I left Chelny for Moscow when I was just turned 17. I got into the Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO). All my relatives from Chelny saw me off; my parents went with me to help me settle into the dorm. There were hundreds of families like ours with suitcases around; everyone was saying goodbye, crying.

But student life finds a way: somehow everyone gets to know each other, united by the fact that we can breathe freely without parental supervision. By literally the third day my homesickness was gone.

Moscow seemed like an immense city. I was never afraid of its scale, that it's an enormous capital city, or that I was there alone. On the contrary, it seemed that everything was very accessible; everything was at my feet.

Were you intent on going to MGIMO?

I had planned to major in history at Moscow State University. I thought that was the cradle of Russian history, and with my love for dates and antiquities I could only go there.

From 9th to 11th grade I devoted almost all my time to studying. While the other kids were hanging out, enjoying their adolescence, their first adventures, I was constantly reading books. My parents even tried throwing me out into the street to hang out, but I couldn't even fathom it. I had to sit and study.

In 11th grade I competed in the history Olympiad held by Moscow State University called Conquer the Sparrow Hills and came in first place. However, this victory didn't mean the university would offer me admission without exams, they would just give me 100 points for my history entrance exam. I was offended; that was not how I had planned for things to go.

So I decided to throw all my effort into getting into MGIMO. Although I could have done the same at Moscow State University; I had more than enough points.

At MGIMO I majored in political science, and my first language for that was Spanish.

Did you want to become a diplomat?

Yes, ideally, and work at the Russian Embassy in the United States. But I still didn't realize all the nuances of that profession, all the intricacies of the foreign policy of our government.

All 11 years at school I studied theater; I was the lead actress. By the end of my studies I had even thought about entering theater school. But I quickly realized that wasn't going to put food on the table.

Therefore, I chose the path of diplomat, although diplomats are pretty much the same: actors who play a role that has been assigned to them. After four years of studying at MGIMO, I realized that I didn't want to play by someone else's rules and obey them all my life.

The reality is that you just can't become a diplomat.

And another thing: 90–95% of them are men. No matter how smart you are, no matter how much you love the country of the language you're studying, no matter what scientific papers you've written—you're still a girl, which means it's harder for you from the start.

It's also harder if you don't have a diplomatic pedigree, if you're not a Muscovite and many, many other ifs: all this became abundantly clear me when I began studying at MGIMO. But I wasn't upset; I just realized "if they don't need me here, then I don't need it either."

So the diplomatic service no longer beckons you?

Probably not. My ambitions in this field are pretty much gone. I think I came to Chelny precisely because I have less ambition, and that's a good thing. Ambition is great at the first stage, when you need to gain knowledge and experience. Your ambitions can only help with that.

But the older you get, the more they get in your way. Gradually, you realize that there's a lot in life that doesn't depend on you, and you blame yourself for your setbacks and unfulfilled dreams. Such ambition will only bury you.

When I understood this simple idea,

How did Mexico play its role in your life?

Thanks to my knowledge of Spanish. The entire first semester of my fourth year at university I lived in Mexico City, studying at the prestigious Monterrey Institute of Technology and Higher Education, one of the most expensive educational institutions in Mexico, and Latin America in general.

But just before my trip I thought, "Well, that's it, Anastasia. This is the end; they're going to kill you or put you in jail." I had a bunch of stereotypes about the country, although for me, a person who had studied the culture of Hispanic countries, that was unforgivable.

But all my fears disappeared on the first day. It's not scary in Mexico; they won't kill you on the street; there's no drug trafficking like on TV shows; it's not poor. There are a lot of offices of multinational companies: its proximity to the United States makes an impact. I lived in Mexico City, where there're five times as many skyscrapers as in Moscow!

I was the only Russian there, but there was one guy from the States. We hung out together all the time, although it seemed like we should have hated each other: this was 2014, just when sanctions were being imposed on Russia for Crimea.

At first, I was worried, but then it started to seem funny and I turned everything into a joke. But it was embarrassing, sure.

It was then that I began to realize that being a diplomat means going against your principles. You're just a soldier to be used. It doesn't suit everyone, and it didn't suit me.

But that's only half a year in Mexico. You said that you spent a year there.

I came back from Mexico, studied for six months, got my diploma at MGIMO, and decided that I wanted to go to graduate school. All these years I had drempt of studying at Moscow State University, and I decided to fulfil it. I majored in journalism, a completely new field for me. I spent two months preparing for the entrance exams and aced them.

One day I was wandering the corridors of the university and noticed an announcement about international internships at Moscow State University. They had Mexico on there too. I even thought, ha, it would be funny if, like a fool, I went to Mexico City for the second time. And that's how it turned out. I was sent to Mexico with my Spanish, although I had wanted to go for an internship in Northern Ireland.

And it was a completely different Mexican experience. During my first internship, the most important thing for me was education, the status of the university. Like I said, the Monterrey Institute of Technology and Higher Education is considered the most respectable school in Mexico. It was built in the image and likeness of American colleges, so the quality of education there is high.

The second time I went to study at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. It's the largest university in the Americas, with about 300,000 students studying there. It's like Moscow State University, only three times as big. And it's a state university, so it's free. Everyone got in thanks to their knowledge, not money.

For me, during my second trip to Mexico, education became second in importance, or even third, even though it was an academic internship. I got to know the country better, the people, went to the pyramids, the ocean.

The Chichen Itza pyramid, which is the most famous, is so refined, like it had just been built. There are others, like Teotihuacan.

So, you're holding diplomas from MGIMO and MGU. Where did you get a job?

While I was still studying at Moscow State University, I started working at Russia Today and Sputnik. Both are led by Margarita Simonyan.

I worked in the Spanish language editorial office, a website and TV channel that write and cover events in Russia and around the world in Spanish. My responsibilities included writing news notes for the website and for teletype, so that the news could be read live. It was necessary to update the information on the website almost every hour, monitor social networks, and take comments.

I worked at Sputnik for a year and soon realized that it wasn't for me. I found that I had no inner awareness that I was doing something important, and I realized that other people could do the same job just as well as I did.

In the summer of 2018, I went on vacation to Paris, and I didn't want to go back to work.

Then on the plane, of course, I changed my mind: "This is just post-vacation nonsense." But Monday came and, by the end of the day, I got ready and wrote a statement.

And after that you decided to return to Tatarstan?

I stayed in Moscow for a few more days, but I thought: what will I do here? Not that finding a job would be a problem, but it's unlikely that it would be any more suitable for me. It was unlikely to be any better than the job I had. And then I asked myself: why don't I just go back home?

The only thing that was stopping me was the fear of judgement, because everyone would ask: What happened? Why are you leaving? You have a good career; you could live abroad. What do you need Chelny for?"

For whom was all of this for in the end? Honestly, I was really afraid, so it took me until the very last moment to decide to return.

But then I thought: since I make decisions in my life for myself, why should I listen to someone now?

My parents, of course, were shocked. When I said "Mom, I'm coming back," she said "Fine, come back." She thought it would be like reverse psychology, like, after she was so accepting, I would decide to stay in Moscow just to spite her. But, in the end, I went anyway. And then the move began. I transported everything that I had accumulated over eight years in the capital in several trips. It took quite a long time.

Perhaps it's a fear of social condemnation, which I had already outgrown, but my parents still hadn't. They accepted my return only a year later.

Was it hard to get used to the pace of life in Chelny after Moscow?

Yes. The most difficult thing was being without friends: they had remained in the capital, most of my classmates had left, and only a few remained in Chelny. Then I got a new group of friends, made up of locals, and it became as comfortable as possible to live in my hometown.

Literally right after my arrival, the Tatprof plant called me and offered me a job. In general, prospective employers always called me first; they found me them themselves. I never called them. The position they wanted to hire me for was a full-time journalist at the plant.

I had a newspaper that I published and typeset as I wanted. Of course, the CEO made his own edits and gave me ideas for reports, but it was still freedom.

A full-scale print newspaper appeared at the plant, which everyone waited for and read. As a journalist, I had fulfilled my ambitions as much as possible.

But in March of this year, I decided to leave. I realized that I had gotten as much as I could out of it, thank you very much. I wanted something else. It was as if I had anticipated the upcoming pandemic: I switched to remote work before the first wave of restrictions.

Now I work from home in Chelny for a company in Moscow. I do public relations and communicate with the city administration. Maybe I'll go further.

Many people are in no hurry to return to Tatarstan because they think they won't be able to find a job here, or they'll find one, but not with the same salary as in Moscow or St. Petersburg. But that's not true: if you're a specialist with good education and experience, there will be demand for you anywhere, especially in our republic, with its huge labor market.

Were there any times when you regretted returning?

No, I never felt any remorse for my decision. Sure, I missed my friends, all the action in Moscow. But then I just started going to Moscow whenever I wanted to.

In Moscow, besides the bustle and large scale of the city, the constant race for something fleeting, I couldn't find any form of simple, personal happiness. This was one of the reasons I moved to Chelny.

Despite my great education and work in Moscow, I didn't feel loved or needed. I was lonely. And I thought that everything could change in Chelny; my family and school friends were there. And that's how it happened: I quickly fell in with Chelny society, made new friends, found a significant other.

I also decided that I was not going to compare Moscow and Chelny: they're just different cities. Just boxes and boxes, but I like those kinds of buildings more than the incomprehensible architecture of other old cities in Russia, like Samara. They have those boxlike buildings right downtown in between a 19th century mansion and a glass shopping center. I find such eclecticism annoying. On the contrary, I prefer when you have the same architectural style everywhere (although in Chelny you can't really call it a style), for example, when everything is unified, as if painted using a ruler.