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Writing a book has been my dream, particularly during my teenage years. I started to scribble down my romantic thoughts on paper while at school, where a writing competition more or less changed my life. My entry was an essay on the book Little Zaches Called Cinnabar, a German novel written by E.T.A. Hoffmann. It is a very deep novel with many hidden layers that are not evident on first reading. I recall that particular moment while sitting on the bench during physical exercise when it was announced that my essay had been given an accolade. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but this honour sparked something within my romantic soul and has never left it. Much later I found myself making up various stories during my summer holidays. My poor cousins volunteered themselves into my dreamy scenarios and played the heroes in the garden between the pear trees. The smell of ripe yellow pears still tickles my curious nose and my insatiable mind. The little heroes of mine did their utmost to perform their roles as much as their age allowed them, although I knew they could not understand what I wanted from them. But, I enjoyed our every rehearsal and became more ambitious in my dreams. I decided to dare to conquer the even more challenging world of film directorship. Oh, those romantic teenage days were so bright and full of happy dreams. At that time I did not know that my choice of profession would be more practical. Yet had I not learned English, I would almost certainly not be here now, typing my book about Ukraine. I promised myself that one day I would cut to the chase and follow my soul. I am not a professional writer, and my sentences are not tailored, but my heart sings from thoughts of my book.