Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good»

was primitive, and stoic, and still. Inflexible and often painful.»

The people waiting for the bus rubbed their hands together in the cold. I looked down at the dirt, clutching the strap of my bag. I was trying to not make eye contact with anyone. It was a countryside village where only two buses stopped per day. From a distance, I saw the first bus approaching. I boarded the bus behind everyone else. I didn’t look back. When I was passionate about something, when I barely had something in my grasp, when I had nothing left but things to escape- I had conditions. I wasn’t to look back. The moment I looked back the efforts I’d made until now became little more than seafoam. Looking back, that was a kind of suspicion, a kind of lingering attachment, and a kind of fear. Only when I had overcome these things could I finally escape. The bus started off. I had no plans. I had nothing I was passionate about, nothing in my group, no particular reason to escape. “I have to survive.” »

“Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.” »