The advanced course turned out to be even more interesting and intense than the previous one. This time, we had to set specific goals to be accomplished within the course, and our progress was monitored by a partner. My partner was Lena—an interesting girl with whom I quickly became friends. We discussed the goals and tasks we wanted to achieve together and supported each other throughout the process.
Lena lived on Bratislavskaya Street, and since the course was quite intensive and the assignments required full immersion, we even stayed at her place overnight to focus as much as possible on reaching our goals. Despite this, personal relationships were strictly prohibited during the training, so our communication remained exclusively professional and friendly. Lena made sure I didn’t put off my goals and completed them on time. One of my goals was especially important and difficult for me—to meet with Nadya and say what I had long wanted to say.
In the training, we were taught that it’s not allowed to avoid what truly matters. We must take responsibility for our actions and do what is necessary, even if it’s hard or uncomfortable. Lena literally pushed me to focus on this goal and make it happen—to meet with Nadya. I understood that I couldn’t keep avoiding this meeting, so I decided to complete the assignment.
One morning, before another day of training, I finally gathered my thoughts and decided to meet Nadya. Lena insisted on it, and her persistence helped me make the final decision. I went to the area where Nadya lived, intending to “accidentally” meet her and talk. As I was leaving the Maryino metro station, I saw Nadya coming down the stairs at that very moment, and we met unexpectedly.
When I met Nadya, I immediately realized the conversation would be difficult. We rode in the same subway car, stood next to each other, and she hardly paid any attention to me—she was absorbed in reading a philosophy book. I felt awkward and didn’t know how to start a conversation. Trying to break the ice, I mentioned that in my first year of university I had also studied philosophy and received top marks in the subject. However, Nadya listened without much interest, and an awkward silence hung between us. In the eight months since our breakup, the gap between us had grown too wide, and it was felt in every moment of our silent interaction.
All I could say to her at that moment was that, in many ways, Zhenya was to blame for our problems. I said this because I honestly didn’t know what else to add. Our relationship was too complicated to find a simple explanation or solution. Nadya clearly wasn’t interested in talking—she was distant and cold. We reached Trubnaya metro station, and I suggested we ride together a bit further, but she refused.
I didn’t insist and accepted her refusal calmly. I got out at Chistye Prudy station and decided to go to McDonald’s to catch my breath and reflect on what had just happened. Of course, I didn’t fully complete my assignment—my conversation with Nadya wasn’t successful, but at least I tried, and for me, that was a step forward.
Afterwards, I returned to the training to report on the fulfillment of my goal. Even though my meeting with Nadya ended in nothing, the very fact that I had dared to take this step was important to me. I did something I had been putting off for a long time, and that became a kind of personal victory.
The next day at the training, we were given a new, very interesting task that required us to go far beyond our comfort zones. Everyone was given a completely different task—luck of the draw. We were divided into groups, and each group had to complete its assignment somewhere in the city, interacting with strangers. My group got an assignment that at first seemed absurd and difficult: there were three of us, and we were told to go to the embankment of Gorky Park, pretend to be aspiring actors, find people who would agree to watch our skit, and most importantly, earn money from it.
This task was a real challenge. I literally had to drag myself out of my comfort zone, as the idea of performing on the street in front of strangers and even asking them for money was, to put it mildly, frightening. We went to the embankment, and honestly, at first it seemed strange and extremely uncomfortable. No one knew how to begin. We just stood there, looking around, unsure how to approach people.
But at some point, I decided to take charge of the situation. I realized we had to act, so I started approaching people. I told them we were beginner actors and offered them a chance to watch our skit. We hadn’t rehearsed at all, had no plan whatsoever, but I began to improvise on the spot, offering short scenes and even bits of stand-up. To my surprise, some people actually agreed! They stopped, watched our performance, and gave us money. It was an amazing experience.
We improvised scenes, played at being actors, and came up with skits on the go. In the end, we managed to complete the assignment. I don’t remember exactly how much money we made—maybe 400 rubles. That wasn’t important. The main thing was that we managed, did what had seemed impossible at first. We returned with a sense of accomplishment, proud of ourselves. We did it!
One of the most memorable events of the advanced course was an assignment that forced us to immerse ourselves in a completely different reality. There were three of us: me, Marina, and Lena. Two amazing women, with whom we became a real team over the course of the training. The assignment was incredible—we had to pretend to be homeless people at a train station, dress accordingly, and spend some time there, feeling the stares of those around us.
I remember how we gathered in the morning, each of us dressed as best we could to fit the role. Someone’s jacket was so worn that the stuffing was literally coming out—Marina’s especially looked the part. We all looked dirty and unkempt, like real homeless people, and when we rode the subway, people reacted very negatively to us. They recoiled, cast contemptuous glances, and some even commented out loud: “Look, her stuffing is coming out as she walks.” These were very strange, yet striking sensations.
When we got to the station and sat there, immersed in our roles, people started looking at us as real homeless people. They turned away, some even made an effort to walk around us, and that was a moment of realization. I suddenly understood that, at that moment, there was no one closer to me in the world than Lena and Marina—my fellow “fake homeless.” We became a single team, the only ones supporting each other in an environment of total indifference and disdain.
This experience opened my eyes to how easy it is to end up outside of social acceptance. I felt that, for the people around us, we were just garbage, unworthy of attention. But within our small group, I felt the support and trust that bound us together as a team. We were each other’s only support in that moment, and that feeling left a deep mark.
Then I realized that, in some ways, I was in a similar situation with Nadya. People looked at me not as who I really was. They only saw the external circumstances, not understanding the essence. I was perceived as a “homeless person,” but in reality, that was just a role I was forced to play. This experience helped me see that many of our problems are connected to how we appear in the eyes of others, and that sometimes, people do not see the real us.
And although the training ended, my relationship with Lena continued after it was over. Moreover, a couple of years later, I became friends with her daughter Anya, with whom I developed a great relationship. We still keep in touch, communicate, and remain friends to this day.
