Tbilisi is the city in which doors have invard opening,
where dad is called mom, and the language
has no masculine or feminine gender,
where any native conversation sounds like a song,
even when no one was going to sing yet,
where the language has no capital letters or accents,
where words fly by with eight consonants in a row,
and almost every relaxed taxi driver bears the name Irakli.
A city where you tend to remember easier how many brothers you have, and most likely sisters. Where the dogs feel like home on any street, and your sensations are comfortable in almost any incomprehensible situation also.