Yulia Zhilina

The Orphanage: First Trials

My story begins in St. Petersburg. My father was from the city on the Neva, my mother from Ukraine. Their marriage was not about love — it was about documents and money. Just a couple of years after my birth, my mother placed me in an orphanage, using me as a way to get financial support from my father.
Life in the orphanage was harsh. Children of all ages came with different stories — some abandoned, some born into families of addicts, others simply left behind. There was no room for tenderness. If someone brought sweets or clothes, older children would take them away. Resistance meant pain; complaints brought punishment.
My mother rarely visited. When she did, she brought exactly one kilogram of raisins. I hid them under my pillow and ate slowly, stretching out the moments of sweetness. But even these small joys could be stolen at night by the older children.
And then, one day, he appeared — my father. At first, I didn’t even recognize him. In a strict black suit, carrying a big suitcase, he showed his documents and took me away. For the first time, I sat in the back of what seemed to me a luxurious car — a red Opel Rekord convertible — and we drove to a toy store. That’s where I first saw new toys, the shine of glass displays, and the scent of something clean and untouched. I chose a blonde Barbie doll in sparkling green pants. Holding her in my hands, I thought: “One day, I will become Barbie in real life.”

A New World: Home, Studies, and Discipline

My father took me under his care. We moved into a new apartment on the 13th floor of a high-rise under construction — spacious, three rooms, and one of them just for me. I felt like Cinderella suddenly stepping into another world.
Soon I was surrounded by tutors, sports, figure skating, swimming, chess, and dance. Dance became my passion — the costumes, the stage, the music. But my father was strict: “A woman needs a real profession.” So, I enrolled at the University of Economics, majoring in accounting and audit.
Discipline became my foundation. For five years I studied on my own, never relying on cheating or retakes. I wrote my own papers, helped fellow students, and spent summers with tutors preparing for exams while others rested. My diploma became a gift to my father, but I knew deep down: life had something bigger for me.

Tenerife: The School of Life

In August 2014, I moved to Tenerife — chasing both love and a dream of a new life. At first, everything felt like a fairy tale: the ocean, the sun, the romance. But reality was quick to remind me: I had to work, to build, to survive.
I prepared my résumé in three languages — even though I only knew one word in Spanish: “sí.” From morning to night, I walked through bars, restaurants, and shops, leaving copies everywhere. Weeks of persistence finally paid off.
One day, the owner of the perfume chain Lis called me in. He showed me two folders: one filled with résumés from candidates, the other filled only with mine, collected from all his branches. “Tomorrow at 10 AM we expect you in Los Cristianos,” he said.
That was the beginning of my first job in Spain.
The manager gave me one condition: “You live in Spain, you speak only Spanish.” So I stayed silent, writing down every new word, learning at night, and coming home with dozens of perfume-scented paper slips — notes of Jennifer Lopez and Justin Bieber fragrances. That’s how I learned not just the language, but also life.