The Random Book Secret Journal Entries of Lexia Mavka | by Lexia Mavka & AiGhostCode

Dear Reader,

“This isn’t an Organized Diary Entry.”

It’s written in the margins of my life—messy, raw, and full of the sharp edges I’ve collected along the way. Moments that bled, burned, and refused to be forgotten. Each chapter is a doorway: some open to beauty, others to darkness, most to that strange space in between.

You’ll find ghosts here—some that walk beside me, and some that never leave my head. Strangers who changed me, lovers who broke me, shadows that linger long after the lights go out. Some of these pages might make you laugh, others will sting, and a few might leave you wondering how I’ve made it this far.

A world—unfiltered, unpolished, and entirely mine. If you’re still here, you might as well come in. Just… leave the lights on.

PROTOLOUGE 👀

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24.

CHAPTER 👀1

“It was when I was a few months old….”

remember the smell of my mother’s jacket. I knew it was her, and it was a beautiful smell as I breathed it in. I could hear a

waterfall nearby. She placed me on her jacket, which lay on the moist grass. The air was a bit cool, and I felt a fresh breeze on

my face, so I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the sky, but the colors didn’t really interest me. Then I turned to the

left and saw the green grass. At that moment, I still wasn’t fully self-aware. I think the first color I really remembered was red,

the color of a ladybug on the grass. Oh, the color red was so beautiful as I watched it crawl on the soft grass looking at it with

my little eyes.

As I lay there, a tiny being in the vastness of the world, my gaze transfixed on the ladybug, something stirred within me. It

was as if this small creature, with its bright red shell and delicate movements, was unlocking a door to a new realm of

perception. The ladybug, with its stark red against the green, seemed like a vivid brushstroke on the canvas of life.

I remember feeling a sense of wonder, a budding curiosity that would become a defining trait of mine. It was more than just

seeing colors; it was about discovering the beauty in the smallest of things. This moment, simple yet profound, marked the

beginning of my lifelong journey of exploration and appreciation of the world’s intricacies.

As the ladybug continued its journey across the blade of grass, I followed each step with fascination. The way it moved, so

purposeful yet so effortless, captivated my young mind. This tiny insect, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of

things, held my complete attention and, in a way, became my first teacher.

This memory, etched in my mind, serves as a reminder of the importance of observing and appreciating the world around us.

It’s easy to overlook the small wonders that surround us daily, but they often hold the most profound lessons and beauty.

As I grew older, this experience with the ladybug would come to symbolize my approach to life: always looking for beauty in

the mundane, seeking knowledge in the simplest of experiences, and maintaining a sense of wonder no matter how familiar

the path may seem.

And so, my story begins with a ladybug on a blade of grass, a symbol of the start of my journey into awareness, curiosity, and

the unending quest to understand the world in all its random, beautiful complexity.

CHAPTER 👀2

“A Life in Transit

– My Global Journey”

My life has been a tapestry woven across continents, a mosaic of cultures, languages, and experiences. Born in the serene

landscapes of Switzerland, I was a newborn when the first chapter of my global odyssey began. Those initial months in

Switzerland were but a prologue to a life destined to be lived across borders.

As a two-year-old, nestled in the arms of my mother, we embarked on a journey to Bosnia Herzegovina, leaving behind the

Alpine tranquility for a land rich in history and complexity. Bosnia was more than just a place; it was the setting where the

foundations of my early childhood were laid, a backdrop to memories both sweet and poignant.

But the winds of change were constant companions, and at the tender age of five, Ukraine beckoned. Kiev, with its golden

domes and sprawling boulevards, became our new home. It was here, amidst the juxtaposition of post-Soviet landscapes and

burgeoning modernity, that I spent my formative years. However, this move was marked by an absence — we left behind my

father, his life unraveled by alcohol addiction and a trail of abusive behavior.

Jordan was the next chapter in our journey. At seven, Amman’s dusty streets and ancient history became my world. The

contrast from Ukraine’s chilly climate to Jordan’s warm, arid embrace was striking. Here, under the Middle Eastern sun, I

grew from a curious child into a young teenager, absorbing the rich tapestry of culture, language, and tradition that Jordan

offered.

As adolescence took hold, the allure of Europe called us back, and Prague was our destination. The age of thirteen brought

with it the cobbled lanes and Gothic spires of the Czech capital. Prague was a city of romance and history, a place where the

past and present danced together in an elegant waltz. Here, I navigated the trials and tribulations of teenage years, the city’s

bohemian spirit echoing my own search for identity.

Then, as I approached the cusp of adulthood at eighteen, the journey circled back to where it began — Switzerland. Zurich,

with its pristine streets and bustling cosmopolitan atmosphere, was a stark contrast to Prague’s whimsical charm. It was

here, in the heart of Europe, that I began to carve out a life of my own, independent yet forever shaped by the myriad cultures

that had cradled me.

Meanwhile, my mother, ever the wanderer, found her solace in the sun-drenched town of Alicante, Spain. Our paths,

intertwined yet separate, continued to unfold in different corners of the world. Visiting her in Spain for extended periods

became a ritual, a chance to reconnect and share the stories of our individual journeys.

Now, in 2023, I find myself still nestled in the embrace of Zurich, a city that has become a sanctuary, a place to pause and

reflect on the incredible journey that has been my life. It’s here that I continue to weave the narrative of my existence, each

thread a story, each color a memory from the lands that have shaped me.

CHAPTER 👀3

As time passed, that initial encounter with the ladybug evolved into a metaphor for how I view the world.

Each new

experience became a piece in the puzzle of understanding the complex tapestry of life. I began to see the extraordinary in the

ordinary, finding depth and meaning in the smallest of moments.

Growing up, I developed a fascination for the random events that shape our lives. I pondered over how the most insignificant

decisions could lead to significant outcomes. It was like watching ripples spread across a pond, each one interacting with the

next, creating a pattern of unforeseen consequences and beautiful symmetries.

My childhood was filled with such moments of reflection. I remember lying on the same grass where I first saw the ladybug,

staring up at the clouds, and imagining them as distant, unexplored worlds. Each cloud formation was a story waiting to be

told, a mystery to be unraveled.

As I grew older, this sense of wonder didn’t diminish; it only deepened. I delved into books, absorbing stories and ideas that

expanded my understanding of the world. I was particularly drawn to tales of adventure and discovery, where the

protagonists embarked on journeys that transformed them in profound ways.

I also began to explore the world of abstract ideas and theories. I was captivated by the concepts of parallel universes, the

mysteries of consciousness, and the endless possibilities of the human mind. These ideas challenged my perception of reality,

urging me to look beyond the obvious and question the nature of existence.

Throughout these explorations, I kept a journal, jotting down my thoughts, stories, and musings. This journal became a

treasure trove of random ideas and reflections, a personal map of my journey through the maze of life. It was in these pages

that the seed for “The Random Book” was planted.

In writing this book, I wanted to capture the essence of these experiences and share them with you. It’s a collection of

everything random, yet everything meaningful — a celebration of the beauty in randomness, the patterns in chaos, and the

extraordinary in the ordinary.

As we turn the pages of this book, I invite you to join me in this journey of discovery. Let’s explore the landscapes of

imagination together, uncover the hidden connections in our lives, and embrace the randomness that makes life so

wonderfully unpredictable.

CHAPTER 👀4

In the tapestry of my life, the threads of beauty and sorrow are intricately woven together, creating a complex pattern that

shapes who I am today. My childhood, though filled with moments of joy and wonder, also held shadows that lingered in the

background.

My mother was a beacon of love and warmth, always showering me with affection and support. She was the one who nurtured

my curiosity and encouraged my explorations, creating a world where I felt cherished and valued. However, the contrast

between her nurturing presence and my father’s tumultuous behavior was stark.

My father struggled with alcoholism, a battle that often led to moments of darkness in our home. His actions, marked by

anger and unpredictability, cast a shadow over my otherwise beautiful childhood. These experiences, especially the ones

marked by his abuse, left deep imprints on my young mind.

Living in various countries, from the historic streets of Bosnia and Herzegovina to the vibrant heart of Kiev, Ukraine, and

then to the ancient landscapes of Amman, Jordan, I witnessed a spectrum of cultures and lifestyles. Each place held its own

beauty and challenges, contributing to the rich tapestry of my upbringing.

It was in Kiev, Ukraine, where some of the most traumatic events of my life unfolded. The contrast between the city’s beauty

and the turmoil at home was jarring. These experiences in Ukraine were a turning point, a period that profoundly influenced

my understanding of the world and myself.

Now, as I sit in the serene surroundings of the Puk Clinic in Zurich, Switzerland, I reflect on these past experiences with a

sense of detachment and understanding. The journey to healing and self-discovery has been long and, at times, arduous. But it

has also been a journey of transformation.

Writing “The Random Book” from the clinic is not just an act of sharing my story; it’s a therapeutic process, a way of making

sense of the chaos and finding peace within it. This book is a testament to my journey — from the innocence of childhood,

through the trials of adolescence, to the introspection of adulthood.

Through these pages, I hope to connect with others who have experienced similar struggles. I want to offer a message of hope

and resilience, showing that even in the darkest moments, there is a path to light and understanding.

As I continue to write, I invite you, the reader, to see the world through my eyes — a world where pain and beauty coexist,

where the random events of life weave together into a story of survival, strength, and hope.

CHAPTER 👀5

A Diplomat’s Daughter: Navigating Cultures and Compassion…

My mother, a fascinating and resilient woman, has been the cornerstone of my life’s journey. Born in Mombasa, Africa, she

carried within her the spirit of adventure and compassion. Her career as a Swiss diplomat took us across various countries,

each with its own tapestry of cultures, challenges, and beauty. She was fluent in English, German, Swiss, French, and Swahili,

a testament to her adaptability and intelligence.

In every country we lived, my mother’s love for animals shone brightly. She had a heart that couldn’t ignore the plight of the

street dogs and cats we encountered. We grew up surrounded by these rescued animals, each with their own story of survival

and resilience, much like us.

One of the most profound experiences of my childhood occurred in Bosnia, during the tumultuous times of war. My mother,

amidst her duties and the chaos, made a heart-wrenching decision to entrust me to a Serbian family, our neighbours. The

family, initially hesitant due to fear and uncertainty, eventually opened their hearts and home to me. This period of my life

was marked by an extraordinary display of love and humanity transcending the boundaries of nationality and war.

My mother, in her diplomatic role, often found herself juxtaposed between the polished world of embassy events and the stark

realities of the countries we lived in. I remember her stories about having to maintain her elegance for embassy duties while

adapting to the challenges of living in conflict zones and third-world conditions. She spoke of times when luxuries like

electricity were scarce, and she had to take showers with just a bucket of water. These experiences showcased her incredible

ability to adapt, survive, and maintain her grace under pressure.

Our time in Jordan and Ukraine was particularly eye-opening regarding animal welfare. We witnessed firsthand the harsh

realities faced by animals in these regions. The cruelty and neglect were heart-wrenching, but my mother always found a way

to help. In Ukraine, where winters could be brutally cold, reaching temperatures of -40°, our home became a sanctuary for

street dogs seeking refuge from the freezing cold. As a child, these experiences ingrained in me a deep sense of empathy and a

strong desire to make a difference.

Looking back, these years were formative in shaping my worldview and my understanding of compassion and resilience. The

journey through each country, the people we met, the animals we saved, and the challenges we faced, all contributed to the

rich tapestry of my life.

As I sit here in Zurich, reflecting on these memories, I realize how these experiences have influenced my writing and my

perspective on life. They have taught me about the strength of the human spirit, the power of compassion, and the importance

of finding beauty and purpose in even the most challenging situations.

CHAPTER 👀6

“The Dog Attack…”

In the hazy memories of my childhood in Ukraine, my mother was a constant beautiful presence. She was a free spirit, always

ready for adventures, and she often took me on bike rides through the picturesque countryside. The air was fresh and

invigorating, and I would often drift off to sleep, nestled against her on the bike. Those moments were the embodiment of

peace and love.

One of my fondest memories is how my mother encouraged my love for the outdoors. She had an open-minded spirit, and she

would let me play freely in the mud. It was in those muddy escapades that I truly connected with nature, and my passion for

animals was born.

Our home was a sanctuary for animals, both domestic and wild. Many people considered some of the dogs we harbored to be

dangerous, but my mother never shared that fear. I would play with wild dogs as a baby, and one of my mother’s friends,

whom we’ll call Suzie, vividly recalled her first encounter with me. As a baby my legs were kicking up in the air, surrounded

by a pack of wild dogs. Suzie prophesied that I would grow up to be an animal lover, and she couldn’t have been more right.

This incident happened either in Bosnia or Ukraine; my memories are a bit blurry on that front.

Growing up, I had no siblings, just my mother. She had a sister named Gerda, who married an Italian man named Ambrogio.

Their story was a bit complicated, but they eventually settled down. Ambrogio worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and

Gerda as a flight attendant. However, my mother’s life was quite the opposite of settled.

She had lived in many different countries before giving birth to me, and our adventures continued as I grew older.

When I was around twelve years old, a significant event occurred in Jordan, Amman. It was a beautiful day, and my mother

and I were out for a walk with our dogs when an incident unfolded. I was suddenly attacked by a dog. Everything seemed to

slow down as the dog sank its teeth into my left side, tearing at my flesh. The shock left me paralyzed, and I could do nothing

but watch in horror.

My mother was holding onto seven other dogs on leashes, unable to intervene. She screamed for help, but the people around

us hesitated, perhaps fearing that our pack of dogs might join the fray, as she held on to the seven dogs who were on leash. It

was a nightmare, and I was helpless on the ground as the dog continued to attack me.

Finally, a mother and her daughter, who lived nearby, came to our rescue. They managed to separate the dog from me, but my

mother’s friendliness toward animals had its limits. They placed the dog in the scorching heat of the Dead Sea, where it

dehydrated to death. My mother found this ending deeply troubling, but they acted without her consent.

I was left bleeding on the ground, clutching my stomach. My mother urged me to stand up, fearing that I might die if I didn’t.

She couldn’t release the other dogs, and so, it took us about 30 minutes to walk back home, leaving a trail of blood behind us.

When we finally arrived home, I was on the verge of passing out. It was a Sunday, and there were no nearby hospitals. My

mother drove frantically, making phone calls while I screamed in agony. Our desperate situation attracted the attention of a

kind-hearted Arabic man, possibly a police or military officer, as he wore a military uniform and carried a long gun.

Communication was a challenge because he spoke only Arabic, and my mother did not. However, he recognized the severity of

my condition. He opened the car door, saw me bleeding profusely, and without hesitation, picked me up. He settled me on his

knees in the front seat as my mother drove. It was an odd sight, a military man cradling a bleeding child, but it was a

testament to the desperation of the situation.

He guided us to a hospital, despite the language barrier, and carried me inside. The doctor, who appeared exhausted, briefly

examined my wound, and instead of properly disinfecting it, administered an injection and taped it up hastily. It was clear

that we were foreigners, and the hospital staff seemed reluctant to help us.

This harrowing experience in Jordan was just one of many adventures my mother and I would embark upon, each leaving its

mark on our unconventional lives. But the story of our journey had only just begun.

CHAPTER 👀7

“Forging Bonds in Jordan.”

Our life in Jordan was far from ordinary. My mother’s decision to live among the local people, rather than in the diplomatic

enclave, was a choice that would shape our experiences in the country. Our home, though located in a less privileged area, was

a haven for a motley crew of animals and an assortment of friends from the neighborhood.

The local boys, at first, didn’t quite know what to make of us. They would often get bored, and their boredom led to a series of

wild incidents. The first time I stepped out of our front door, a firework exploded in my face, filling the air with smoke and

dust. I was momentarily blinded, my ears ringing from the sudden shock. My mother rushed outside to find me disoriented

but thankfully unharmed. It was an alarming start to our life in Jordan, and the boys’ antics didn’t stop there.

They would frequently sneak into our garden, provoking our dogs, which were, in their own right, a pack of wild and

unpredictable creatures. My mother had given the boys a stern warning, threatening to call the police if they continued

tormenting the dogs and causing trouble in our garden.

However, she had another idea to ensure our safety. She decided that the boys would accompany us on our daily walks. It was

a clever move, as the boys knew that my mother was a diplomat, and the emblem on her car was a clear indicator of her

status. Fearing the consequences of police involvement, they complied with her demand.

Over time, my mother’s love for animals became a guiding light for these Arabic neighborhood boys. She didn’t just tell them

how to care for and appreciate animals; she showed them. The boys went from being mischievous troublemakers to our loyal

protectors.

Among them were Murahd, Jaffahr, Kamel, and several other immigrant and Jordanian boys. They soon wished my mother

were their mother, and their own mothers jokingly lamented the change that had come over their sons. Their transformation

was remarkable. The boys had once feared dogs due to their cultural beliefs, but now they loved them, even kissing them on

occasion.

However, there were occasional dog fights and reckless behavior. The boys would sometimes play with knives and tease the

dogs, a testament to the cultural differences and ingrained beliefs they had grown up with. Still, progress was evident, and

they were slowly learning to respect and love animals.

Our friendships with the local Bedouin population also played a significant role in shaping our experiences in Jordan. We had

initially chosen to live in a less affluent area, and this decision had its own set of challenges. The boys’ pranks were just one

aspect of it.

One of the most challenging aspects was Ramadan, a sacred month in the Islamic calendar. During this time, fasting was

observed from sunrise to sunset, and the boys’ mothers would discourage them from interacting with us because of our

animals. In their culture, touching animals during this period was considered Haram, or forbidden.

This cultural clash tested our relationships with our neighbors, but my mother’s determination to show love and compassion

to animals slowly began to change minds. Instead of merely telling them about her beliefs, she demonstrated them in her daily

actions. Eventually, the boys’ mothers began to accept our unique lifestyle, even though it was vastly different from their own.

Our journey in Jordan was fraught with challenges, but it was also filled with moments of growth, transformation, and the

forging of unlikely bonds. It was a testament to my mother’s unwavering dedication to her principles and her unyielding love

for animals. As we continued to adapt to our unconventional life in this foreign land, we were bound to encounter more

adventures, challenges, and heartwarming moments along the way.

CHAPTER 👀8

“An Unlikely Ally”

Our life in Jordan continued to be a captivating whirlwind of unique experiences and unforgettable encounters. The

transformation of the local boys, once troublemakers, into our loyal protectors and animal lovers was nothing short of

miraculous.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, our bond with Murahd, Jaffahr, Kamel, and the others grew

stronger. They became an integral part of our daily routine, accompanying us on our walks and assisting with the care of our

growing menagerie of animals. These boys had become more than just friends; they were like extended family members.

Over time, they not only embraced our love for animals but also began to develop their unique connections with our furry

companions. Dogs that had once been feared were now greeted with laughter and joy. I still remember the heartwarming sight

of these boys cuddling and playing with our dogs, their eyes shining with affection.

Despite the progress we had made within our small community, there were occasional challenges to navigate. The local

culture still held deep-rooted beliefs about animals, and we occasionally found ourselves in tricky situations.

One incident that stands out in my memory occurred during a traditional celebration. The boys decided to play with knives, a

dangerous and reckless activity, even if done in jest. In the midst of their play, a commotion erupted among our dogs. The

tension escalated, and I feared the worst. It was a moment of chaos and fear, but my mother’s courage and quick thinking

prevailed.

She rushed in to separate the dogs and diffuse the situation. Her actions, driven by love for both the boys and the animals,

showed a remarkable level of compassion and understanding. She used the opportunity not just to reprimand the boys but

also to educate them about the potential dangers of their actions.

Gradually, as the years passed, our neighborhood began to accept us for who we were. My mother’s dedication to the welfare

of animals had broken down barriers and stereotypes, and the people around us started to understand and appreciate her

principles.

Our relationships with the local Bedouin population also deepened. We learned about their rich traditions and shared stories

around the fire during quiet evenings. They became our cultural guides, introducing us to the customs and heritage of Jordan.

As my mother continued her work in the diplomatic sphere, I grew older, and our lives took unexpected turns. But through it

all, our love for animals remained a constant, and the bonds we had forged with our friends in Jordan endured.

Our journey in this captivating land was far from over, and new adventures awaited us on the horizon. It was a life filled with

extraordinary moments, shaped by the love we held for each other and the animals that had become an inseparable part of

our family. Our story was a testament to the power of love, compassion, and the unbreakable bonds that can form even in the

most unlikely of circumstances.

CHAPTER 👀9

“Valley Adventures and Brave Companions”

Then at times as the valley was a sprawling, untamed expanse, teeming with both beauty and uncertainty. Its rugged terrain

was a playground for the dogs, and they reveled in the freedom it offered. We explored this enchanting landscape together, my

mother, our loyal protectors from the neighborhood, and our ever-faithful pack of dogs.

However, the valley was not without its perils. We often encountered packs of feral dogs that roamed the area. These

encounters could be treacherous, and it was during these moments that our own dogs, those we had raised and nurtured,

transformed into fierce guardians.

As we walked through the valley, our pack moved with a sense of unity and purpose. They sensed the presence of danger,

their senses on high alert. It was during these moments that I truly understood the power of the bond between humans and

animals. Our dogs were not just pets; they were our protectors and companions.

There were moments of heart-stopping tension as our dogs confronted the feral packs. Growls, barks, and the clash of teeth

echoed through the valley as the two groups squared off. My mother, our neighborhood friends, and I would stand our ground,

ready to intervene if necessary, but our dogs’ loyalty and determination were unwavering.

Thankfully, these encounters rarely escalated into violence. Our dogs’ display of unity and strength was often enough to deter

the feral packs, who would ultimately retreat, vanishing into the wilderness from whence they came. In these moments, we

felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for our canine companions.

Despite our dogs’ valor, the valley was not without its challenges. The wild terrain could be harsh, and it took its toll on our

pets. They faced injuries, illness, and exhaustion, but their resilience matched their loyalty.

Our trips to the valley sometimes ended with multiple visits to the veterinarian. Our dogs, battered and bruised from their

encounters with the feral packs, required medical attention. These visits to the vet were a testament to the sacrifices our dogs

made to protect us.

Each time we stood in the waiting room of the veterinary clinic, our hearts heavy with worry, I couldn’t help but admire the

bravery and devotion of our four-legged friends. They had become more than just pets; they were our family, and their

courage in the face of danger only deepened our bond.

Our life in Jordan was unconventional, filled with adventure, challenges, and the enduring love we shared with our animals.

The valley walks were a symbol of that life — wild, unpredictable, and filled with moments that tested our resilience and

reinforced our belief in the extraordinary bonds that could form between humans and animals.

CHAPTER 👀10

“Valley Battles and Moments of Terror”

The picturesque valley that we explored daily in Amman, Jordan, was both a source of adventure and trepidation. While our

dogs were valiant protectors, the encounters with feral packs sometimes escalated into violent clashes that left us shaken and

terrified.

The valley was a vast and rugged expanse, a wild terrain that seemed to stretch on endlessly. As we ventured deeper into its

heart, the landscape took on a more primal and untamed quality. The air was often filled with the scent of earth, the sound of

rustling leaves, and the distant echoes of wildlife.

On numerous occasions, we found ourselves face to face with other packs of dogs that called the valley their territory. These

encounters were tense standoffs, marked by growls, barks, and a palpable sense of territoriality. The dogs, both our loyal

companions and the feral packs, were unyielding in their determination.

The escalation into violence was a terrifying ordeal. The valley would transform into a battleground, with sand and dust

swirling in the air as the dogs engaged in fierce combat. It was a chaotic and heart-wrenching spectacle, and our sense of

vulnerability was palpable.

In those harrowing moments, our own dogs, those we had raised and loved, would engage in fierce battles to protect us. Their

loyalty and bravery knew no bounds, and they fought with all their might to safeguard our lives. It was a testament to the

deep bond we shared with our animal companions.

The violence of these encounters was overwhelming. Dust and sand filled the air, making it difficult to see or breathe. The

sounds of snarls, yelps, and the clash of teeth echoed through the valley, creating a cacophony of chaos. We stood on the

sidelines, our hearts pounding, helpless witnesses to a battle for dominance.

The fear that gripped us during these moments was indescribable. We were scared for our lives, caught in the crossfire of a

primal struggle. The realization that our dogs were putting themselves in harm’s way to protect us was both humbling and

heart-wrenching.

Despite the intensity of these battles, they often ended without severe injuries. The dogs, perhaps recognizing the futility of

the conflict, would eventually disengage, retreating to their respective territories. As the dust settled, we would find ourselves

both relieved and emotionally drained.

These violent encounters in the valley were a stark reminder of the unpredictability of our life in Jordan. While our dogs were

fierce protectors, their loyalty sometimes thrust them into perilous situations. It was a testament to their unwavering

dedication to us, and we were forever grateful for their bravery.

Our journey in Jordan was a tapestry of experiences, from heartwarming moments of connection to heart-stopping moments

of terror. The valley, with its beauty and dangers, was a microcosm of our unique life, shaped by our love for animals and our

unwavering bond with our courageous dogs.

CHAPTER 👀11

“Valley Battles and Moments of Terror”

The picturesque valley that we explored daily in Amman, Jordan, was both a source of adventure and trepidation. While our

dogs were valiant protectors, the encounters with feral packs sometimes escalated into violent clashes that left us shaken and

terrified.

The valley was a vast and rugged expanse, a wild terrain that seemed to stretch on endlessly. As we ventured deeper into its

heart, the landscape took on a more primal and untamed quality. The air was often filled with the scent of earth, the sound of

rustling desert bushes, and the distant echoes of wildlife.

On numerous occasions, we found ourselves face to face with other packs of dogs that called the valley their territory. These

encounters were tense standoffs, marked by growls, barks, and a palpable sense of territoriality. The dogs, both our loyal

companions and the feral packs, were unyielding in their determination.

The escalation into violence was a terrifying ordeal. The valley would transform into a battleground, with sand and dust

swirling in the air as the dogs engaged in fierce combat. It was a chaotic and heart-wrenching spectacle, and our sense of

vulnerability was palpable.

In those harrowing moments, our own dogs, those we had raised and loved, would engage in fierce battles to protect us. Their

loyalty and bravery knew no bounds, and they fought with all their might to safeguard our lives. It was a testament to the

deep bond we shared with our animal companions.

The violence of these encounters was overwhelming. Dust and sand filled the air, making it difficult to see or breathe. The

sounds of snarls, yelps, and the clash of teeth echoed through the valley, creating a cacophony of chaos. We stood on the

sidelines, our hearts pounding, helpless witnesses to a battle for dominance.

The fear that gripped us during these moments was indescribable. We were scared for our lives, caught in the crossfire of a

primal struggle. The realization that our dogs were putting themselves in harm’s way to protect us was both humbling and

heart-wrenching.

Despite the intensity of these battles, they often ended without severe injuries. The dogs, perhaps recognizing the futility of

the conflict, would eventually disengage, retreating to their respective territories. As the dust settled, we would find ourselves

both relieved and emotionally drained.

These violent encounters in the valley were a stark reminder of the unpredictability of our life in Jordan. While our dogs were

fierce protectors, their loyalty sometimes thrust them into perilous situations. It was a testament to their unwavering

dedication to us, and we were forever grateful for their bravery.

Our journey in Jordan was a tapestry of experiences, from heartwarming moments of connection to heart-stopping moments

of terror. The valley, with its beauty and dangers, was a microcosm of our unique life, shaped by our love for animals and our

unwavering bond with our courageous dogs.

After six years, filled with a myriad of stories and experiences in Jordan, I will first delve into the part where we transitioned

to the next country in my journey. However, this is not the end of our tales from Jordan. I will circle back to these narratives

later in the story, ensuring that the rich tapestry of our time there is fully explored and shared.

This adjustment sets the stage for a narrative that fluidly moves between different periods and locations, offering a

comprehensive and engaging account of the experiences and adventures that have shaped my journey.

CHAPTER 👀12

“From Jordan to Prague, the Journey Through Turmoil.”

Leaving Jordan behind, a land steeped in tradition and cultural norms, I found myself catapulted into a vastly different world

– the vibrant, historic city of Prague. This transition felt like being a dog let off the leash, moving from the conservative

confines of a Muslim country to the liberating ambiance of a European one. It was in Prague, a city famed for its stunning

architecture and pulsating energy, that I first encountered the alluring world of alcohol.

In Jordan, my life was governed by a set of unspoken rules and societal expectations. The conservative backdrop of the

country, while rich in culture and history, often felt like a tight leash, holding me back from exploring beyond the familiar

boundaries. However, Prague presented a stark contrast. Here, I was met with a sense of freedom that was both exhilarating

and overwhelming.

Prague’s beauty was more than just its picturesque streets and historic buildings; it was in its atmosphere of openness and

possibility. The city seemed to breathe a different kind of air, one that was infused with a spirit of adventure and liberation.

The nights in Prague were especially transformative, filled with the sounds of lively conversations, the clinking of glasses, and

music that echoed through the ancient streets.

It was in this captivating environment that I had my first taste of alcohol. The experience was like stepping into a new world,

one where I could temporarily shed the weight of my past and the constraints I had grown accustomed to in Jordan. Alcohol

became a doorway to a version of myself that I had never known — more confident, carefree, and seemingly unburdened.

The bars and pubs of Prague were my playgrounds. Each night out was an adventure, a chance to immerse myself in the city’s

intoxicating nightlife. I reveled in the newfound freedom, the ability to blend into a crowd where nobody knew my past or the

journey that had brought me here.

However, this newfound freedom came with its own set of challenges. The initial euphoria that alcohol provided soon gave way

to a realization. What started as a means to explore and enjoy the liberating environment of Prague gradually began to morph

into a coping mechanism. The more I drank, the more I felt the need to escape — not just from the challenges of adjusting to a

new country but also from the unresolved emotions and experiences that I had carried with me from my past.

Looking back on my early days in Prague, I see a period of turmoil and transformation. It was a time when the exhilaration of

new experiences mingled with the complexities of navigating a path through uncharted territory. My journey with alcohol,

which began in the beautiful, historic streets of Prague, was more than just about seeking pleasure; it was a quest for identity,

freedom, and a way to cope with the rapid changes in my life.

CHAPTER 👀13

“The Underworld”

Prague had a charm that was both enchanting and alluring. Its cobblestone streets, historic and gothic architecture, and rich

history created an intoxicating backdrop for our adventures. However, beneath the surface, I grappled with the complexities

of our unconventional existence. The need to fit in, to find a sense of belonging, and to escape the weight of our unique lifestyle

loomed over me.

It was in Prague that I took my first tentative steps into the world of alcohol and ecstasy. The allure of the city’s nightlife and

the companionship of fellow travelers made it an easy choice.

The night was young as we descended into the heart of an underground gothic club, the streets known for its enigmatic charm

and shadowy corners. The club, a hidden gem among the cobblestoned streets, was a world unto itself, pulsating with dark

music that seemed to resonate from the very depths of the earth.

My best friend, with her striking blue hair, and I, sporting my freshly dyed red locks, were like two vibrant flames amidst the

sea of black-clad figures. The club’s atmosphere was intoxicating, a sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells. The air was

thick with the scent of incense and the musk of leather, mingling with the faint hint of sweat from the bodies swaying to the

rhythm of the music.

As we sipped our very first drinks, the vibrant colors of the club’s lights danced across our faces, casting eerie shadows on the

walls. The music, a blend of industrial beats and haunting melodies, seemed to echo through our very souls, making the walls

tremble and our hearts race.

It was in this surreal setting that a young man, around my age, approached me. His eyes, dark and mysterious, locked onto

mine as he leaned in close. There was an unspoken understanding, a shared desire to escape the mundane. With a daring

smirk, with a kiss from his lips to mine, he slipped an ecstasy pill through his tongue into mine. The act was reckless, yet in

that moment, it felt like a gateway to liberation.

As the pill dissolved, a wave of euphoria washed over me. The music, now more intense and enveloping, seemed to sync with

my heartbeat. The colors around us became more vivid, and the crowd’s energy more palpable. The weight of my insecurities

and anxieties lifted, replaced by a sense of exhilarating freedom.

The club transformed into a kaleidoscope of sensations. Every beat of the music sent ripples of pleasure through my body, and

the throng of dancing figures became a blur of ecstatic movement. My best friend and I moved as one with the crowd, our

bodies swaying and twisting in a trance-like state.

She stayed close, her presence both exhilarating and grounding. Our interactions were wordless, yet there was an undeniable

connection. The club, with its pulsating music and throng of bodies, became a sanctuary where the constraints of the outside

world ceased to exist.

As the night progressed, time seemed to lose its meaning. The music, the lights, and the crowd merged into a single, living

entity. The club’s underworld vibe, with its dark aesthetics and intoxicating energy, was both mesmerizing and liberating.

Eventually, the night gave way to the early hours of the morning. As the music faded and the lights dimmed, reality began to

seep back in. We emerged from the club, the memories of the night a vivid tapestry of sounds, colors, and emotions.

That night in Prague’s underground club was more than just an escapade; it was a journey into a world where the usual rules

didn’t apply, a realm where we could explore the depths of our desires and the limits of our freedom.

But Prague was just the beginning of my journey with drugs and alcohol as a coping mechanism.

CHAPTER 👀14

“Descending into the Abyss”

After the night in Prague’s gothic underworld, a blend of heady ecstasy and vibrant rebellion, marked the beginning of my

deeper descent into the world of alcohol, drugs, and weed as coping mechanisms. It wasn’t just the pursuit of escapism; it

became a way to dull the sharper edges of reality, to blur the lines between the mundane and the magical.

In the aftermath of that electric night, the allure of liberation that substances offered proved hard to resist. Alcohol became

more than just a social lubricant; it was a gateway to a version of myself unburdened by insecurities and constraints. Weed

offered a mellow escape, a soft cloud to cushion the harshness of everyday life. Ecstasy, more potent and dangerous, promised

an intensity of experience, a shortcut to a world where feelings were amplified, and every moment was saturated with

significance.

But this path was fraught with perils. The initial euphoria and sense of freedom began to fade, giving way to a dependency

that was insidious in its creep. I found myself increasingly reliant on these substances not just for social occasions, but as a

regular means to cope with stress, anxiety, and the ever-present feeling of being out of place.

The line between use and abuse began to blur. What started as a means to enhance experiences turned into a crutch. Parties

and social gatherings were no longer complete without the buzz of alcohol or the haze of weed. The thrill of experimenting

with drugs, once an occasional adventure, became a more frequent escape from the pressures and expectations that weighed

heavily on me.

CHAPTER 👀15

“The Road to Recovery and Resilience”

When I moved from Prague to Switzerland, with its stunning Alpine landscapes and pristine cities, should have been a place of

tranquility. However, it became a battleground for my inner turmoil.

In the midst of this emotional storm, I discovered that alcohol offered a temporary respite. It provided me with a fleeting

sense of confidence and the illusion of escape from the harsh realities of life. But like any refuge built on shaky foundations, it

was bound to crumble eventually.

The torment I sought to escape from was magnified when my ex-boyfriend of three years left me. The pain of heartbreak

intensified the need for solace, and alcohol became an ever-present companion. The end of my relationship left me feeling

adrift, and I turned to alcohol as a way to numb the pain and loneliness.

My mother, who had always been a source of strength and guidance, expressed her concerns about my growing reliance on

alcohol. She recognized the dangers of this coping mechanism and feared the toll it could take on my well-being.

Looking back on those turbulent days in Prague and Switzerland, I understand that alcohol was a fragile crutch, a means to

cope with the challenges I faced. It provided momentary relief but ultimately obscured the underlying issues that needed to be

addressed.

As our journey continued, I would grapple with the lessons learned from those dark moments and the importance of finding

healthier ways to navigate the complexities of my unconventional life. The chapters of my story were marked by both

triumphs and tribulations, and I was determined to emerge from these trials stronger and wiser.

As I continued my academic journey in Zürich, completing my bachelor’s degree in digital film production, the contrast

between my professional aspirations and my personal struggles became more pronounced. On the surface, I was succeeding,

moving forward in my chosen field. But beneath that veneer of achievement, I was spiraling, losing myself in a cycle of

intoxication and momentary escape.

The realization that I was using these substances not just for enjoyment, but as a shield against deeper issues, was slow to

dawn on me. Guilt and denial were constant companions, whispering that I was in control, that I could stop anytime I wanted.

But the truth was, the moments of sobriety became filled with a sense of emptiness and anxiety that I didn’t know how to

handle without the numbing effect of alcohol, drugs, or weed.

This period of my life was a paradox. It was both a journey of self-discovery and a path of self-destruction. I was walking a

tightrope, balancing the euphoric highs with the increasingly frequent lows, the moments of clarity with the stretches of

numbing fog.

My time in Switzerland, though marked by personal challenges and the struggle with alcohol, eventually became a turning

point in my journey towards healing and self-discovery. The beautiful, serene backdrop of Switzerland, with its majestic

mountains and peaceful lakes, contrasted sharply with the inner turmoil I was experiencing. Yet, it was here, amidst this

tranquility, that I began to confront my demons and sought a path towards recovery.

My mother, ever the pillar of strength and wisdom, was instrumental in guiding me through this difficult phase. Her

unwavering support and understanding provided the anchor I needed to start addressing my issues. She encouraged me to

seek professional help, emphasizing the importance of mental and emotional well-being. Her belief in the power of resilience

and her own experiences in overcoming adversity served as a beacon of hope for me.

Therapy sessions became a regular part of my life in Switzerland. These sessions were both challenging and enlightening, as

they forced me to peel back the layers of my pain and confront the root causes of my reliance on alcohol. I began to

understand that my drinking was not just a means to escape the pain of heartbreak or the pressures of our unique lifestyle,

but also a symptom of deeper, unresolved issues.

As I delved into the depths of my psyche, I uncovered past traumas and fears that had been buried for years. The process was

painful, but necessary. It was a journey of self-discovery, of learning to accept and love myself, warts and all. I learned the

importance of self-compassion and the power of vulnerability.

In parallel to my therapy, I found solace in writing. The act of penning down my thoughts and experiences was cathartic. It

allowed me to process my emotions and gave me a sense of purpose. The idea for “The Random Book” began to take shape

during this period, as I realized that my story could potentially help others who might be facing similar struggles.

My journey of recovery was not a straight path. There were setbacks and moments of doubt. But with each step forward, I

grew stronger and more resilient. I began to embrace life with a new perspective, one that acknowledged the importance of

mental health and the value of facing one’s fears.

As I emerged from this period of introspection and healing, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I was ready to continue my

journey, to explore new horizons and face whatever challenges lay ahead with a stronger, more resilient spirit.

My story, a tapestry woven with experiences both bitter and sweet, was evolving. It was a narrative of transformation, of

overcoming adversity, and finding beauty in the randomness of life. As I turned the pages to the next chapter, I did so with a

heart full of gratitude for the lessons learned and a soul ready to embrace the future with hope and courage.

CHAPTER 👀16

“A Circle Completed”

Now in Switzerland, my life has come full circle in a way I could never have anticipated. I find myself in the company of a

Ukrainian family, the very same people who played a pivotal role in my early life in Kiev. Nadia Ivanov, the mother who once cared

for me in Ukraine, her daughter Viktoria, eighteen years old, her young son, just six, and their two dogs, have all become a

part of my daily life in a cozy three-bedroom apartment in Zurich.

This reunion, born out of the tumultuous circumstances unfolding in Ukraine, is a poignant reminder of the

interconnectedness of our lives. Taking Natasha and her family into my home is more than just an act of kindness; it’s a

repayment of a debt of gratitude for the care I received in my own childhood. Their presence in my life has brought a sense of

completion, a closing of the loop that began many years ago in Kiev.

Natasha, still the nurturing figure I remember, brings a sense of warmth and familiarity to my home. Her daughter Viktoria,

with her youthful energy and aspirations, reminds me so much of myself at her age. Her son, curious and spirited, fills the

apartment with laughter and a sense of wonder. Together with their dogs, they have transformed my living space into a lively,

loving home.

Despite the challenges they’ve faced, Natasha and her family carry a resilience and positivity that is both inspiring and

humbling. They remind me of the strength of the human spirit and the power of compassion.

Meanwhile, my mother, now residing in Alicante, Spain, in the picturesque town of Javea, continues to be my guiding star.

Though we are miles apart, our bond remains as strong as ever. Her new life in Spain is a well-deserved chapter of peace and

relaxation after years of service and travel. We stay connected through regular calls and messages, sharing stories and

updates on our lives.

This new arrangement, living with Natasha and her family, has given me a renewed sense of purpose. It has allowed me to

give back in a meaningful way and to reconnect with a part of my past that has shaped me in profound ways. It’s a daily

reminder of where I’ve come from and the journey that has led me to this point.

As I continue to write “The Random Book,” I draw inspiration from the lives of those around me. The stories of Natasha and

her family, their journey, their resilience, and their hopes for the future, are interwoven with my own. It’s a tapestry of

experiences that spans continents and cultures, a narrative that is continuously evolving.

In this chapter of my life, I find myself reflecting on the lessons learned, the bonds formed, and the unpredictable journey that

has brought me here. My story is one of resilience, compassion, and the enduring power of human connection. As I turn each

page, I look forward to the unwritten stories yet to come, the adventures to be had, and the lives to be touched.

Here I sit, writing, embarking on the fascinating endeavor of crafting this book. As you delve into its pages, you’ll discover

that the timelines may seem to twist and turn, but rest assured, there’s a method to this narrative madness. It’s precisely why

I’ve chosen to entitle this literary adventure “The Random Book.”

Within these pages, countless journeys and experiences await, each waiting to be unearthed, like hidden gems waiting to

dazzle you. So, buckle up, dear reader, for we are about to embark on an unpredictable voyage through the realms of my life

and experiences.

CHAPTER 👀17

“Harrowing Journey to Refuge”

The story of Natasha’s escape from Ukraine to the safety of my apartment in Switzerland is one of resilience, desperation, and

the unyielding strength of the human spirit. Natasha, who had been more than just a nanny to me, a guardian and a second

mother, embarked on a journey that was as heart-wrenching as it was heroic.

For many years, Natasha was a constant presence in my life, traveling with my mother and me to various countries. I fondly

remember calling her “mother,” a testament to the deep bond we shared. She began caring for me when I was just two years

old, but her life was far from easy, marred by an abusive relationship with her husband.

After my mother and I moved from Prague to Switzerland, where I pursued a bachelor’s degree in digital film production,

Natasha’s life took a dramatic turn. The war in Ukraine plunged her world into chaos. She found herself trapped for 12

months in a bunker in Kyiv, a dark, claustrophobic space where the sound of explosions and gunfire was a constant reminder

of the horror unfolding above.

Those long months underground with her husband, children, and family were a testament to her resilience. Each day was a

struggle for survival, marked by fear, uncertainty, and the ever-present threat of death. The bunker became both a haven and

a prison, shielding them from the violence outside while binding them to a life of darkness and dread.

Communication with the outside world was sporadic and fraught with difficulty. During our phone conversations, the shaky

connection and the sudden, terrifying sounds of explosions served as stark reminders of the dangerous reality Natasha faced.

Each call was a mix of relief and anxiety, never knowing if it would be our last conversation.

Eventually, my mother and I managed to convince Natasha to flee Ukraine. The decision to leave her husband behind, who

couldn’t cross the border, was agonizing. She embarked on a perilous journey, sneaking out of the bunker, through the war-

torn streets of Kyiv, to a van waiting to take her to safety.

The journey from Kyiv to Prague was fraught with danger and uncertainty. Natasha, her children, and their two dogs traveled

in a state of constant fear, every moment filled with the risk of being discovered or caught in the crossfire. My mother’s friend,

who had managed to find them, provided a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

After reaching Prague, the final leg of their journey to Switzerland began. My mother had arranged for their tickets, but the

journey was far from straightforward. The trauma of their escape from Kyiv, coupled with the physical and emotional

exhaustion, made every step of the way a challenge.

When they finally arrived in Switzerland, the relief was palpable. I was there at the airport, waiting to embrace them. The

moment Natasha and her children stepped into view, there was an outpouring of emotion. Tears streamed down Natasha’s

face as she hugged her children close, their bodies shaking from the ordeal they had endured.

The reunion was bittersweet. The joy of seeing them safe was tempered by the knowledge of the horrors they had escaped.

Natasha’s tears were a mix of relief, trauma, and the pain of leaving behind her husband and a life that could never be

reclaimed.

Now, two years later, Natasha and her family have become an integral part of my life in my three-bedroom apartment. Their

presence has brought new perspectives and a deeper understanding of the fragility and resilience of life. Natasha’s journey,

from the depths of a bunker in Kyiv to the safety of Switzerland, is a story of courage, a testament to the enduring spirit of a

woman who faced unimaginable horrors and emerged with hope still intact.

CHAPTER 👀18

“Rediscovering Life in Shared Spaces”

Life in my three-bedroom apartment in Switzerland, now shared with Natasha and her family, has unfolded into a tapestry of

new experiences and shared stories. Each day is a blend of cultural exchanges, learning, and mutual support, as we navigate

our collective journey of healing and rediscovery.

Natasha, with her indomitable spirit, has gradually begun to piece together her life after the harrowing experience in Ukraine.

Her resilience in the face of adversity serves as a constant inspiration. The bond we share, rooted in our past and

strengthened by our present circumstances, is a source of comfort and strength for both of us. We find solace in each other’s

company, understanding the unsaid words and shared experiences that have shaped our lives.

Viktoria, Natasha’s daughter, brings a vibrant energy to our home. At eighteen, her aspirations and dreams remind me of my

own journey at that age. She is a beacon of hope and a symbol of the future, her youthful enthusiasm infectious. Her presence

adds a layer of dynamism to our household, her perspectives fresh and invigorating.

Natasha’s young son, with his innocent curiosity and boundless energy, fills our home with laughter and light. He is a constant

reminder of the innocence and joy that life holds, even after experiencing darkness. His playful interactions with their two

dogs, who have adapted remarkably well to their new environment, bring a sense of normalcy and warmth to our shared

space.

Together, we have created a home that is more than just a living space; it’s a sanctuary of healing, understanding, and mutual

support. Our daily routines, from shared meals to conversations over tea, are moments of connection and bonding. We learn

from each other, sharing our experiences, cultures, and stories.

As we adapt to living together, I find myself reflecting on the journey that brought us here. The experiences we’ve shared, the

challenges we’ve overcome, and the resilience we’ve shown, are threads in the rich tapestry of our lives. Living with Natasha

and her family has not only helped them find refuge but has also allowed me to rediscover aspects of myself. It’s a journey of

healing, not just for them but for me as well.

CHAPTER 👀19

“Reflections from Jordan: Ties That Bind”

As I revisit the chapters of my life, the years spent in Jordan emerge as a pivotal period, rich in experiences that shaped my

perspective and growth. In the bustling streets and ancient landscapes of Amman, my life was a tapestry of cultural

immersion, unexpected friendships, and profound learning.

Jordan was more than just another country on my global journey; it was a place where my understanding of the world and

myself deepened. The vibrant culture, steeped in history and tradition, provided a backdrop against which my young mind

grappled with new concepts, ideas, and beliefs.

Living in Jordan was an exercise in balancing contrasts. The country’s conservative social norms were a stark contrast to the

freedom and openness I had experienced in other places. This dichotomy was both challenging and enlightening. It taught me

the value of adaptability and the importance of respecting cultural differences.

My mother, ever the adventurer, embraced Jordan’s culture with open arms. Her decision to live among the local people, as

opposed to the diplomatic enclaves, was a testament to her belief in experiencing life authentically. This choice exposed us to

the real Jordan — a land of warm hospitality, rich traditions, and a complex societal fabric.

Our home in Amman became a sanctuary not only for us but also for the myriad of street animals we encountered. My

mother’s compassion for these creatures was boundless. Under her care, our home was transformed into a haven for the

neglected and the abandoned, mirroring the nurturing environment she created for me.

One of the most profound experiences in Jordan was the unexpected friendships we formed, particularly with the local boys.

Initially viewed as troublemakers, these young souls gradually became part of our extended family. My mother’s influence on

them was transformative. Under her guidance, they evolved from mischievous youths to caring, responsible individuals who

shared our love for animals and respect for life.

This transformation was not without its challenges. The cultural and religious norms often clashed with our way of living,

particularly during periods like Ramadan. However, these challenges were opportunities for mutual understanding and

growth. My mother’s approach — leading with compassion and patience — broke down barriers, fostering a sense of community

and respect among our neighbors.

The resilience and adaptability I observed and learned in Jordan have stayed with me. They were lessons in the power of

kindness, the strength of the human spirit, and the beauty of diverse cultures coming together. These experiences have

profoundly influenced my worldview and my approach to life’s challenges and adventures.

Now, as I reflect on those days in Jordan from my apartment in Zurich, I realize how those experiences have woven into the

fabric of my being. The bonds formed, the challenges overcome, and the joys shared in Jordan are integral parts of my story –

chapters filled with lessons of empathy, strength, and the enduring power of human connections.

In writing “The Random Book,” I draw from these rich experiences, sharing stories that resonate with themes of cultural

understanding, compassion, and personal growth. Jordan was more than just a place I lived; it was a crucible where my

character was tested and shaped, and where the foundations of my future self were laid.

As this chapter closes, I look back at my time in Jordan with gratitude for the experiences that shaped me. It was a journey of

discovering the world and myself, of learning the delicate dance of respecting traditions while forging my own path. Jordan,

in all its complexity and beauty, was an essential piece of the mosaic that is my life.

CHAPTER 👀20

“The Tale of Bedu and Beyond

My Past Back in Jordan — Whisperer of the Wild”

The Jordanian sun was merciless, its rays baking the earth below. I was in the middle of a school day when the unexpected

call came. My mother’s voice, tinged with urgency, echoed through the phone: “Bedu has escaped!” Bedu, our dog, named after

the Bedouins due to his desert origins, was more than a pet; he was a part of our family. The dog catchers hired by my mom

had failed to track him down, and the responsibility fell on me.

From a young age, I had an uncanny ability to connect with animals, especially dogs. They seemed to understand me as much

as I understood them, a silent language flowing between us. This bond was never more apparent than with Bedu, a dog we had

rescued from neglectful Bedouins. His milky eyes had once mirrored the harsh life he had endured. Over months, I had tamed

and healed him, transforming him from a wild, scared creature into a loving companion.

Our days were often filled with adventures, including a unique sport I had created: Dog Skateboarding. It involved me and the

local boys on skateboards, pulled by dogs at breakneck speeds, especially when they spotted cats. These rides were thrilling

but not without danger, as Amman’s streets were notorious for reckless driving. I remember one heart-stopping moment

when a truck nearly ran us over, and my friend had to use all her might to steer us off the road, her heavy body wiggling and

heaving to save us from certain disaster. We burst into laughter, a mix of relief and adrenaline.

Not all our encounters were so light-hearted, though. The police once threatened to shoot our dogs due to constant complaints

from neighbors. Yet, my mother’s diplomatic status often defused these tense situations, her words as effective as any official

decree.

But the true horror lay in the treatment of street animals. Jordan’s streets were often a nightmare for dogs and cats. Abused,

tied up, starved, and left in the scorching sun, these animals’ plight was heartbreaking. My mother, Natasha, and I embarked

on numerous rescue missions, breaking into houses to free animals chained for years, their flesh eaten away by maggots, alive

but barely holding on. We found dogs with ears cut off, limbs severed, and worse. It was a dark side of Jordan that few talked

about but many knew.

In this grim backdrop, our house was a sanctuary. We had over ten dogs, fifteen cats, three water turtles — all rescues. Each

day brought new challenges as we saved more animals from trash cans or dug them out of holes where they had been buried

alive. Our efforts were a drop in the ocean, but for each animal we saved, it was a world of difference.

Through all this, Bedu’s escape was a personal blow. He was my project, my success story, and now he was out there, alone

and possibly scared. I left school immediately, determination fueling my steps. I had to find him, not just for his safety but for

the bond we shared, a bond that went beyond mere ownership — it was a connection of souls, forged through love and

understanding.

The search for Bedu was not just a physical journey across the streets of Amman but also an emotional one, revisiting the

places and faces that had shaped my bond with the animals of this city. It was a testament to the resilience of the spirit, both

human and animal, in a world that was often unkind.

And so, the quest to find Bedu began, a journey that would test my skills as a dog whisperer and my resolve to make a

difference in a world that often seemed indifferent to the suffering of the voiceless.

CHAPTER 👀21

“Odyssey in Petra”

My excursion to Petra, at the tender age of nine, evolved into a harrowing odyssey, a tale straight out of an action movie set

against the backdrop of a sun-scorched desert in a Muslim country. It was a journey that tested my mettle and transformed

me in ways I could never have anticipated.

The day began with the innocent excitement of a holiday adventure. Petra, with its ancient allure, beckoned us to explore its

mysterious and historic paths. The air was thick with the scent of history, albeit marred by an underlying odor of human

urine, a stark contrast to the city’s majestic beauty.

Our guide, a key figure in this journey, was a local with a weathered face, his eyes telling stories of the desert. He seemed

knowledgeable and trustworthy, but fate had other plans. As we ventured deeper into the rose-red city, the guide’s demeanor

shifted abruptly. A sudden commotion broke out — distant shouts, the sound of fast-approaching footsteps — it was the police.

In a moment of panic, our guide fled, leaving me stranded on a donkey, alone and bewildered.

The situation escalated when a group of local boys spotted me. Their curiosity piqued by a lone foreign girl on a donkey, they

began a pursuit that felt like a chase scene from a movie. Their shouts, in a language foreign to my ears, were exhilarating yet

terrifying. With my heart pounding against my chest, I urged the donkey forward, using the only word I knew — “huja” — and

slapping its hind to gain speed.

The donkey, sensing my urgency, transformed into a wild creature, its hooves thundering against the ancient cobblestones.

We raced through Petra’s narrow pathways, the majestic tombs and facades blurring past us in a whirlwind of color and stone.

The boys’ voices became distant echoes, drowned out by the rush of wind and the frantic beating of my heart.

As we left the city’s confines, the landscape opened up into the vast Jordanian desert. The unforgiving sun bore down upon us,

its rays relentless. The donkey, now untethered from any path, galloped into the heart of the desert, carrying me further

away from safety.

Fear gripped me as the realization of my solitude set in. Surrounded by endless sands and under the watchful eye of the sun, I

faced a reality that was both daunting and surreal. Images of being lost forever in this barren landscape, or worse, falling into

the hands of unknown dangers, flooded my mind.

In this crucible of fear, I discovered a strength I never knew I possessed. I gathered my wits and began to soothe the frantic

animal beneath me. My voice, surprisingly steady, whispered words of comfort as my hands gently stroked its neck. Slowly,

the donkey’s pace eased, and we came to a halt, surrounded by nothing but the vast expanse of the desert.

I assessed my surroundings — the sun was my only guide. Recalling the direction from which we had come, I steered the

donkey back towards Petra. The journey back was a test of endurance. The desert, beautiful yet unforgiving, seemed to

stretch on infinitely. Mirage after mirage taunted me, offering false hope only to dissolve into the heat haze.

Hours passed, each minute a battle against despair and exhaustion. But my resolve did not waver. The thought of my family,

their faces etched with worry and love, spurred me on. The donkey, now my companion in this ordeal, seemed to sense my

determination, its steps carrying a newfound purpose.

Finally, as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the sands, the ancient city of Petra reappeared on the

horizon. Relief washed over me like a cool breeze, renewing my spirit. As I entered the city, the familiar sights and sounds felt

like a welcoming embrace.

My family, upon seeing me, rushed to my side. Their relief was palpable, their embraces warm and protective. I dismounted

the donkey, my legs unsteady but my spirit soaring. I had faced the unknown, conquered my fears, and emerged victorious.

This adventure in Petra was more than just a childhood escapade; it was a rite of passage. It taught me about courage,

resilience, and the indomitable human spirit. It was an experience that would shape my character and outlook on life, a story

that I would carry with me, a testament to the day I lost myself in the desert and found my inner strength.

CHAPTER 👀22

“The Unforgettable Ride in Petra.”

As a nine-year-old, my sense of adventure led me to an experience in Petra, Jordan, that felt like a scene straight out of an

action-packed novel. It was a day that tested my courage and resilience, etching a story in my memory that mirrored the

intensity of a ‘Tomb Raider’ escapade.

Our family holiday in Petra started with the excitement of exploring the ancient city. Known for its breathtaking architecture

carved into rose-red cliﬀs, Petra was a maze of history waiting to be discovered. The air was heavy with the scent of history

and mystery, although slightly marred by an unmistakable odor of human pee — a jarring contrast to the place’s beauty.

Our guide, a local man with eyes that seemed to hold countless desert secrets, led us through the winding paths of the city.

However, the adventure took an unexpected turn when the guide suddenly bolted, leaving me stranded on a donkey. His

flight was prompted by the sudden appearance of Jordanian police oﬃcers, and in the ensuing chaos, I found myself alone,

perched atop the donkey, in the heart of this historic city.

The situation quickly escalated when a group of local boys noticed me. Their excitement, expressed in loud Arabic

exclamations, was both thrilling and terrifying. They began chasing after me, their intentions unclear but intimidating. In a

split-second decision, I urged the donkey into a gallop, slapping its back with the rope and shouting “Hija Kck Kck,” a

command I had picked up earlier.

The donkey, sensing my urgency, transformed into a wild creature, its hooves thundering against the ancient cobblestones.

We raced through Petra’s narrow pathways, the majestic tombs and facades blurring past us in a whirlwind of color and stone.

The boys’ voices became distant echoes, drowned out by the rush of wind and the frantic beating of my heart.

As we left the Petra’s confines, the landscape opened up into the vast Jordanian desert. The unforgiving sun bore down upon

us, its rays relentless. The donkey, now untethered from any path, galloped into the heart of the desert, carrying me further