Hisako Lavertu

Story 2: The Bilingual Heart

My thoughts have an accent. No, really. When I count my change at the veikals (the shop), it's in Latvian--viens, divi, tris. The numbers feel solid, grounded, like the cobblestones in Old Riga. But when I'm daydreaming about leaving this all behind, maybe for university in London or just travelling somewhere far, my inner monologue switches to English. It flows differently; it's lighter, full of possibilities and words that don't have direct translations.Sometimes it causes a civil war in my head. My Latvian side is pragmatic, a little melancholic, shaped by long winters and a history that runs deep like a river. It tells me to be sensible, to study something useful at the University of Latvia, to stay close to my family. It's the voice that finds comfort in the smell of rye bread and the sound of our folk songs.Then my English side pipes up. It's the voice of movies, of internet friends, of a world that feels vast and hungry for experience. It's ambitious and reckless. It whispers about art degrees, hostels in foreign cities, and a life written in a language that doesn't automatically tie me to this specific patch of earth by the Baltic Sea.I'm not two people. I'm just Lesya, one girl standing in her kitchen in Riga, making a cup of tea. But I stir that tea with a spoon that feels both familiar and foreign. I love my home with a fierce, Latvian pride, but my dreams are spelled out in English letters. Maybe that's okay. Maybe having a bilingual heart doesn't mean you're torn. Maybe it just means you have more ways to understand the world, and more words to describe your place in it.

Story 1: The Amber Fragment

The Baltic Sea in October is a moody beast. The wind whips my hair into a frenzy, and the grey waves crash onto the shore with a sound like a sigh. I pull my woolen scarf tighter, the one my grandmother knitted for me, and shove my freezing hands into the pockets of my coat. Everyone else in Jurmala has retreated to the warmth of their homes, leaving the vast, empty beach to me and the screeching gulls.I come here when the city of Riga feels too loud, when the pressure of choosing a university, a career, a life, becomes too much. Here, the only decision is which path to walk along the water's edge.My boot kicks at a piece of seaweed, and something glints beneath it--a small, honey-coloured piece of amber, worn smooth by the sea. It's no bigger than my thumbnail, but it's warm to the touch, a tiny sun in stone. I hold it in my palm, wondering about its story. A thousand years ago, this was sap, clinging to a pine tree in a forest that no longer exists. It witnessed Vikings, Teutonic knights, empires rising and falling, all while it tumbled in the dark, cold deep, waiting for this exact moment to wash up at my feet.It's silly, but it makes me feel better. My worries about exams and the future seem so small against its timeline. I am just a moment, a girl on a beach, with a piece of ancient weather in her hand. Maybe I don't need to have everything figured out by next spring. Maybe it's enough to just be here, now, feeling the cold wind on my cheeks and the weight of history in my pocket. I put the amber fragment away and turn back towards the lights of the town, feeling strangely, quietly, brave.

Thinks

The world gets so loud sometimes. Not just with the noise of the city, but with the noise of expectations. My final year of school, university applications, my friends' constant buzzing group chats--it all piles up until my own thoughts feel like a tangled mess of wires. So today, I untangled myself. I told everyone I was busy, shoved my phone deep into my pocket, and went for a walk. Alone.The park near my house is my sanctuary. The moment I stepped onto the gravel path, the world shifted. The air smelled of damp earth and the sweet, heavy scent of blooming lilacs. It's May, and everything is impossibly green and alive. I felt like I was breathing properly for the first time all week.I walked without a destination. My hands were free, no one to link arms with, no phone to stare at. At first, the silence in my own head was strange, almost uncomfortable. But then, I started to listen. I heard the crunch of my own sneakers on the gravel, a sound usually drowned out by chatter. I heard the intricate conversation of birds--not just a generic "tweet," but a whole symphony of chirps, whistles, and calls. A squirrel scolded me from an oak tree, and I actually stopped to watch its frantic little movements, something I'd normally just walk past.I found my favorite bench, the one tucked away by the old pond, half in the sun, half in the shade. I sat down and just... was. I watched the sunlight filtering through the new leaves, creating a dancing pattern of light and shadow on the ground. I saw an elderly couple walking slowly, hand in hand, not saying a word. They didn't need to. I saw a little girl, maybe five years old, completely entranced by a dandelion, her whole world contained in that fuzzy yellow.And in that quiet observation, my own thoughts began to untangle. The anxiety about my exams softened its edges. The indecision about my future didn't feel so heavy. It was as if by being alone, by not having to perform or explain myself to anyone, I could finally hear my own voice.This isn't loneliness. Loneliness aches. This was... fullness. It was a peaceful, quiet completeness. For an hour, I wasn't a student, a , or a friend. I was just Lesya. A girl on a bench, under a vast sky, feeling the sun on her skin and the slow, steady beat of her own heart.I finally stood up to leave when the sun started to dip lower, casting long, golden shadows. As I walked back home, the world felt the same, but I was different. The noise was still there, waiting for me, I'm sure. But now, I have this quiet, sunny space inside me. And I know I can return to it anytime I want, just by taking a walk alone.

About me

Hello! My world revolves around the rhythm of dance. Dancing is my passion, my way of expressing emotions, telling stories, and feeling truly alive. Whether it's the vibrant energy of dancehall, the seductive flow of heels, the dynamic pulse of hip-hop, or the fluid grace of strip-plastic, I'm in love with every style and dedicated to perfecting each movement. My dream is to become a choreography teacher, sharing this magic with others, inspiring them to express themselves through dance, and igniting confidence in every step.

Today is a good day

The air today smelled different. Not like the city, all gasoline and hot concrete. Out here, it was a cool, green smell--a mix of wet earth, pine needles, and something sweet I couldn't name. It filled my lungs and for the first time all week, I felt like I could actually breathe.Anya, Ksyusha, and I had ditched our plans for another boring coffee in town. "Let's get lost," Anya had said, and we did, in the best way possible. The path into the forest was a soft carpet of last year's leaves, muffling our steps and our laughter.Sunlight dripped through the canopy like liquid gold, painting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Ksyusha, our unofficial botanist, kept pointing at things. "Look, that's lungwort! And over there, wood sorrel." She plucked a small, clover-like leaf and handed it to me. "Taste it." It was sour and fresh, a tiny, wild burst of flavor on my tongue.We found a giant spruce tree that had fallen in a winter storm, its roots creating a huge, earthy wall. We scrambled up onto its massive trunk, walking along it like balance beams, arms outstretched, giggling like we were seven years old again. For a moment, high up on that tree, I wasn't an almost-adult worrying about university exams or the future. I was just a girl in the woods with her friends.We talked about everything and nothing. Anya confessed her secret crush on the guy from the music shop. Ksyusha ranted about her strict parents. I told them about my fear of leaving home for studies in the autumn. The forest listened, absorbing our secrets without judgment. It felt safer here than any locked room.As the afternoon light began to soften, turning a deep, honeyed yellow, we found a clearing. We just lay on our backs in the moss, watching the clouds drift by. It was so quiet, just the whisper of the wind in the pines and the distant call of a cuckoo. No phones, no notifications, just the three of us in a perfect, silent understanding.Walking back, our shoes dusty and our hair smelling of smoke and pine, I felt a pang of sadness. The real world was waiting. But as I looked at my friends, their faces relaxed and happy, I knew we were carrying a piece of the forest's peace back with us. It was tucked into our pockets, a secret treasure to hold onto until our next escape.