I've been holding a pen for two minutes now, thinking about how to start my little story about the stones, pits, bumps, and bridges that exist on the path to the most cherished piece of paper (or whatever it looks like), if your dream is 4 months of real life in the New World. I want to start in a special way and thus lay the foundation not just for another note, but for the beginning of my own special life period—full, rich, juicy, and sweet!

But how to start this story doesn't matter anymore, because the first lines are written, and the beginning itself was laid long ago—you could think it was the signature on the program participation agreement, or perhaps the permission to travel given to a friend by parents (no one doubted my parents' permission, but I was afraid to go alone) and the realization that now it will definitely happen. Maybe it was when my parents came home before that with the joyful news: "Dasha, we bought you a suitcase for America!" Or maybe this story should start from the very earliest moment when I saw a "Work and Travel" ad at a bus stop, which was 4 years ago, and back then I could only vaguely imagine my attitude towards it.