She sings with her heart and isn’t afraid to be different. She doesn’t chase popularity, yet her songs are already heard around the world. She writes at night, when the world is silent and the soul speaks. In this honest interview, Yaroslava opens up about herself, her music, and the journey to the freedom of being true to who she is.

Many artists have their own creative rituals. Do you have any? What happens when you create music, and what is most important to you in that process?

It would sound beautiful to say I pray first, then do push-ups, and meditate standing on one leg (laughs). But I don’t have any rituals. I don’t even drink coffee regularly — today it’s tea, tomorrow nothing. It all depends on how I feel.

But I do know one thing for sure: I never write in the morning. It’s not my time. Mornings are about noise, movement, everyday life. Music comes to me in the evening or at night. When the outside world quiets down, when everything stands still — that’s when a space opens up inside. It’s not just “sitting down and writing.” It’s more like connecting to a channel. And then I need to be alone, in complete silence, without extra energy around me. It’s not a ritual, it’s more of a state. A space where my music is born.

Songs themselves can appear in different ways. Sometimes it’s a strong emotion that I immediately translate into music. Sometimes it’s a story that touched me, or my personal experience. Sometimes there’s an idea I want to express — and then I work on it. But it’s always something lived through. I can’t invent things. It’s like breathing: either it’s real, or it doesn’t exist.

I don’t care about the technical qualities of a song — how complex the arrangement is, how powerful the vocals are. I listen with my heart. If there’s real feeling in the song, if it gets inside you — it’s alive. And if there’s nothing left after it ends — it’s just a structure. And I care not about structures, but about impact. Music is a living organism that touches the soul.

Your sound today is very different from your early songs. What has changed — in you and in your music?

My earlier songs were very lyrical, soft, vulnerable. Back then, that was me — open to subtle emotions, ready to live through each one fully. If it was sadness — then to the very bottom. If it was joy — then to tears. Music amplified what was already alive inside me.

But over time, everything changed. I changed — and the music changed with me. Now I sing about endurance. About inner strength. About moving forward. My sound has become more direct, clear, strong-willed. Not harsh — no, rather, focused. The kind of sound where you can feel an inner foundation.

I no longer want to stay stuck in pain. Now, a song for me is not a way to deepen an experience, but a way to get out of it. Not to remain in the heavy, but to reach for the light. It’s important to me that music is not a continuation of fear, but a bridge through it. That it supports. Helps you get up.

I can’t sing with the same voice anymore — because I am no longer the same. Stronger and more mature. You can’t fool the listener. I do everything from the heart — that is the foundation of my work.

Do you ever want to return to those “early” songs?

Of course. There are tracks I wrote as a different version of myself — the one who was softer, more sensitive. I love them. There’s sincerity in them, just from a different time. And I feel that now I can give them new breath. Not to make them “better,” but to live them differently. It’s like looking at old photos: you seem to remember everything, but suddenly notice a detail you hadn’t seen before.

I would like to re-record some of them. Not with the desire to fix anything. Simply because I’ve become different — and they have, too. They are no longer the same songs. They now have new depth. And maybe someone who hears them now will also perceive them differently. Because we change together.

Do you follow trends? What do recognition, success, and popularity mean to you?

I just do what I know how to do. What the Universe sends me. If a trend resonates — great. If not — I don’t take it. I don’t create music to fit in. That’s not my path. Depth matters to me, not noise. And the listener feels that. What’s real always reaches them.

I don’t think in categories of “hit” or “not a hit.” Each song has its own fate. Sometimes it finds a response right away. Sometimes it ripens, waits, lies dormant. And suddenly — years later — someone hears it for the first time, and it becomes needed at that very moment. That’s also magic.

I’ve never strived for popularity for its own sake. For me, success isn’t numbers, reach, or charts. It’s the response. It’s when a song comes to a person at the right time. Supports. Saves. Says what they themselves can’t yet put into words.

Talent is a gift. But also a responsibility. If I’ve been given a voice — I can’t stay silent. My job is to be honest. The rest will follow.

Your music is already heard in English. Would you like to sing in other languages? And are you planning international tours in the near future?

Yes, I would love that. When I found out that my songs were being listened to in Kazakhstan, for example — it was incredibly touching. It means that emotions are understood without translation. And I wanted to speak to these people in their own language.

I would gladly sing in Kazakh or Uzbek. Not because I “have to,” but because it’s close to me and genuinely interesting. It’s a way to show respect and create an even deeper connection.

As for touring — I really do dream of performing in different countries, especially in Asia. I love feeling new cultures, communicating with people, catching their rhythm. I don’t divide music by borders — if someone feels it, it has already found its listener.

What matters more to you — sound or form? Are you open to performative, immersive formats?

I’ve long been interested in more than just singing. It’s important to me to create a complete experience — where everything works together: sound, light, movement, image.

I dream of a project where a person doesn’t just attend a concert but lives through a journey. Where they pass through music and leave the hall changed. It’s not about a show. It’s about inner transformation.

And where do you find the strength to create such a deep experience?

The sea. Always the sea. There, I can be silent. And in that silence — I return to myself. I’m not about “quick recharging.” I need to stop. Contact with the body, massage, spa — it’s not about luxury, it’s about an inner pause. And very often, it’s exactly after such moments of quiet that something real is born.

If you could say something to your 18-year-old self — what would it be?

Don’t betray yourself. Even if everyone is going in another direction. Even if your path seems strange. If you feel the calling — follow it. Your dream is real. It’s just waiting for you to believe in it.