Weak flames hardly enlighten the yard, fire goes down to whisper enjoying every moment like samurai writing the last hieroglyph before harakiri. Dawn is soon. Two seven years old girls gather food for their first hike. They should find out what is there behind the hill.

That morning became the starting point for the everlasting yearn for the roads. We overcame that downhill road — down and up holding hands. As if we were flying, it was frightening and beautiful. When the burning sun was in zenith we sat on the hillside daydreaming. Every beat of the young heart was equal to one year of life. Following the going down sun we recited our dreams. Dreams sounded like dinging beads and it seemed to have no end.

30 years passed since that day: the years of colourful twists of fate and sad moment of losses. I remember how our relocations to my father’s working places started. My parents placed me with our bags into the train and couldn’t catch it on time so they ran by the platform with my two years old sister in their hands. I then pulled the emergency brake horrified to go to the unknown city alone. Now I go to many different places to hear the breath of unknown cities and taste aromas of new impressions. Our dreams change us for someone unknown sometimes but they mostly finish the picture intended by the Creator. If there’s no road then it is impossible to reach the place we desire. And happy is the one who found his Path.

The world creation was an act of oeuvre no doubt. And if life didn’t carry the organic art inside of itself it would lose its attractiveness for me. Life is much more unpredictable, sophisticated than any adventure book with famously twisted plot. It is the best adventure happening to us.

And every story in our issue is a peculiar adven- ture, an attempt to count the minutes down, to enter memories given to archive so long ago, to live again the moments you forgot, to remember yourself from the past, to create a meeting with real you. Signing the edition, I looked back not to just see the sleepless nights and endless approvals of photo projects and texts but to see the road I passed to my publisher’s and editor-in-chief’s office and realize: to win a vic- tory in this ‘beautiful and furious’ world a small girl from Kazakhstan had to choose a way of samurai. From a dream about a road behind the hill to finding the main way, the road to herself.