I have enough secrets. Secrets don’t add much, because they are secret. One hundred sentences earlier I was a secret. Now I am just a regular girl watching TV and wondering what life will be like one thousand sentences after this ordinary moment. Have you ever wondered who will be there? 

The departure was simple, arriving was hard, to keep moving is a debt I pay by living, sharing, remembering, and forgetting. I share this with you. (...)

To build up walls is to keep a secret safe. Some secrets are shared. A shared secret is what we call “family”. By the way, the sun has woken me up this morning, as it did yesterday. Home feels safe.

Sometimes you have to break the rules of a secret. Some people will call that freedom of choice. I call it “fantastic awakening”. When I tell you of my discovery, I speak of a secret I have been keeping for long, for very long. And so I hope you to be my family. I hope you to be my shared secret. But then when I awake, the novelty therein I carry, safely. Sometimes it feels fragile. To be born. To be alive. To have a mind. To be one’s sacred secret.

Here inside the world resists. In not agreeing with it, I swim in me against the tide.

But we are alive still, here inside.


To a friend who, like so many others, fell ill. And content that she has awoken.