I thought that this is normal, this is living, this is just the way it has to be, this is what I deserve. I thought that I’ve brought this upon myself. I was born broken. I am ugly. I am inherently flawed, that I am on my own. I thought that being busy is glamorous, that I should want what everyone else wants, that someone else need to buy the flowers in order for them to be enjoyable. I thought that love had to feel a certain way, that someone would change because they love you, that I could make another person happy and boy did I try. I used to believe in happily ever after but I think everything is bittersweet. I thought my heart was elastic beyond measure. I thought I could handle this on my own. I thought the only way to make a difference was through my own actions. I thought that the country and religion I was bitten into was the best, most right one, that the motivation of the government was to create safe environment for everyone. I thought that I didn’t see corporate ladder race and that was a good thing. I thought religion makes us good to each other, that being a believer means you don’t have questions. I thought that when I became an adult, things would get easier, that adults knew what’s going on. I thought that there was only one way to live, one way to solve this puzzle called life, one way that this would play out. Now I often ponder that imagine if I kept on believing, kept on insisting, kept on refusing to consider that there might be a softer, brighter way.