Poles are great. I often find myself admiring the people around me. It is always pleasant when people take me for one of their own.

My mother once shielded me from a stupid sheepdog whose owner was standing a hundred meters away and shouting, “She doesn’t bite.” Only recently have I become able to walk past dogs without burning up with fear. Warsaw dogs are extremely cute.

I am often focused on the positive. My expectations are always slightly lowered.

I have a real American uncle, Yura. He taught me the phrase “Don’t wag your ass.”

It took me a long time to understand the phrase “learn from other people’s mistakes.” While I was figuring it out, I made plenty of my own.

To make it hurt less, I call mistakes experience. And regretting experience somehow feels stupid. Experience is wealth.

In moments of confusion, I mentally find myself in a forest of distortions. And I remind myself: if it is a forest, then somewhere there must be a way out.

To help means to selflessly do something useful when it is needed. The main thing is to first make sure that it is needed.

I understand the concept, but I do not know how and do not like to swear. Everything can be discussed without emotions.

My optimism, which I sometimes share without being asked, is my support. It gives me the strength not to burn out from work and anxiety.

Just like 15 years ago, I am going through a year without alcohol. The difference is that now there is much less social pressure and much more good non-alcoholic beer.

I often feel freer and happier than the rich and powerful people of the planet. Possibly because I cannot talk to them about it.

In moments of sadness, I remind myself that I was born a white cisgender man. It gets easier.

When I feel piercingly lonely, which happens suddenly and for no apparent reason, I remember that I have a younger sister and call her.

Money as such, and the amount of it, started to interest me quite late. That is why I know the fear of dying of hunger under a bridge.

Fear is a very powerful mechanism: it is used too weakly where it is needed, and excessively where it harms people.

Recently, a girl in a hoodie with the numbers 2020 on it walked about 500 meters behind me. It brought back a lot of bright memories. I saw free people.

There is a phrase whose meaning I understand very well: freedom of speech.

I cannot imagine this world without music. How can one even live without listening to Bonobo, Akute, Depeche Mode?

One day in 2012, Maryna Zolatava called me, and from that moment everything started spinning.

I fought against my many-directional nature at work until I realized it was my feature.

If I ever get to visit Mogilev again in this life, I will be very happy. Until then, I am choosing where not to be sad: in Paris, Copenhagen, Porto, or Rome.

It is pleasant to feel that I am, if not at my peak, then clearly in the best shape I have ever been in. Swimming, walks, and sleep are doing their job.

My grandfather Piotr used to play Dančyk records for me. That was how I heard the Belarusian language for the first time.

It is hard for me to imagine love as a process without mutual respect and acceptance. I wish that for everyone.

Forty is very little, if you count in years and observations. I think I have only just begun to understand what story I am trying to tell.