And then there’s this year. The year that is taxing me for looking forward. I have a small stash left and I won’t use it up on projections. Looking back and looking forward, moments, eyes, and regrets are hanging on walls of empty hallways. I’m running to the very end of it.
Because I love you and I like you.
This is to say that the reality of us is far more intricate. Layered with all the people we have been before, the people who we no longer are and the ones we will become.
First, a woman.
I am a woman. Some are allured, and some are intimidated. Sometimes I must sit through meeting listening to foreigners mansplain what I am capable of analysing. Other times I must console my father and mother that this is not history repeating itself but rather a life that needs to be lived. I explain and… Continue reading First, a woman.