Here I am, after a long wait I will introduce you today’s topic (ohh drum roll!!): “Asya’s life experiences, episode: Kiev and the world of dance”.

Basic premise: since it was a “special” experience, the topics discussed might be a bit delicate, so: article dedicated only to the bravest.

I left for Kiev at the end of August 2015.

The plan was supposed to be: reach Florence with a regional train and arrive in Rome with an express train, where I would meet my friend Alice (she was already living in Kiev) and 2 days later leave for Kiev together.

And that’s how things actually went, but with a few small details that weren’t exactly insignificant… Mum and I left late (as usual I would say), an immense suitcase at least twice as heavy as me, no passport and no ticket to Kiev. Mum ran to the car to pick them up but didn’t have time to give me the documents, and the train doors closed between us. I left, already scared without saying goodbye to my mummy and without knowing when I would see her again.

Because in reality I still had to do the audition, so it could be that I was going back to Italy after 2 weeks or after 2 months. 

Back to our travels, we arrived in Rome everything ok, passed those two days everything was fine, we left for Kiev and arrived in a grey place, definitely sadder than Milan. 

Alice and I, however, were enthusiastic and we were juggling exercises and splits to get back into shape. 

After a few days of preparation, they finally call me for the audition, which was in a small room with a huge piano and two hyena teachers ready to devour me. 

The audition goes well, they accept me into the program and my studies at the Kiev National Academy officially begin.

The first few days were as beautiful as they were disorientating. 

I didn’t know anyone (except Alice).

My classmates and all the rest of the people in the city spoke no English, except for Liz, an Israeli girl who had moved with her whole family to pursue her dream.

Liz and I soon became friends: she lent me her whole family, we made cakes together and sometimes, only when it was allowed, she would pick me up from the dorm with her dad to go out and do some shopping. 

My teacher was as bitchy as she was sweet, she would scratch your thighs with her nails to make you understand that you shouldn’t even think about bending your leg during a developpé, but at the same time, she would buy the Italian dictionary to ask me how my knee was (tendonitis and stuff). 

Once, she even alluded to a hug, or maybe my lack of food intake caused me to imagine it…

Yes, food was a sensitive subject. I am of a slim constitution, I have a very fast metabolism, but in Kiev it was a bit different. The canteen offered soups, meat (better not to know the origin) and beetroots, I was not eating that stuff every day, I was stocking up on food in my room, consisting of me, Alice (perpetually on a diet of herbal teas) and a czech girl, Maria.

Maria would go on hunger strike after 5 p.m., because from 5 p.m. onwards calories weigh twice as much on the body, so one can only drink and not eat any more, according to one theory.

I think anyone in a situation like that starts to hate food even a little bit, or at least that was the case for me. I would eat and feel guilty, so I would eat a little less and sometimes a little more, but then I would think about it again and feel guilty; it was a vicious circle.

In mid-October I went home for the weekend, touch and go.

Take note: for the first time my mother lets me go dancing.

I return to Kiev, and in the meantime, I was already counting down the days until Christmas.

(A very funny thing happens between October and December, but I will tell you about it later).

I continued with my exciting life, juggling classical lessons, character and national dances, physiotherapy on my knee, and ‘school’, until one evening, there was a knock on the door from our housemother. 

She talks to Alice and tells her that my dad was at the door waiting for me: surprise!

The reason for his arrival is still my Achilles heel, which is still a touchy subject for me.

We spend a few days together and together we return home, celebrate Christmas and because of the bad start, the alienation from everything else, and my weak ankle, I decide not to leave but to remain at home. 

Thus ends my Ukrainian experience, and I firmly believe, even now, that it was a super formative experience and that I would do it again 100000 times. 

I take this opportunity to give a tip to the Asya of a few years ago: “Finish what you started, don’t give up, never!“