I’ve been around for some time: from Brooklyn to Manhattan - Midtown, Harlem, all the way into the woods of uptown now - very beautiful place. Sometimes I have to remind myself how prosperous that sounds and listen to my own voice: «New York City (-y-eah)»

I am currently sitting in my living room, a bit uplifted from the street and reality.

I’m in a psychotherapy.

The promising process of fixing my head started on Tuesday, several weeks ago. That was a day in May when I realized that all my life problems, struggles, worries, anxieties, fears, tears and depressions are unnatural. Mind-made, if you say. And so I’m trying to retrieve some answers out of subconscious parts of my brain with the help of a strict doctor who speaks my language. He’s using different techniques on me. One is art.

In order to recharge and stay focused on daily tasks I step outside.

Trees, leaves, flowers, shadows, butterfly wings. Nature sounds. It turns my mood from blue to popping pink. Today I’ve heard some conversations:

“How old is she, you said?” - asked one grandpa another. They sat together on a bench, and the sunbeam was going through both of their hands’ fingers.

“She has a heavy foot” - was the answer, his voice a bit apologetic and shy.