Alla: Nineteen-year-old Alla from Russia came to the beach no longer as a complete beginner and was sure that after her previous crazy adventure, it would be hard to embarrass her. But one man with a very serious face kept glancing in her direction, and Alla decided he was clearly judging her — so out of spite, she became even more confident, walked to the water, started talking to the people nearby, and even joined a ball game. Only two hours later did the man finally come over to her, and it turned out that all that time he had been trying to look at something else entirely.
He looked at me for the third time.
Not just a passing glance.
He looked seriously, frowned, and turned away again.
I was sitting on my towel and had already sentenced him in my head: judgmental.
This was my second story like that. After last summer’s adventure, when one completely silly joke unexpectedly turned into the boldest day of my season, I considered myself much calmer already. I knew I could survive embarrassment, other people’s attention, and my own urge to hide — and still not run away.
But once again, theory turned out to be much more elegant than practice.
I settled down on a quiet part of the beach, took off my swimsuit, and for the first few minutes felt fairly normal.
The sun warmed my shoulders and stomach.
The wind lightly moved my hair.
The water was about thirty meters away.
People around me were minding their own business.
And then I noticed him.
A man of about thirty was sitting a little to the left, near a blue towel. Serious face, narrowed eyes, hands on his knees.
He looked at me.
Turned away.
A minute later, he looked again.
My cheeks immediately grew hot.
Of course.
My brain instantly wrote an entire biography for this stranger.
Conservative.
Disapproving.
Probably thinking: “Young people have no limits anymore.”
Even though we were in exactly the kind of place where my behavior should not have surprised anyone at all.
I told myself:
“Alla, stop making things up.”
Thirty seconds later, he squinted in my direction again.
That was it.
A personal war had been declared.
Entirely by me.
I decided that if this man really thought I was too bold, then I definitely would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me nervous.
I stood up.
And walked toward the water as calmly as possible.
Not fast.
Not covering myself.
Not looking back.
Those first steps were pure performance.
My heart was pounding.
My palms had turned damp.
I could feel the air on literally every inch of my skin, and I knew perfectly well that the man was behind me.
Is he watching?
Do not turn around.
What about now?
Do not turn around!
Two grown women were sitting by the water. One of them asked:
“Is it cold?”
I could have just nodded.
But today I was apparently a dramatically confident woman.
“I will test it and report back,” I said.
They laughed.
I walked into the sea.
The water was cool, and I shivered at the first touch. Then I started swimming.
A few minutes later, the performance in my head began to fade.
My wet hair stuck to my back, the sun flashed on the water, and my body finally stopped feeling like an object under constant internal inspection.
When I came out, one of the women asked:
“Well?”
“The first ten seconds require character. After that, it is wonderful.”
We started chatting.
Quite by accident, I found out where they had vacationed the previous summer, which beach they liked better, and where to get good coffee nearby.
And only when I was walking back to my towel did I remember my “critic.”
He was looking again.
Oh God.
I even got a little angry.
All right then. Here comes the sequel.
About twenty minutes later, a ball landed next to me.
Someone from a nearby group shouted:
“Can you throw it back?”
I picked it up.
Normally I would have simply tossed it back.
But by now I was running on completely ridiculous logic: if the serious man thought I was too noticeable, then it was clearly time to become even more noticeable.
I sent the ball back.
Someone called out:
“Nice!”
Then it flew to me again.
And again.
Five minutes later, I was already standing with a small group of people and playing.
Not professionally.
But I was laughing very loudly.
The first time I missed.
The second time I actually returned it well.
Someone gave me a high five.
And right then, I noticed that I had completely stopped thinking about my body.
I could feel the sun on my skin.
Sand clung to my wet feet.
When I ran after the ball, there was no time to analyze who was looking where.
But as soon as I returned to my towel, the man squinted again.
“What do you even want?” I muttered to myself.
Of course, I did not say it out loud.
I was confident, but not that confident.
Another hour passed.
I had time to swim again, talk more with the women by the water, and finally feel completely at ease.
And the man was still glancing over from time to time.
Then the terrifying thing happened.
He stood up.
And started walking toward me.
Inside, I braced myself.
Now there would be a comment.
A remark.
Maybe some moralizing little speech.
He stopped a few steps away.
Squinted.
Pointed at the blue towel beside me.
And asked:
“Excuse me… is that my towel, by any chance?”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer.
Then laughed.
“No. It is not mine. Yours has a lighter stripe.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I have one almost exactly like it. I left my glasses in the car, and I have been trying for two hours to figure out where I put it.”
Pause.
A very long one.
“So all this time you were looking…”
“At the towel.”
I covered my face with my hands.
He asked, completely confused:
“Is everything all right?”
And I started laughing.
So hard that I had to sit down.
Two hours.
For two entire hours I had been mentally arguing with a man who did not even know he was part of a conflict.
I had walked to the water more boldly.
Talked to strangers.
Played ball.
Basically staged a personal revolution against his judgmental stare.
And he was just a nearsighted man who had lost his towel.
When I explained at least half of what had been happening in my head, he started laughing too.
“I am sorry.”
“Do not apologize. You accidentally turned out to be very useful.”
That evening I texted my friend:
“Today I defeated someone else’s judgment. It did not exist.”
She replied:
“The best enemies are imaginary ones.”
And honestly, that was the most accurate description of the day.
I realized one very funny thing: sometimes what limits me is not even other people’s looks, but the stories I manage to invent around those looks.
And still, I liked the result.
I liked walking calmly to the water.
Talking.
Laughing.
Feeling the sun and the wind instead of constantly wondering whether I was invisible enough.
I definitely want to come back — and I would be happy to meet adult, calm, open-minded kindred spirits.
Only next time, if someone keeps staring in my direction for too long, I will ask first:
“Are you judging me, or did you just lose your towel?”
Not just a passing glance.
He looked seriously, frowned, and turned away again.
I was sitting on my towel and had already sentenced him in my head: judgmental.
This was my second story like that. After last summer’s adventure, when one completely silly joke unexpectedly turned into the boldest day of my season, I considered myself much calmer already. I knew I could survive embarrassment, other people’s attention, and my own urge to hide — and still not run away.
But once again, theory turned out to be much more elegant than practice.
I settled down on a quiet part of the beach, took off my swimsuit, and for the first few minutes felt fairly normal.
The sun warmed my shoulders and stomach.
The wind lightly moved my hair.
The water was about thirty meters away.
People around me were minding their own business.
And then I noticed him.
A man of about thirty was sitting a little to the left, near a blue towel. Serious face, narrowed eyes, hands on his knees.
He looked at me.
Turned away.
A minute later, he looked again.
My cheeks immediately grew hot.
Of course.
My brain instantly wrote an entire biography for this stranger.
Conservative.
Disapproving.
Probably thinking: “Young people have no limits anymore.”
Even though we were in exactly the kind of place where my behavior should not have surprised anyone at all.
I told myself:
“Alla, stop making things up.”
Thirty seconds later, he squinted in my direction again.
That was it.
A personal war had been declared.
Entirely by me.
I decided that if this man really thought I was too bold, then I definitely would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me nervous.
I stood up.
And walked toward the water as calmly as possible.
Not fast.
Not covering myself.
Not looking back.
Those first steps were pure performance.
My heart was pounding.
My palms had turned damp.
I could feel the air on literally every inch of my skin, and I knew perfectly well that the man was behind me.
Is he watching?
Do not turn around.
What about now?
Do not turn around!
Two grown women were sitting by the water. One of them asked:
“Is it cold?”
I could have just nodded.
But today I was apparently a dramatically confident woman.
“I will test it and report back,” I said.
They laughed.
I walked into the sea.
The water was cool, and I shivered at the first touch. Then I started swimming.
A few minutes later, the performance in my head began to fade.
My wet hair stuck to my back, the sun flashed on the water, and my body finally stopped feeling like an object under constant internal inspection.
When I came out, one of the women asked:
“Well?”
“The first ten seconds require character. After that, it is wonderful.”
We started chatting.
Quite by accident, I found out where they had vacationed the previous summer, which beach they liked better, and where to get good coffee nearby.
And only when I was walking back to my towel did I remember my “critic.”
He was looking again.
Oh God.
I even got a little angry.
All right then. Here comes the sequel.
About twenty minutes later, a ball landed next to me.
Someone from a nearby group shouted:
“Can you throw it back?”
I picked it up.
Normally I would have simply tossed it back.
But by now I was running on completely ridiculous logic: if the serious man thought I was too noticeable, then it was clearly time to become even more noticeable.
I sent the ball back.
Someone called out:
“Nice!”
Then it flew to me again.
And again.
Five minutes later, I was already standing with a small group of people and playing.
Not professionally.
But I was laughing very loudly.
The first time I missed.
The second time I actually returned it well.
Someone gave me a high five.
And right then, I noticed that I had completely stopped thinking about my body.
I could feel the sun on my skin.
Sand clung to my wet feet.
When I ran after the ball, there was no time to analyze who was looking where.
But as soon as I returned to my towel, the man squinted again.
“What do you even want?” I muttered to myself.
Of course, I did not say it out loud.
I was confident, but not that confident.
Another hour passed.
I had time to swim again, talk more with the women by the water, and finally feel completely at ease.
And the man was still glancing over from time to time.
Then the terrifying thing happened.
He stood up.
And started walking toward me.
Inside, I braced myself.
Now there would be a comment.
A remark.
Maybe some moralizing little speech.
He stopped a few steps away.
Squinted.
Pointed at the blue towel beside me.
And asked:
“Excuse me… is that my towel, by any chance?”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer.
Then laughed.
“No. It is not mine. Yours has a lighter stripe.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I have one almost exactly like it. I left my glasses in the car, and I have been trying for two hours to figure out where I put it.”
Pause.
A very long one.
“So all this time you were looking…”
“At the towel.”
I covered my face with my hands.
He asked, completely confused:
“Is everything all right?”
And I started laughing.
So hard that I had to sit down.
Two hours.
For two entire hours I had been mentally arguing with a man who did not even know he was part of a conflict.
I had walked to the water more boldly.
Talked to strangers.
Played ball.
Basically staged a personal revolution against his judgmental stare.
And he was just a nearsighted man who had lost his towel.
When I explained at least half of what had been happening in my head, he started laughing too.
“I am sorry.”
“Do not apologize. You accidentally turned out to be very useful.”
That evening I texted my friend:
“Today I defeated someone else’s judgment. It did not exist.”
She replied:
“The best enemies are imaginary ones.”
And honestly, that was the most accurate description of the day.
I realized one very funny thing: sometimes what limits me is not even other people’s looks, but the stories I manage to invent around those looks.
And still, I liked the result.
I liked walking calmly to the water.
Talking.
Laughing.
Feeling the sun and the wind instead of constantly wondering whether I was invisible enough.
I definitely want to come back — and I would be happy to meet adult, calm, open-minded kindred spirits.
Only next time, if someone keeps staring in my direction for too long, I will ask first:
“Are you judging me, or did you just lose your towel?”
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