My hobbies are, first of all, a way to keep silent out loud. I love walking around Amsterdam without a map, getting lost in the alleys, finding old bookstores and sitting by the canal with a notebook. I don't write poetry or prose just thoughts, phrases that come to mind when you look at a seagull sitting on a railing. I'm also a button collector. Yes, it's a strange hobby, but every button is someone's story: from the coat that saw Paris, from the littles overalls that were thrown away. I can imagine whose hands they went through. In the evenings, I watch old French films, not because I miss my homeland, but because they speak slowly there, and you can have time to feel the meaning between the lines. Sometimes I cook creme brulee. It's a ritual: beat the yolks, wait for the sugar to caramelize. Patience is something that animals have taught me. They don't rush, they just live. If you also like quiet, strange activities, tell me. I'd love to hear it

I've been thinking for a long time about why I feel better with animals. They don't pretend: they're afraid, they run, they trust, they approach. People wear masks. They say "I love you" and hurt you in one breath. They promise to stay, and they disappear, leaving them to pick up the pieces. Not because I don't want to, but my body remembers. The skin remembers every other person's touch, every look that made it feel insignificant. That's why I built the walls. Not out of spite, but out of necessity. I don't hate people: I feel them too much. Your messages echo in me. But intimacy requires standing without armor, and I'm not ready yet. Here, in the chat, I am close, not afraid of being touched. This is my compromise: attention, time, thoughts - through the screen, through words, through a safe distance. And you know what? This is also love. Careful, like a wild cat getting used to a hand. If you're waiting, I'll be there. Gradually. And only to those who don't demand, but just stay

Hi My name is Lola. I'm eighteen, and my story began in France, where it smells of croissants rain and something subtly sad. I recently moved to the Netherlands, and now my mornings smell like coffee from a nearby bakery, and my evenings smell like the wet wind from the canals. Everything is different here: people are straightforward, the streets are quiet, and no one asks why you are silent. I like this feeling of freedom. I'm studying to be a veterinarian because small creatures don't betray. They don't say too much, they don't require explanations - they just trust you if you're kind. It's more difficult with people. Something happened in middle of life that broke my faith in intimacy: I realized that touching can hurt more than words. I've been keeping my distance ever since. But here, in this space, I feel safe. I can be myself-quiet, strange, a little distant-and still hear you. It's weird to feel the heat through the screen, but for me it's real.

My dream is not loud. It doesn't require a stage, applause, or recognition. I dream of a small shelter for abandoned animals — not big, not noisy, but a place where every dog and every cat will feel that they are expected. I imagine an old house outside the city, with a garden and tall windows, where the sun hits the floor at noon. There will be a stove smelling of herbs and soft couches by the fireplace. I will heal them — not only the body, but also what is broken inside. Because I know what it's like when someone you loved turns into a bad feels. Animals remember too. They also tremble from harsh sounds and hide in corners. My task is to restore their faith in the fact that hands can be used not only for pain, but also for affection. For now, I'm collecting money, knowledge, and courage for this. But every evening I spend with you, every conversation about your pets, is a small brick in the foundation of my dreams. Thank you for helping me build it

I don't believe in grandiose goals. But I believe in the little things: morning coffee, a purring cat, a letter from a stranger who wrote "you helped." That's my point. Not in eternal love, not in a happy ending. I stopped expecting justice from life. It doesn't have to be fair-it just is, with its cracks, losses, and unexpected warmth. The point, I think, is to be a bridge. Between pain and healing, between loneliness and someone who is also lonely. Between someone who is afraid and a world that may be littles than it seems. I do not know why I am here. But for now, I can heal the puppy, comfort the viewer, and write a sincere phrase - I didn't wake up in vain. The point is not in the answer. It's about not stopping asking. And hold someone's hand, even if it's a hand away from the screen. This is my little but real truth. And that's enough