larox.psl
Bronze
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2024
- Posts
- 455
- Reputation
- 617
I was born in Belarus and lived there until I was 10. Then, for some mysterious reason, my family decided to move to Turkey. And let me tell you, that was the moment I woke up from a dream and entered hard mode.
Belarus was perfection. Streets were clean, people were polite, and everything felt structured. It was the kind of place where you could actually breathe. The air was fresh, the winters were pure white, and summers were peaceful. No unnecessary noise, no weird tension in the air—just calmness.
And the girls? On another level. It was like every girl naturally had that perfect Slavic face—high cheekbones, delicate features, pale flawless skin, and these light-colored eyes that could probably convince you to do anything. And it wasn’t rare, it was normal. You walk outside, and boom, models everywhere. Even the average girls looked better than what you’d consider top-tier elsewhere.
Life itself was cozy as hell. Every evening, my dad and I would go fishing by the lake. The water was calm, the air was crisp, and the sun would set in these ridiculous colors you only see in wallpapers. Winters? Absolute magic. Snow covered everything, and at night, the streets would be quiet with only the sound of snow crunching under your boots. You actually felt like you were living inside some fairy tale.
Mornings had their own atmosphere. Especially in winter. I’d wake up to that deep silence, only broken by the faint sound of a truck passing far away on an empty road. The air was crisp, that type of cold that wakes you up instantly. You could almost smell the winter. And when you stepped outside? That frozen air would hit your face, making you feel alive.
And let’s not forget the people. 100% white. No weirdness, no chaos, no awkward social dynamics—just normal, civilized life. You walk outside, and everyone looks like you, speaks the same language, and understands the same culture. No need for unnecessary explanations or adjustments. It felt right.
Even the Food Was Different
Until I was 10, I ate real food every day. Belarusian food was simple but high quality—fresh meat, raw milk, and turkey were a regular part of my diet. I remember drinking raw milk straight from the farm, something you can barely find anymore. Meat was fresh and actually tasted like meat, not some processed garbage.
Then I moved to Turkey, and suddenly, my diet changed. Instead of fresh cuts of meat, I was eating packaged salami fried in sunflower oil. Raw milk? Gone. Instead, there were ultra-processed dairy products that didn’t even taste the same. Even the taste of chicken was different—probably because I was used to free-range poultry instead of mass-produced supermarket chicken. It wasn’t a huge deal at first, but over time, I could feel the difference. Maybe if I had stayed in Belarus, I would’ve been Chad by now.
I still think about Belarus every day. I miss the cold air, the calm streets, the feeling of structure, and just how effortless life was. People romanticize Europe, but for me, it wasn’t a romanticized dream—it was just reality.
A reality,that I lost.
Belarus was perfection. Streets were clean, people were polite, and everything felt structured. It was the kind of place where you could actually breathe. The air was fresh, the winters were pure white, and summers were peaceful. No unnecessary noise, no weird tension in the air—just calmness.
And the girls? On another level. It was like every girl naturally had that perfect Slavic face—high cheekbones, delicate features, pale flawless skin, and these light-colored eyes that could probably convince you to do anything. And it wasn’t rare, it was normal. You walk outside, and boom, models everywhere. Even the average girls looked better than what you’d consider top-tier elsewhere.
Life itself was cozy as hell. Every evening, my dad and I would go fishing by the lake. The water was calm, the air was crisp, and the sun would set in these ridiculous colors you only see in wallpapers. Winters? Absolute magic. Snow covered everything, and at night, the streets would be quiet with only the sound of snow crunching under your boots. You actually felt like you were living inside some fairy tale.
Mornings had their own atmosphere. Especially in winter. I’d wake up to that deep silence, only broken by the faint sound of a truck passing far away on an empty road. The air was crisp, that type of cold that wakes you up instantly. You could almost smell the winter. And when you stepped outside? That frozen air would hit your face, making you feel alive.
And let’s not forget the people. 100% white. No weirdness, no chaos, no awkward social dynamics—just normal, civilized life. You walk outside, and everyone looks like you, speaks the same language, and understands the same culture. No need for unnecessary explanations or adjustments. It felt right.
Even the Food Was Different
Until I was 10, I ate real food every day. Belarusian food was simple but high quality—fresh meat, raw milk, and turkey were a regular part of my diet. I remember drinking raw milk straight from the farm, something you can barely find anymore. Meat was fresh and actually tasted like meat, not some processed garbage.
Then I moved to Turkey, and suddenly, my diet changed. Instead of fresh cuts of meat, I was eating packaged salami fried in sunflower oil. Raw milk? Gone. Instead, there were ultra-processed dairy products that didn’t even taste the same. Even the taste of chicken was different—probably because I was used to free-range poultry instead of mass-produced supermarket chicken. It wasn’t a huge deal at first, but over time, I could feel the difference. Maybe if I had stayed in Belarus, I would’ve been Chad by now.
I still think about Belarus every day. I miss the cold air, the calm streets, the feeling of structure, and just how effortless life was. People romanticize Europe, but for me, it wasn’t a romanticized dream—it was just reality.
A reality,that I lost.
Last edited:
