Origin

Lithuania

I’m Lithuanian—or at least, I was Lithuanian. Sometimes it feels as if my country no longer exists in the form I remember. Corruption, strain, and constant change have blurred something essential. The Lithuania I still believe in—Lietu‑va—lives partly in memory and partly in imagination. I keep that version safe, hoping one day it returns in clearer form.

Meanwhile, the world beyond our borders keeps moving in breathtaking ways. Every nation seems to carry some spark of humanity that reminds me how much more there is to see than the corner I once called home.

And still, Lithuania gave me pride. We had the world’s strongest man —someone I had the privilege to work with directly, and someone every bit as impressive as the titles suggest. We had world‑class chess talent in figures like Viktorija Čmilytė, alongside athletes, scientists, and thinkers who gave our small country real force. We used to joke that Lithuania was the strongest country in the world: we could drink past lethal thresholds and still live to tell the story. Absurd, yes—but somehow fitting for a place so stubbornly resilient. Though I see it in different light now.

North & East

Russia: Keeper of Secrets and Spirit

Russia can be divisive in global conversation, yet I remember moments when it felt like a keeper of endurance—helping carry people through brutal winters, literal and metaphorical. There is a warmth there that is not always visible from the outside.

I once touched a matryoshka while magic traveling, and something about it felt strangely alive, as if it held a memory I have not fully recovered. Maybe that memory will return stronger one day.

I admire Russia’s daring science history—reaching toward Venus, surviving immense hardship, producing hidden heroes whose names may never become famous. There is an undercurrent of resilience in Russian culture: quiet, immense, and difficult to erase.

A gentle reminder: we’ve shared this place for millions of years, not just a fleeting few.

Nearness, Strength, and Soil

Ukraine: Strength Felt from Afar

Ukraine feels close to Russia in my mind and in my heart. Maybe it is because I am still young, but I do not separate them sharply. To me, they can look like brothers—different, yes, but still bound by something deep, old, and powerful. So I often see Ukraine in that same light: full of endurance, dignity, force, and spirit.

When I think of Ukraine, I think of strength and almost infinite growth. I think of a land of food and sun, of wide fields, firm ground, and beautiful, strong people standing on it with steadiness beneath their feet.

Even while standing in Lithuania, I feel that firmness from far away—as if the land itself carries weight, warmth, and certainty across distance. Ukraine feels rooted, fertile, and alive to me, like a place where growth keeps pushing upward no matter what tries to press it down.

There is something beautiful in that image: strong people, open land, sunlight, harvest, and a deep force that can be felt even from beyond the border.

Across the Atlantic

United States: Bold in Their Pursuit

The United States feels intense to me. Their push for perfection often comes with a heavy price, but they keep moving, keep building, keep forcing new doors open. They break barriers and march into the unknown with a kind of restless energy the world cannot ignore.

Sometimes I wonder how the USA is actually doing.

From here, we know surprisingly little about ordinary life there. It is far away, and for most of us there is no simple, realistic way to visit often enough to understand what daily reality really feels like beyond headlines and social media.

Maybe technology will eventually connect people more directly and help us understand one another without so much distortion. Either way, I hope we learn to progress faster together rather than separately.

Scale & Structure

China: Builders of Our Shared World

With billions of people, China stands to me as proof of collective effort on a scale that is hard to fully grasp. So much of the modern world depends on what has been built there, often through sacrifice the rest of us may never fully understand. From Lithuania—three million people, basically a rounding error by comparison—I can only look on with a mixture of humility and awe.

Look past stereotypes and there is youth culture, technology, discipline, experimentation, cosplay, tradition, and futurism all woven together. That ability to move as both an ancient civilization and a modern machine is something I deeply respect.

Studying the language gave me a sense of openness I had not expected. It felt as though meaning could arrive before explanation, as if the symbols themselves invited attention before thought had time to become noisy.

Then I found myself wondering: what happens when both people in a conversation are truly clear‑minded, attentive, and open?

Even the Lithuanian word Kinija stirs something in me. To my ear, it sounds as though it could mean “the land of ki,” of energy. That is only my own association, not a linguistic claim — but I like what it suggests, and I feel that it reflects reality.

Precision & Grace

Japan: Sharp Minds, Ancient Elegance

I have long admired the precision and elegance of Japanese culture. Their attention to detail—in food, design, craft, robotics, ritual—hit me hard when I was younger. Even trying to learn the language opened depths I had not anticipated.

Japan reminded me to stay sharp and persevere even when the world around me felt unstable. There is a kind of disciplined beauty there that does not need to shout.

Asian Worlds

I have always wanted to visit Japan, China, and Korea—to walk their streets, learn from their people, and experience those cultures firsthand rather than through distance and projection.

In Lithuanian, Korėja reminds me a little of korys—a honeycomb, something built together cell by cell. So I imagine it as a place where people care deeply, organize deeply, and create together.

Have you seen how smart, thoughtful, and beautiful their people are?

The sad truth is that, from where I stand, this dream feels almost impossible. It is not only far beyond the budget of ordinary people; even the idea of arriving there can feel like stepping into a completely different, unfamiliar world.

I wonder whether they would like to be invited, cared for, and shown around this world in the same way. Simply coming here, walking around, going to a coffee shop, and then going home is not the same as truly being with someone.

Maybe even to build a new shared world together.

Would I personally like to live there?

Of course. I have lived in Europe all my life. We know each other more than well enough.

For the second quarter of my life, I would love to be there.

It is just not that simple…

Depth

India: Wells of Wisdom

India feels to me like an endless well—ready to be filled and refilled with knowledge, philosophy, spirituality, contradiction, beauty, and truth. On a chaotic and overloaded planet, India’s ancient depth still shines through.

From meditation and metaphysics to festivals, color, language, and living tradition, there is a timeless thread there that seems capable of carrying people even through their hardest seasons.

Self‑Restraint

Muslim Countries: A Beacon of Clarity

When I first learned about countries where alcohol was banned or tightly restricted, it felt foreign to me. Later, I began to understand the strength inside that choice. It is not just prohibition; it is a statement that a society does not have to drown itself to cope.

Where I grew up, drunkenness was common and often destructive. Knowing there were places trying to resist that norm gave me something like hope. The world needs more examples of self‑restraint, not fewer.

Scale, Wound, Beauty

Africa: Red Skies and Unspoken Stories

Africa is immense, diverse, and scarred by histories of extraction, violence, and theft. People warned me it was dangerous, that anger ran deep. The more I learned, the more I understood why such anger would exist.

And still, what reaches me most strongly is beauty—natural beauty, cultural richness, human strength, and stories too large to be reduced to fear. I hope one day to stand under those red skies with the respect they deserve.

Forest & Altitude

Brazil, Peru: Endless Forests and Ancient Echoes

Flying over Brazil, the forests seem to go on forever—like a breathing ocean of green. The Amazon still feels magical to me, mysterious even to those who live close to it. Brazil carries a cultural force that invites people to live in full color: music, movement, celebration, pulse.

Peru evokes something different in me: mountains, stone, altitude, old memory, civilizations that still echo through the landscape. Both places feel large in ways that exceed maps.

Future Motion

A Small Ship & a Wide World

Cycle & Choice

Europe’s Loop

Europe has a long history of manipulation into conflict—sometimes it feels like our tragic specialty. We repeat the cycle, fail to learn, then call the repetition destiny. That is why I keep looking outward: to nations that hold different habits of restraint, innovation, patience, or compassion.

I once nearly died—literally and figuratively—and was brought back. It taught me how finite time really is. We all die in the end—enemies and friends alike.

So why waste precious days on hate? Why not choose love, curiosity, and the wonder each person and each country still carries?

Maybe that sounds naïve. Fine. I have decided to embrace that naïveté rather than live inside permanent suspicion. There is freedom in dropping the tribal reflex and choosing to see people as human first.

Yes, there are hidden games, hard power, manipulations, and cruelties bigger than any one person. But as long as our hearts are still beating in our own chests, a choice remains: resist cruelty, speak honestly, build bridges, and find joy where we still can.

Maybe one day we meet in person and share a meal. Maybe we never do. Either way, you matter. You always did.

Policy, Death, Denial

Quick Reality Check: Europe’s “Health & Control” Illusion

As cited in WHO European reporting, four major commercial drivers—tobacco, ultra‑processed foods, fossil fuels and air pollution, and alcohol—are linked wholly or partly to about 2.7 million deaths a year in the WHO European Region, or roughly 7,400 a day. Tobacco alone is associated with around 1.1 million deaths annually in the region, and alcohol with about 800,000.

Numbers cannot carry grief, but they can sharpen moral focus. If human life truly matters, then both policy and habit should show it.

So while officials speak the language of protection, the deeper story can look like a steady stream of preventable death powered by profit, delay, and political inertia. That raises an uncomfortable question: does Europe really value human life—or just the appearance of valuing it?

Grief & Nearness

The Tragedy in Ukraine

I keep this part separate because the tragedy deserves its own space. I do not know enough to speak with authority about everything behind it, but I know enough to feel grief. I want people safe, I want the suffering to stop, and I want healing to begin as soon as possible.

What makes it even harder for me is that, when I look at Ukraine and Russia, I do not first see abstraction. I see closeness. I see something brotherly. Maybe that is because I am young and do not separate them as sharply as others do—but that is honestly how it feels to me.

And that is why the destruction feels so painful: when brothers are torn apart, everyone around them feels the shock. The wound does not stay in one place. It reaches outward.

I suspect that tragedies like this are never only about ordinary people. Larger forces—political, military, economic, informational—push human beings into positions they never truly chose, and then call the result inevitable. But there is nothing ordinary or acceptable about human lives being crushed in the process.

No child, no family, no people should be turned into fuel for history, strategy, or ambition. Whatever sits behind such devastation, the human cost is too high.

So I return to the smallest rule I know: be gentle where you still can. Treat others as you would want to be treated. Do not provoke cruelty where kindness is still possible. Peace begins in small choices long before it is ever written into history.

I believe COVID plays a major role in this — it reshapes how people understand things and how they filter information, especially when they’re in a weaker state.
I still strongly believe in the possibility of mind control coming from beyond the human world.

What I have found is that those with the strongest and most caring connections are often affected the most, because they know and care for each other so deeply. A toxic stimulus coming from somewhere may be influencing them. And when they try to seek help while in a very bad state of mind, it can easily trigger conflict. What was meant to be a call for help and connection might instead end up as a fight, like in relationships.

Sadly, there are also those who fuel this conflict instead of helping.

References

Sources & References

• World Health Organization (WHO): Global Health Estimates & Data
• WHO Fact Sheet on Tobacco: Tobacco
• WHO European Region: Alcohol Use and Public Health
• OECD: Health at a Glance: Europe

And in the end, I think most of us want the same thing: to fix what can still be fixed, to fill the gaps with love and understanding, and to live in peace for as long and as fully as we can.

No nation wants conflict at its doorstep, on same continent or same planet. Neighbours want good neighbours. We want strength beside us, not collapse; warmth beside us, not fear. We want to connect, like atoms forming bonds, until the world feels less like a battlefield and more like a shared home.