— Do you mean like sex without condoms?

— ...

If I could describe the past year with one word, I would use raw.

First things first: contrary to the dialogue above, raw does not refer to unprotected sex. I want to make that clear.

I started the year 2025 not with resolutions but with a theme. You see, instead of putting down a list of high-aiming goals, I have been choosing a theme or two to cover the whole year since 2021. It proved to be a much better approach for prioritization. For 2025, I chose creating.

Looking back on past years, I realized how drastically the time I spent on creative endeavors had declined since I completed my Master’s. But not only that. Reading, watching something new, writing, and taking photos were all replaced with scrolling. The background was filled with the same shows playing on a never-ending loop.

So, in 2025, I left aside the smartphone or placed it screen down when with friends. It paid off so well that a friend noticed how much I avoided looking at my phone when notifications hit.

Apart from that, I read. I read a lot. In addition to science-related articles and reports for my work, I read plenty of fiction, something I had neglected in the years before. I familiarized myself with new authors, paying attention not only to the story but also to the craft. I sought metaphors. I meticulously took notes and documented quotes.

When not reading, I wrote. I wrote with a pen. Like in the old days, I scratched out words. Edited. Corrected. Scribbled. Sometimes sketched. I added a new fountain pen to my collection and got new inks. I also dropped ink on my clothes. I let my fingers carry the faded ink stains.

In the end, I wrote two short stories that are waiting to be published.

The never-ending loop of TV series was replaced by panoramic views of Kiarostami. Images from social media are lost to the work of master photographers.

I took lots of photos, both digital and analog. I bought the digital camera I had dreamed of for two years. I dove into analog photography. I destroyed many rolls of film by incorrectly unloading, overexposing or underexposing. I spent a lot on developing and scanning. Though I tried to get into film development myself, I failed. But I finally got the courage to submit my photos to various magazines.

I went back to running. Running outside, whether in the warm, in the cold, at lunchtime at work or on weekends. I signed up for a half-marathon. Went hiking. Did some rowing. Camped. Spent a night in a tent on a small island.

The experiences have been raw, unprocessed, with no filters and no exaggerations. At their fullest, they made me embrace the new, leave my comfort zone and dip into ice-cold water, and not only figuratively, by the way. There is something special about raw experiences. Something refreshing.

2025 started with the loss of my last grandparent and fatigue. Tired, sad, and scared of burnout, I assumed it wouldn’t be a year I could call prosperous. Actually, the old me wouldn’t call it a successful year. Yet, I still feel like it was one of my most fulfilling.

Looking back at my childhood, I do not recall many moments of excitement filled with joy and pride. Yet the ones I remember are so vivid that I do not believe they can be easily erased. When dwelling on those, I realize that each of them is linked to one specific persona. Subconsciously, I have attached the memory to them - probably my own way of defining them and their role in my life.

One particular memory stands out as a boring day in kindergarten - not like your modern-day ones but like a grey, post-Soviet type with no functional or intact toys that might make a child happy - turned out to be an adventurous day in the life of a little one growing up in Baku. The day ended not with a habitual parent pick-up but with a pick-up by a man who would seldom emerge in my life back then. I called him Nadir Baba. Nadir was his name. Baba means grandfather in Azerbaijani. Growing up, I saw little of him but heard stories. He was constantly absent for the simple reason of working as a Mechanic on a ship, thus always at sea. Leaving for many moons, which seemed like an eternity - especially if you are a bored child hungry for stories, Nadir Baba would visit us once or twice a year.

My grandfather was fascinating, as he traveled to countries only a few traveled to back then, both during the Soviet time and after. He had been to places that no one else from our surroundings had been to. Baba has seen many people from many countries and experienced innumerable cultures. Hence, every encounter with him would turn into an immersion into one exciting experience. So was that day after kindergarten.

The ordinary day turned into an adventure as instead of usual park walks we headed to his workplace. My small world suddenly expanded as an enormity emerged in front of my eyes. As if facing this big giant was not enough, Nadir Baba took me on a walk inside the ship. He let me talk to the crew - other people who saw the world just like my grandfather and took a place behind the wheel. I even had the chance to see his room the name for it I will learn later on - cabin.

To this day, I remember that visit to Nadir Baba’s workplace so vividly, as if it happened yesterday. I remember the wooden panels on the walls of his cabin, the lingering sea scent, the neatly made bed and that round-shaped window - something that would fascinate me extremely. That event is the most precious one I ever had with him.

There is a reason for writing this recollection - its hero passed away two weeks ago - a man who traveled around the world, crossed all the oceans, passed the Bermuda Triangle three times and survived COVID-19 while in his 80s, was hit by a car outside of his house while holding the bread he had just bought.

His story ended in a way none of us could have expected. Seeing him just a month before, I never imagined it would be the last time. Not making it to his burial only made it harder to process his loss. The only way I could think of to cope was to commemorate him in my own way—by sharing one of the warmest childhood memories that defined him for me.

To the memory of Nadir Baba. Goodbye, Seafarer!

Milan – the city dignified and praised by fashionistas, well known among travelers around the world, and eternalized in books and movies.

Knowing what I knew before a brief trip to this city in the North of Italy, my expectations were not as high. After all, everything I needed to know, I grasped long before, though unintentionally. To a certain point, I was also biased, as the cliches accumulated over the years through media were enough to irk me.

The curse of living in our time is being exposed to more than we need. Before we experience, we absorb information. Like a sponge soaking up the liquid, we gradually absorb and drown in the sea of information without even realizing it. Although experience is ever-lasting, somehow, we devour the information over real-life exposure.

One can not stop imagining what traveling to a popular destination can feel like. They already consumed a form of media a movie or a photo, listened to local music, or read about it. So did I when imagining Milan – pizza, men howling after me, shops being flashy, and the Prosecco tasting better than any other place I have drank it before.

If one can manage to leave behind the things they already assume, one could see more to Milan, like discovering beautiful vintage-looking yellow trams on the walk from Piazza Cavour to Castello, the locals being annoyed when finding out about your inability to respond in Italian, detecting a new column or a nice facade among marvelous buildings, and smelling the cigarette smoke unapologetically exhaled on you by Italians standing right in the middle of the street.

What made the trip unique, in a sense, was acknowledging the beauty of the Italian language. It was not the first time I heard this language. But this was the first time I took notice of its melodic tones. So far, I am not sure if it was the culmination of experiences or if it was hearing an abundance of Swedish in the past three years – a language known to be not the most aesthetic. But Italian sounded rhythmically beautiful.

This was my first time in Milan, and I hope it is not the last time, as a lot was left behind to discover.

25.11.2024

Milan, Italy

People complain about romance being dead. I have heard numerous times about how men do not try and women do not care. In most cases, shifting gender roles are to be blamed, whereas the convenience and speed that technology has offered us are not even considered a reason. Dating apps make it easy to meet people, and instant messaging makes it easy to send a message. How could romance survive in such a comfort zone?

A few months ago, at a Christmas party, a friend handed a postcard with a personalized message to everyone at the event. Some were perplexed, and others just smiled, saying they could do the same, but they never thought of it. I think there were a few who did not even understand the meaning of it.

I was thrilled. Why? Because in the era of instant messaging, no one spends time writing a postcard or a letter. To me, if someone writes a letter, it means they care. If someone sends a postcard, it means they care. The time and energy spent on writing that postcard, even choosing it meticulously from a stash of them, says the person cares. And I think romance is dead nowadays because people find it more convenient to rely on what technology offers.

Dating apps that have become so important in the past decade have hastened the death of romance. Now, to find an eligible person who might match you, you only need to swipe right, match, and text them. Of course, this happens only if you are not an ‘I never text first’ type of person.

The conversation starters in the dating apps are another story: ‘What’s up, beautiful?’ ‘What are you here for?’ And so on. In some cases, people just copy-paste the messages. I know this because I am guilty of it myself. Let’s be honest, when you receive dozens of the same questions, you want to be practical, not romantic.

But can we blame the people when a dating app makes it easier to meet new people? Or eases the stress of communicating by giving sample messages to start the conversation? No need to be creative or take time to think, just text.

Over the years, texting has become a part of our daily lives. So much of a part that we do not even call our loved ones; we prefer texting them. We do not email potential employers and partners but text them on LinkedIn. To get on hold of friends we have lost contact with, we search for them on Facebook to text them. Be it sending or receiving, it is all about texting. Centuries ago, French philosopher René Descartes said, ‘I think, therefore I am’. Modern people think, ‘I text, therefore I am.’ Let’s be honest, if someone does not text you for a long time, you think they are dead. If that is not the case, you wish them to be dead.

Sending a letter or a postcard has become an element of the past. A letter has become so rare, so linked to ancient times, that even walking in the antique shops around the Czech Republic, Prague, you can see old letters dating 60-80 years back. Yes, I am ashamed to admit that we have become a generation who does not appreciate writing a letter, but we will buy letters of total strangers to exhibit them at home.

There is a beautiful movie called Letters to Juliet starring Amanda Seyfried. The film is about a secret society writing back to people who sent letters to the imaginary Juliet of Romeo and Juliet. Because let’s be honest, how else could Juliet respond, considering she never had a smartphone? Can you imagine her sitting in the Capulet house with the latest iPhone and sending ‘heart’ or ‘blowing a kiss’ emojis? Trust me, that story would not sell unless it is about steamy sexting.

On the other hand, thinking with today’s standards, they would still be dating if they were alive now because who could stop them from texting or video calling each other? And occasionally, Romeo could allow himself to message a ‘Babe, send me nudes.’

The plot of Letters to Juliet develops into a romantic adventure after the main character decides to respond to an old letter. This is a symbolic gesture of the importance of the old-fashioned letter. If you want romance, take a paper, write a few lines coming from deep from your heart and then send it to the person you intended those lines for. That is how you embark on a romantic journey.

Writing is essential to me, as you may have guessed at this point. Writing on paper was a way to train my thinking, help with my overthinking personality and bring order to my chaotic mind. Thus, I have always felt I can put my feelings on a page way better than I would explain them verbally. Not surprisingly, I always recommend others to use handwriting for clearer thinking and expression.

As a personal example, I would like to mention that writing has helped me overcome my post-divorce trauma. By journaling every day, I felt relief and became conscious of the pain I was going through. The more I wrote to express myself on paper, the more I felt free of the wounds that would crush my chest. Writing proved to be a great way to heal but not only. It is also a great way to share joy and celebrate the warmest feelings.

Since starting dating again, I am glad to highlight the important moments with nicely written letters and postcards. Lucky for me, it is an act of reciprocity, and by receiving a postcard every month, I can sense care and dive into romance. I could do it, and so could you. Get a postcard and put down a few words to deliver it to the person you care about. In the beginning, it feels hard, sometimes even silly, but then it gives you wings.

This piece was originally published in Wilderness House Literary Review, Issue 17.4.

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