I want to have one. I want to have a closet full of clothes.
I don’t want to have to deal with national identity confusion. Seriously what am I?
I want to have a place where I could go home. Just one. Not many which feel like home but none of them truly are my home.
I want to have at least one parent whom I could trust when I am in depression.
There were events in my life which gave me quite different perspective to look at the world and life but sometimes I wonder if they were even remotely worth it. It’s hard to judge when I still don’t good counterweights for my life scales.
It is revealed mostly when I talk to people that when I do something which I consider normal that it’s in fact something they consider hard or difficult. At that time I am usually hard on myself because of all the experiences I’ve been through and that thing should be easy.
I am not sure I can lead boring life anymore.