Hi. My name is Nika, and I just turned eighteen. I feel like I'm at that age where I want to try everything at once, to search for something that's truly mine, a kind of personal holy grail that probably doesn't even exist in one single form. It’s more about the seeking itself, you know? And I'm inviting you into this little chaos I call my life. Consider this your backstage pass to the ongoing, sold-out concert of my thoughts. Let me start with music, because it’s the very atmosphere I breathe. In my headphones, you'll almost always find something heavy—metal, thrash, hardcore. A lot of people don't get it. They hear screaming, they hear distortion, and they see a wall of sound they’re afraid to climb. But for me, it's not just noise. There's a real, raw, untamable energy in this music. It’s the sound of pure, unfiltered emotion. When the double bass pedals kick in, it’s like the frantic, glorious heartbeat of my own anxieties and ambitions.

This desire to make the internal external, to wear my insides on my outside, is probably why I'm so deeply into tattoos. For me, they're a way to preserve something, to leave a mark of the emotions or ideas I've lived through. My skin is becoming a living journal, a map of where I’ve been mentally and emotionally. On my right forearm, there’s a geometric wolf. It’s not a realistic one; it’s made of sharp lines and sacred geometry. To me, it represents a balance—the wild, instinctual soul housed within a structure of logic and design. I got it after I passed my final exams, a reminder that I can harness my sometimes-ferce energy into focused discipline.

I get completely drawn into that atmosphere. It’s a safe way to explore the dark, unsettling parts of the human psyche. Why are we afraid of the dark? What does grief do to us? Can a house hold memories like ghosts? I love dissecting them afterward, pulling them apart like a complex clock to see what makes them tick. The symbolism, the sound design that creeps under your skin, the camera angles that make you feel like you’re always being watched. If you're a fan of the genre too, we'll have plenty to talk about. I could spend hours debating the ending of The Shining or the metaphors in Get Out. One of my quieter but persistent dreams, the one that feels both incredibly close and infinitely far away, is to learn how to play the guitar. Not campfire acoustic, though I have nothing against it. I dream of the electric guitar. The solid, weighty feel of it against my body. The cold, smooth strings under my fingers.

This music charges me up, especially before a workout. It’s my pre-game ritual. I’ll be on the bus, watching the world go by in a silent, grey film, and then I’ll press play. Suddenly, the world is in Technicolor. The rhythm gets into my bones, and by the time I’m at the gym, I’m ready to move mountains, or at least lift a respectable amount of iron. Yeah, I spend a lot of time at the gym. I love feeling my body get stronger; it’s a tangible, measurable progress that life outside doesn’t always offer. There’s a philosophy in it, too. Each rep is a small victory. The burn in my muscles is a feeling of being truly, wholly alive. It helps me switch my brain off from the endless loop of "what-ifs" and "should-dos" and just be in the moment, a creature of motion and strength. It’s the perfect, physical counterpoint to the storm in my head that the music creates. One is the chaos, the other is the control. I need both.

When I'm out of energy for the gym and loud music, when my social battery is at zero percent and my brain feels like overheated circuitry, I love watching movies. And yes, my weakness is horror films. But not the jump-scare gore-fests. I crave the real, psychological kind that gives you that uneasy feeling, the ones that linger in the corners of your mind for days after the credits roll. Films like Hereditary or The Babadook. The horror isn't a monster in a closet; it's the slow unraveling of a family, the manifestation of grief so profound it becomes a entity of its own.