From the very beginning, this journey was never only about a place. It was about walking through my entire emotional landscape. Before I arrived, fear was constant. I kept asking myself why I was doing this at all. At the same time, there was a romantic image in my mind — the way it is often presented from the outside. Dangerous, raw, and strangely alluring. A place reduced to extremes. But reality, as it unfolded, refused every simple narrative.

This country is everything at once. It is not a category. It is not a single story. It is wild life in its purest form, layered, contradictory, impossible to file neatly. And the same is true for the people. Any attempt to assign them to a box fails immediately. What appears clear one moment dissolves the next.

In stable systems, there are structures, templates, and clear paths. People often seek therapy to rediscover individuality, yet still move within tightly defined frameworks — not only physically, but emotionally and socially. Here, individuality exists by necessity. There are countless possibilities, but no instructions. If you do not know the system, time becomes essential. Nothing can be rushed. Understanding cannot be forced.

There were many moments when I wanted to run. Truly run. Leave everything behind. And yet something kept me. I cannot name it clearly, even now. The first period was a constant mixture of fear and fascination. Everything was overwhelming. Especially in places labeled as dangerous, there is often an initial euphoria — the realization that it is not the worst-case scenario imagined from afar. People were open. Encounters felt warm. I caught myself thinking how kind everyone was, how captivating the place felt.

And still, it is dangerous. That truth does not disappear because of kindness. Over time, I began to encounter the risks more directly. Situations shifted. Patterns emerged. And then something uncomfortable happened: I began to hate the country. Not in a dramatic way, but in a deep, tired, defensive way. I tried to define it, to fix it into a single understanding. Each time I thought I had grasped it, the opposite revealed itself almost immediately.

Eventually, I recognized what lies beneath many systems, everywhere in the world: power struggles, corruption, unprocessed trauma. These forces exist in every society — in some they are subtle, in others they are stark and unavoidable. This place became the hardest and most instructive ground I have ever stood on. Not because it is uniquely broken, but because nothing is hidden.

From that point on, my questioning extended far beyond borders. I began to examine my entire life. The dynamics between people. The unspoken negotiations of power. What we protect. What we tolerate. What we call normal. This journey did not give me answers. It stripped away illusions. And perhaps that is its greatest lesson: understanding is not about arriving at certainty, but about learning to live without simple conclusions.