I resolutely believe that many of our favourite fairytales were created because, when the protagonist’s mom yelled at him, “No matter what happens, play next to the house! Don’t leave the neighborhood,” the protagonist, young, ambitious and strong-willed, didn’t listen.

Fortunately, my mom didn’t tell me that (maybe that’s why my life isn’t a fairytale?), but if my mom would have ever mentioned mention the “neighborhood” idea, I would probably be perplexed.

To me, the concept of a “neighborhood” feels foreign. It’s ironic, really, how in a country as vast as Russia I do not instinctively label my home as part of something. In order to love something you need to know where it is, you need to be specific. But I don’t love a certain neighborhood. When I say home, I don’t mean my room. I don’t mean a collection of streets that surround my bed. I do not mean a certain district.

Home. Such a simple word. But it means so much to me. When I say home, these are the images that flutter into my head, warm up my heart-

Free flowing Neva, reflecting the busy energy of the streets in its dark waters. Nevsky Prospect, the main artery of the city, bustling with cars and wind and people. Constant movement of water and clouds. Drizzling rain. Shining sun. My ballet school, through the windows of which you can see Church on Spilled Blood. Rich history in every corner. Here, in my neighborhood, in my home, you never know who else has walked the path you walk here. Summer garden blooming. Thick snow covering your footprints as you make your way to metro. Oh, metro. Its comforting, warm yellow lights deserve a special mention. This underground network has a special place in my heart, connecting every corner of the city I call home.

Welcome to Saint Petersburg.

I’ve lived here my whole life, and no matter where life takes me next, I will always come back. As I was growing up, the city has witnessed my ups and downs, it stayed with me as I was sad, and laughed with me when I was happy. Often, it made me happy.

It is every child’s dream to discover an attic full of treasures in her grandmother’s house. Hermitage was my treasure. A chest of unexplored gems, each one uncovering a new layer of Russian history.

It is every girl’s dream to become kind-hearted princess. I felt like a true, rightful princess in the Mariinsky theatre, birthplace of Russian ballet. The spacious hall was my castle, the grand, shining chandelier my crown. Each performance, sitting in the belIe-etage, I saw myself on that stage, floating among the prima-ballerinas, lighting up the hearts of my audience- my kingdom.

The challenging history forced St. Petersburg to develop dedication, determination and grit. Despite its hardships, St. Petersburg’s atmosphere of magic has, and will, remain. The spell Saint Petersburg has cast onto me will not be broken.

My city has influenced my ways of thinking. It has taught me that harmony is always possible, even between future and past- modern and ancient. It has stood and will persistently stand, with grit and determination, and taught me to stand my grounds as well. It has taught me that I will always be welcomed and loved here, and I hope that the spirit of Saint Petersburg knows that I will always be back, and I will always love it back. 

 I am from the dark, free-flowing Neva, stars and city lights reflecting in it like gold. I am from the main artery of St. Petersburg, the crowded, busy prospekt.

I am from St. Petersburg.

But not only.

I am from my grandmother’s greenhouse, the smell of glistening dirt, tomatoes and sun sweet and comforting.

I am from my brother’s Lego obsession, and my own passion for modern dance. For books and ballet.  I am from my mother’s forgetfulness and my father’s punctuality.

I am from my summer village, fresh blue air and cold well water. From pine trees and quiet lakes. I am from a song of a bird. From a bird’s song, heard across all Saint Petersburg, sung in this forest on a shore of a lake