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You Don’t Know How To Be Yourself. That’s The Problem.
They must’ve thought I was homeless or a hooker.
The cars wooshed past me in the dark. I doubt the drivers saw me. If they did, they must’ve thought I’m homeless or a hooker.
I wasn’t. I was a 12-year-old girl who lived in the skirts of the city and who wanted to escape. I wanted it so bad that I sometimes crossed the only boulevard separating our building from the vast fields and walked on the side of the highway, wondering where I’d end up and how my life would turn out if I just kept walking.
Of course, I went back home eventually. But at 14, I moved to live with my dad. At 17, I took a live-in job in a resort near our town. At 20, I went off to university. Since then, I’ve lived in the USA, UK and have changed 3 cities in Bulgaria in the past 8 years.
I kept on running. Twenty years later, I was still on that highway, walking in the dark, wondering.
Then, a couple of years ago, I came back to face what I was running from.
You don’t know how to be yourself anymore. That’s the problem.
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