My dream was born here, on these lands, and it's about them. I want to combine all the pieces of myself. I'll graduate from college with a degree in Tourism, save up some money, and open a small, cozy guest house somewhere on the outskirts of Natchez or by the lake. A place where the same seekers of silence and authenticity will come. I will serve chocolate chip cookies for breakfast and show the guests hidden trails where tourists are not taken. And there will be a couple of motorcycles in the old barn for those who want to see the real, non-glamorous South - its spirit, its hospitality, its melancholic beauty. My dream is to create a place where it is warm, free, like on the road

Living in the South, you learn from since birth to be polite and sociable. But it's always been a complicated ritual for me. Working at the camera has sharpened this feeling: I talk to dozens of people, but it's often a masked conversation. Sometimes I find myself thinking that I'm not craving bright compliments, but real, calm understanding. Like that tacit agreement that arises between you and a fellow traveler by the campfire when words are no longer needed. It seems to me that the strongest bonds are born not in chatting on the porch, but in watching one sunset together, in readiness to accept another with all its silence and oddities. I'm learning to distinguish the polite interest of a Southerner from sincere intimacy. And I appreciate those who see the whole world behind my shyness.

Hi, my name is Amber, I was born and raised in a small town here in Mississippi, where everyone knows each other, and time passes slowly, like the water in our river. I've always been a quiet girl who preferred to watch the world from the outside, from the branches of an old oak tree or from the back seat of a school bus. Going to a local college is my way of trying to become a little bolder without moving far away from my native roots. And the webcam... This is my secret bridge to another world. Here, in my room under the garlands, I can be more confident, I can talk to people from different parts of the world whom I would never have met on our main street. This is a strange but honest division for me: during the day I am a student, Amber, who smiles shyly in the library, and in the evenings I learn to be a little more open, collecting bits of myself

My hobbies are my escape and my real speech, when words are difficult to express. I've adored old motorcycles - their rumble reminds me of a thunderstorm over cotton fields. This is freedom. As I drive along the deserted roads along the delta, past swamps and old plantations, I feel my shyness dissolve in the wind. And for me, traveling is a continuation of this road. I don't dream of resorts, but of tiny towns, roadside eateries serving hot sauce, and people whose stories are woven into these landscapes. I'm not a "strange quiet girl" on a motorcycle, I'm just a part of this vast, infinitely beautiful world

Sometimes, sitting on the veranda and listening to the cicadas, I think about the meaning. For me, it's not about big words or great deeds. I found it in the contrasts that are my life. In the transition from the silence of the library to communicating on camera. From the hot, sleepy atmosphere of my town to the cool, rushing wind in my face on the highway. The point, perhaps, is not to deny any of its facets. It's about being timid and having the courage to dream. Living in the sluggish Mississippi, rushing towards the horizon. And it's about sharing a piece of light through a screen, one day creating a real, warm place for people like me. Maybe the point is simply to live this series of contrasts sincerely, finding your own melody and peace in each of them