Ieva Kazlauskaitė
- MUH_mod
- Jan 2
- 4 min read
Updated: Jan 4
Name: Ieva Kazlauskaitė
Age: 27
Occupation: Marketing Content Creator & Freelance Photographer
Nationality: Lithuanian
City: Vilnius, Lithuania
Weight: 58 kg
Marital Status: Single (Recently ended a 3-year relationship)
Children: None
"My name is Ieva, like the willow tree that bends but never breaks."
I'm 27, living in Vilnius, and I've finally reached that point in my life where I'm discovering who I really am beyond the expectations of others. Three months ago, I ended a relationship that had consumed me for three years. Tomas was safe, predictable, and utterly wrong for me. The day I packed my things and walked out of our shared apartment was the day I started breathing again.
Now I live alone in a tiny studio in Užupis, the bohemian heart of Vilnius. My neighbors are artists, musicians, and dreamers. The walls are thin, and I can hear jazz playing at midnight, couples arguing in three different languages, and the sound of my own thoughts for the first time in years.
I work as a marketing content creator and freelance photographer, which sounds more glamorous than it actually is. Most mornings, you'll find me at a café on Pilies Street, laptop open, cappuccino getting cold, trying to make someone's organic skincare line seem like the answer to life's mysteries. But the photography? That's where my heart lives.
I specialize in intimate portraits, the kind that capture people when they think no one's watching. The vulnerability of a woman trying on a dress in a boutique mirror, catching her own reflection and seeing herself as beautiful for just a moment. The way light hits someone's face in a grocery store aisle when they're lost in thought, choosing between apples. These stolen moments of authenticity, that's my obsession.
Here's what I don't tell people at family gatherings when my aunties ask why I'm still single: I'm not looking for another relationship. I'm looking for experiences. Adventures. Stories that make my skin flush and my heart race.
Last month, I flew to Prague for a photography workshop. I met a French artist named Laurent at a rooftop bar. We spent three days together, exploring the city by day and each other by night. He painted me, just the curve of my shoulder and the freckles on my nose, and said I looked like summer itself. When I left, we didn't exchange numbers. That was the point.
Living in Lithuania, you grow up with this beautiful melancholy. Our history is heavy, our winters are brutal, and our people are reserved. But underneath that cool exterior, there's fire. I discovered mine through the camera lens.
I started taking self-portraits, intimate ones. Not for anyone else, just for me. Trying on dresses I can't afford in boutiques, capturing the way fabric moves against my skin. In my apartment, wrapped in sheets with morning light streaming through the window. At the Neris River at sunset, letting my hair down, feeling the wind against my bare shoulders.
These photos live in a private folder on my laptop. Sometimes I look at them and see a stranger, this confident, sensual woman who knows exactly what she wants. Other times, I see myself, finally.
During Joninės last summer, that magical midsummer celebration where all of Lithuania goes wild, I danced around bonfires until dawn. We wore flower crowns, jumped over flames for luck, and searched the forest for the mythical blooming fern. I was wearing this simple white dress that kept sliding off my shoulder, and I caught three different men watching me throughout the night.
I kissed one of them in the forest, pressed against a birch tree, tasting smoke and beer and summer on his lips. His hands were in my hair, pulling pins out until my waves fell loose around my face. We didn't go further, even though we both wanted to. The anticipation was more delicious than the act itself.
I've spent 27 years being "good Ieva." The one who studies hard, works diligently, maintains respectable relationships. But that woman feels like a costume I've been wearing, and I'm ready to step out of it completely.
I want to be someone's muse again, but on my own terms. I want to pose for photographs that capture not just how I look, but how I feel, that electric current running beneath my skin when I'm truly alive. I want strangers to see these images and wonder who this woman is, what makes her smile that secret smile, what makes her eyes hold such promise.
There's something intoxicating about being desired from a distance, about knowing someone is imagining what it would be like to trace the freckles on my cheeks with their fingertips, to feel the weight of my hair against their chest, to hear the way I laugh when I'm genuinely delighted.
I'm at this crossroads in my life where stability feels like death and uncertainty feels like oxygen. My friends are getting married, having babies, buying apartments in the suburbs. And me? I'm learning to develop film in my bathroom, traveling solo to cities where no one knows my name, and discovering that the most erotic thing in the world is complete freedom.
So here I am, darling. Twenty-seven, Lithuanian, covered in freckles that tell a map of my summers, with eyes that shift color depending on my mood. I'm chaos wrapped in the appearance of calm, a wildflower pretending to be cultivated.
Want to know what makes a Lithuanian woman tick? We're like our winters, long and patient, but when spring finally comes, we bloom with an intensity that takes your breath away. I've been in winter long enough.
Are you ready for my spring?
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