After returning from England, I once again faced the problem of my unsold BMW. Even before the trip, I had given Nikolai a power of attorney to sell the car, counting on him to handle it during the three months I was away. However, this did not happen. Every time I asked about it, he had a new excuse: he was sick with COVID, then he went on vacation, or there were some other reasons preventing him from starting the process. Only in February, after I returned, did Nikolai remember that my car was sitting in his garage and finally posted an ad on a car sales website.
That’s when our disagreements began. I wanted to sell the car at a good price, while Nikolai was eager to get rid of it as quickly as possible and receive the 30,000 rubles I had promised him for his help. He immediately began to rush me, claiming that he was moving to a new apartment soon and needed to speed up the process. Although, as it later turned out, his move actually happened a year or two later.
After some time, Nikolai found a buyer, but as it turned out, this person was a reseller. As I began negotiating with him, I found out that Nikolai had already promised him a substantial discount, which I had never planned. He handed me a client who was already expecting a lowered price, and I had to agree to terms that did not suit me at all. This behavior really made me angry, especially since at that time Nikolai was off snowboarding, leaving me to deal with the sale on my own.
I decided to take back the car. I came to Kolya’s garage and met with his relatives. After taking the car, I immediately met the reseller, who drove me to a dealership to sell it. On the way, he told me how much he earned and explained that he would take a small percentage for helping with the sale. I was shocked—why was I selling the car through a dealership and why did I have to pay someone when I was the one selling the car?
In the end, we got to the dealership, sold the car for a bit more than I had planned, and the reseller took his share of the profit. So now I already had someone to pay for helping with the sale, and I realized I was not going to pay Kolya, who had practically done nothing. When I refused to pay him, Kolya started accusing me of fraud, insisting that I owed him money for “finding a buyer.” Even though I told him directly that he hadn’t found anyone, Kolya kept insisting.
Kolya lives in his own world, where finding a buyer for a car is some sort of major achievement. He was sure he had done me a huge favor and that I owed him. I refused, and from that moment, our friendship ended. Kolya remained convinced that he was right and that I was simply dishonest.
Nevertheless, after starting my new job at EPAM and realizing that in a year and a half I would be in the USA, I felt incredibly motivated. Working at EPAM became an important stage for me, bringing me closer to fulfilling my dream of moving abroad. I wanted to arrive in the USA in top physical shape, ready to start this new chapter of my life at my best.
So I decided to seriously focus on my health: I started running regularly, joined a gym, and began training again with my old coach, Kirill.
At some point, I started messaging with Dina, whom I had met during a trip to Mezmay. This was unexpected—we quickly found common ground, and each message seemed more and more important. One day, I wrote to her that I was planning to move to the USA. I remember how she responded with genuine joy for me, which surprised me a bit. Her support at that moment was valuable, and it was then that I realized there was something more than just friendship between us. We started talking about everything—plans, dreams, life. Gradually, our conversations brought us closer, and soon Dina suggested we meet at the Tretyakov Gallery.
I accepted her invitation, and on International Women’s Day, March 8th, we went there together. That day stuck in my memory with its vivid paintings and long conversations in the shadow of great artists’ works. After visiting the gallery, our connection deepened even more—it was as if we understood each other on a new level.
At that time, I decided that I needed to change my life. The sense of new opportunities was overwhelming. One of the steps I took was to enroll in a dance school, where I started learning hustle. This was not just a new skill—it symbolized my readiness to move forward, to embrace something new, even if it didn’t come easily at first. I also started taking stretching classes, which became another challenge for myself.
By summer, my life had changed dramatically—I lost 20 kilograms, which felt like a huge achievement. My body changed, but so did my confidence. During this time, Dina and I saw each other often, walked around the city, supported each other, and went to dances together. Our conversations grew more open, and each new day felt like a step forward in our relationship.
One day, during one of those hot summer days, Dina and I were walking in the city center, enjoying the warmth and light. We talked about everything: life, plans, the past. I was relaxed and happy, but at some point, I mentioned Nadya—a former acquaintance with whom I’d once been involved. It seemed like a simple and insignificant comment, but I immediately noticed Dina tensing up. There was a shadow in her eyes, and I realized that this offhand remark had triggered some deep emotions in her, even though I hadn’t expected it at all. That moment made me reflect on what was happening between us and on how important it is to be careful with another person’s feelings.
She stopped, looked at me with surprise and wide-open eyes, and said: “I thought guys like you never had those kinds of problems.” In her eyes, I was always strong and confident, and her words made me realize that she believed I was above such difficulties. Perhaps, at that moment, I disappointed her, and her perception of me changed.
On one of the summer days, Dina suggested going to the movies. I was very busy and declined, but later I became free and texted her that I was ready to go. However, her plans had already changed. Nevertheless, I decided to go to the cinema by myself. The movie was “Cruella” (2021)—the origin story of one of Disney’s most famous villains. The film made an impression on me, but what I especially remembered was that next to me sat a woman who, like me, was watching it alone.
When the movie ended, it was already close to midnight, and it turned out that the woman and I were heading in the same direction down the street. I caught up with her and struck up a conversation. We talked about the movie, including how charismatically the main character was portrayed. At some point, I asked if she identified with Cruella, to which she smiled and replied, “Everyone probably wants to identify with her…” After that, the conversation moved to general topics—work, life, plans. Then she said that she was flying to Sochi right now, that very night. I was surprised, but half-jokingly suggested that I join her. I genuinely hoped she would agree and take me with her—I wanted some adventure. And that’s exactly what happened. She agreed.
We went to her place so she could pack her things, and then to my place so I could grab mine. After that, we headed to the airport, bought tickets, and flew to Sochi. By morning, we were there. The day started with breakfast at a nearby café, and then we went to the beach.
A funny thing happened at the beach: it was a weekday, and I was supposed to have a work meeting. I decided to skip it, saying I wouldn’t be able to join. But soon I was told that my manager wanted to talk to me. I called him right from the beach, where they kept announcing, “Do not swim beyond the buoys.” My manager guessed I was at the beach and asked, “Are you at the beach?” I answered, “Yes, I’m in Sochi, it just happened.” He laughed, and the conversation went fine, without consequences.
We spent the day in Sochi: had lunch, walked around. In the evening, she suggested we fly back to Moscow, and we flew home. I dropped her off at her place, and she said, “Call me if anything.” We parted ways, but I never called. I don’t know why—I just didn’t.
Vacation time was approaching, and I was wondering where to go. In the end, I decided that Macedonia was a great place, somewhere I had never been on the Balkan Peninsula. It was August, and I flew into Skopje, from where we were taken to Ohrid—a beautiful city on the shore of the lake of the same name. We walked around a lot and enjoyed the scenery. One day, we even crossed the Albania-Macedonia border on foot and spent the whole day in the Albanian town of Pogradec. It was a special adventure—to cross a border on foot and immerse yourself in the atmosphere of a new place. I ran up and down the slopes, feeling full of energy. The workouts with Kirill, especially his Saturday circuit training, had clearly paid off.
After the tour in Macedonia ended, I decided to keep traveling and went to Albania with our guide. We took a bus from Macedonia to Tirana, the capital of Albania. There, our paths diverged: the guide went off to his own plans, and I started thinking about which coastal city to choose for vacation. First, I went to Durrës and spent a night there, but quickly realized it was more of a cargo port than a resort. After that, I went to Vlorë and stayed there for another week. I enjoyed the sea, sat in local cafes, and managed to combine work with leisure, since my vacation was coming to an end and I needed to work remotely.
When it was time to return from Tirana, I faced a problem—all the taxi drivers only accepted cash, and I only had a bit of change. I went to look for an ATM and there I met a girl who was in the same situation—she only had a credit card and no cash. We had a short conversation, and I decided to help us both out by withdrawing enough money for the taxi. We went to the airport together. Our flight was delayed, so to pass the time we went to a restaurant in the airport. We sat, had drinks, and chatted—it was great, and I felt happy. When we arrived in Moscow, it turned out she lived not far from me. We shared a taxi and each went home. After that, we didn’t meet again, though we sometimes chat on Instagram.
After returning from Macedonia, my motivation faded a bit, and I stopped going to the gym.
In the fall of 2021, my acquaintance, Evgeniya P., whom I met on a rafting trip in May 2018, invited me to take a free spot on a yacht. Evgeniya had been into yachting for a while—a new kind of sport for me, where people learn to handle a yacht. Evgeniya and her group planned to go to Crimea and sail there, but at the last moment she couldn’t go and offered me her place. I agreed, and it was a completely new experience for me.
I went to Sevastopol, in Crimea, where I tried yachting for the first time. It turned out to be incredibly exciting. We traveled along the coast: set off from Sevastopol, with the farthest point being Yalta. I really liked the city—we took a walk around Yalta, and then, in a private mansion belonging to friends of our companions, we had a barbecue. It was an amazing time, with interesting people and a fantastic atmosphere.
But the most memorable moment was the trip back. On the way, we had to avoid some closed stretches of coastline because high-ranking officials were vacationing there. During the sail, we got caught in a severe storm. I had never seen anything like it. The waves were huge, and the yacht rocked violently. At one point, the roof broke off and was being lifted by the wind. I tried to hold onto it but almost got carried away myself. Fortunately, the situation stabilized, though the storm was truly powerful, and the yacht listed so much that everyone on board was seasick.
Despite all the difficulties, the experience was incredibly thrilling. This journey gave me a lot of impressions, and I’m glad I accepted Evgeniya’s invitation.
As winter approached, I decided to write to Olya, a girl who had shown interest in me at dance classes when I was still going. We agreed to go on a date, which went well. That’s how our communication started. I can’t say we developed a serious relationship, but the interaction was interesting in its own way. I was also still seeing Dina from time to time—we would meet up, discuss various topics, and just walk around.
By New Year’s, I felt I needed something more than just another dinner party. Opening my favorite website, Adventure Club, I immediately saw a New Year’s tour to Nepal—and it was like a spark. It was exactly what I needed. The decision was instant: I booked the trip without hesitation. I arrived in Kathmandu via Abu Dhabi right before New Year’s 2022.
Nepal—the birthplace of Buddha—had always attracted me. I had long been interested in Buddhist teachings, and the dream of being in those sacred places had lived in me for a long time. However, my plans to spend New Year’s in spiritual solitude turned out differently than I expected.
That evening, in a festive atmosphere full of emotions, I had a bit too much to drink. Everything was fine until the conversation turned to Buddhism. Some members of our group spoke quite dismissively—calling Buddhism unscientific and pointless. This sparked a storm of emotions in me. Under the influence of alcohol, I lost my temper and caused a scene. For me, Buddhism is not just a beautiful philosophy or a set of rules. I believe there is some energy that governs the world, like dark matter shaping galaxies and determining the laws of the universe. So Buddhism, to me, is not “the opiate of the people,” but a real and profound philosophy that helps us understand the world and our place in it.
This conflict became a moment for self-reflection. I realized that despite my love for Buddhist ideas, I was still far from the true humility and calmness that Buddha taught. Nevertheless, this experience only strengthened my connection with the teachings, reminding me that the path to enlightenment always begins with ourselves—our emotions and actions.
As a result of the incident, the group suggested I go my own way, and I was left alone in Nepal. But something good came out of it—I befriended the owner of the hotel where I stayed after what happened. He suggested I do some charity work. We bought toothbrushes, toothpaste, and soap for a poor boarding school. Organizing this charity event, I felt huge relief and satisfaction. It became one of the most meaningful moments of my stay in Nepal.
After that, I spent some more time in Nepal, enjoying the atmosphere, and then returned to Moscow.
After coming back from Nepal, life in Moscow did not go well. My relationship with Olya started to deteriorate for various reasons—sometimes I said the wrong thing, sometimes our opinions simply didn’t match. My mood was low, especially against the backdrop of a worsening political situation. I often found myself in conflict with people, and it really affected my spirits. Eventually, one unpleasant conversation with Olya was the last straw—we stopped communicating.
And then, on February 24, everything changed. Putin announced the start of the “special military operation.” What’s surprising is that at that time, I was a manager, and my team members were in Ukraine, in Kharkiv. During the morning meeting, I asked them, “Guys, how are you? Any news?” And they replied, “Igor, Russia is bombing us here.” I was in shock. One of my colleagues sent me a photo of an unexploded missile right on a street in Kharkiv.
Shortly afterward, my company, EPAM, announced it would soon be closing its office in Russia, though the exact date was unknown. All employees would have to either leave the country or eventually be let go. Relocating to another country was offered as a business trip, with airfare and housing covered at first. Immediately, there were a lot of rumors—people said the borders might close, that things could get out of control. For me, it was a real shock: I had planned to move to the US much later, but now I was forced to leave the country immediately.
There was almost no time left to prepare and pack. In just a week, I gathered everything I could and set off. Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to process what was happening or understand what changes lay ahead.
