I learned how to read when I was seven. One of the first books I read was by UNICEF and it was about children in different countries and I was dreaming I was in far away countries living other lives. There is where my passion began. I wanted to be everywhere at all times doing everything humanly possible. Easy. 

I always say: "imagine if I wasn't here at this moment". "Only I get to experience this event because only I saw those birds fly".  

Fact about me: Before I moved away from my parents home when I was 20 I had done; for a significant length of time, basketball, dancing; ballet, contemporary, jazz, street jazz, break dance, salsa, horse back riding, golfing, harness racing, rugby, skiing, volley boll, rock climbing, archery, acting, boxing, martial arts, soccer, singing, hand ball, sailing, fishing, hiking, surfing, swimming, track, painting and had learned English, Spanish, Chinese, French and Thai. I also had learned to play the guitar, the ukulele, the banjo, and the violin. 

I have had plans to walk all across the earth so that I could see everything. I have lived in 3 different countries with three different languages. I have no idea where I'm going to end up next. As all fates, mine will untangle itself someday. Until then I play to end up on a ranch in Texas. Easy. 

Rose came with me to the train station, as I knew he would. There was no keeping him away. He helped to carry my bags all the way from my apartment. It's not particularly far away but moving isn't a light-weight business. This would not be a tearful affair however. Rose had booked a flight that left a week from now. "Just a week!", we cracked jokes about the fact that we would see each other on the other side before we could get a chance to miss each other and told poorly made-up puns about the whole situation. After we had put my bags in the cramped little space where I had my assigned seat, we stepped out and hugged one last time before I departed. One last embrace on Swedish ground.

"Love you, honey", Rose mumbled and kissed me right on the tip of my nose."I love you too", I said, and tickled his neck. We chuckled together, then I stepped on board the train.

As I made my way to my seat, I accidentally hit one passenger in the face with my back-pack. I gave him a shy apologetic smile and sat down and turned to face the window. I do it the Scandinavian way, quick and quiet. I come from a country where it's totally acceptable to take up two seats for you and your bag to avoid company. During my travels I've come to noticed that this practice is not universally loved. The man just gave me an exhausted look and turned back to his newspaper.

I saw Rose standing on the platform waving at me. He stood out from the crowd, standing still as he did, he was one of the few people who wasn't rushing past my window in a hurry. He looked radiant in the afternoon sunshine and his turquoise short added a comical effect on the otherwise "cool guy" that he was. His long-brown hair got caught in the summer breeze and it floated around him like a halo. I almost rolled my eyes over the corny symbolism. As the train started to depart he kissed his hand and waved goodbye one last time. I copied him as I watched how he disappeared into the distant.

I put my headphones on and covered my eyes with the screen on my snapback. It was early July and one of the better days in the summer of '16. The sun sunk lower towards the horizon as we cleared the city limits. Heading south, the landscapes opened up. As the train picked up speed the suns dull rays filled the compartment and started to heat up the cart. The thing was old and had an ancient ventilation system. I took off my leather jacket and put my shoeless feet up on the tray table in front of me. The hills rolled by and I leaded back in my seat. I pressed play and a lovely voice filled my ears. I smiled happily to myself as I listened to the lyrics. The blonde and beautiful country singer sang about a breakup with a boy, but it felt like she was singing about me. I am always on the move, I am always travelling. I am always going to fly away in the search of my Neverland.

Home. Far away. This place is a great many things. It is a gloomy place and the artist who paints the sky uses only grey. At rare moments we observe as the city swims in sunlight and ice-cream is on sale at the kiosks. This is the city that contradict itself. A concrete jungle defined by its mood-swings. Plagued by frequent hurricanes during the winter and waves of tourists during the summer. A place synonymous with joy in so many children's hearts and a place filled with violence according to the news. The place where I spend my childhood summers is now also the place where I got shot. The place that was so distant I thought it was located in a different country. The place I now call home.

This is a divided city. A place where the nouveau-riche live in the old worker-quarters and the families that struggle to get by live in massive apartment blocks outside the city. This is the place where the red danger marches and where the conservative rule the media. This is the place that holds a week long Pride Parade and where the racists and homophobes march in protest.

I've lived in the same apartment during these last three years. Same rooms but with very different people. Here I have endured domestic abuse, lived with my best friend and met my soul mate. I have had three different jobs and equally as many boyfriends. I've called the cops four times from the window of my apartment. There has been two riots in my neighborhood and ten times as many bar fights.

I've dumped and been dumped. I've laughed 'til I cried and cried 'til I laughed. I have had my share of mood-swings along with the city. I've been happy, horny, sad, drunk, high and overjoyed. I have loved it here, but the wilderness calls me home and I will answer. I'm moving far away. I'm moving home.

Laughing in Space and Dance. Repeat. Yeah. I have more DNA in common with fish than humans. Whoa. Sick. It that drums? Shit's epic. BOMBS! No, it was just me. Am I on a boat? No... I'm on a ship...A spaceship!

What if I was a glowing pink octopus. Then I would never have to pay for the electrical bill to the Senates committee. But I could never turn of the light... I would never find peace. No glowing fish here, no sir.

I like being in the dark. You can float around in space is a secure capsule and just observe. I want to discover everything. What If I saw a supernova? Or a dying star... Is that the same thing?

I wonder if there's galaxies far, far away or alternative dimensions. I wonder if I had been a pink, squiggly, fish there. I might have been royalty. Like for real. Maybe I would have a garden. I could watch the clouds from down below for once.

I want to fly trough a forest before I get blowing to pieces in these fucking wars. Flying over a desert would be cool too. Not like I do now, but alone and at peace.

Sweet little girl, tell me your troubles,

Weep over lost dreams,

Let us heal your bruises,

Let us wash away your pain.

Sweet little girl, let us share your joy and your sorrow,

We are your faithful servants,

In happiness and excitement,

In anger and suffering.

After your heart is ripped out of your chest, the world feels black and white. Like an old depressing movie about smoking cigarettes and drinking whisky. I want to tell you something. I want to tell you how I feel. Most of all I want you to understand something.

Do you know what you've done? I do not believe you do. In some twisted way you think you singlehandedly destroy everything you touch. You don't.

Having a woman from your past yelling at me and telling you what to say, that is not the actions of a man. Not giving me a chance to understand is not the actions of a man. I never wanted to fix you. I wanted you to fix yourself. I just wanted to love you and be loved back. I believe that everyone is capable of love. Even you. Even if you don't think so yourself. But I've seen you love. You love the sea. I can see it in your eyes when they glance over the horizon. And even if you just said you loved me because you think that's what I wanted to hear, I know that you can love, and you will. Maybe you will never love me, but that is not the point here.

I wish I could look back at our time together and feel joy. I could see us together. I really could. I fell for you so fast and I didn't mean to.

I don't understand American culture. It is possessive and weird. You did not disrespect me, you messed up. If you didn't want to be with me just say so. Do not talk about not being worthy. Who is? I know I'm not. I am a cheater, a liar, I use people when I get the chance. I am not a good person. I try, but life is hard. Even for me, even though I've not lived as long as you.

I've constantly been told I'm not good enough, not beautiful enough, that I'm a waste. I am not wanted. Now I'm in a good place, or at least I hope it's going to last. I am still in love with you. At the same time I hate you. You never gave me a fair chance.

And just like that its gone. But you know what? When people give me shit, I will use it as manure and grow. You might have broken my heart, the pieces that are left of it anyway. I am afraid that this is going to make me bitter. I am afraid that I'm not going to believe in love and its awesome power. However, I'm going to try my best. I want to find my Aragorn. I thought it might be you. But like all fairytales they end.

The woman in rags outside the temple spoke in a hushed voice as I strode by. "You are not safe anymore". I could hear the horror in her whisper. I am not safe here anymore. I believe that I'm never going to be safe again. Wherever I go the horror of the mad king will spread. That's how I came to be here in the first place. A different king but from the same psychotic family.

I was born a couple of paces down the cobble stone street to my left. In the King's Prison. My mother, however was not. She is a priestess from the cold, sparse cliffs of Aeldis, miles from this sewer the southerners call a capital. She came here as a prisoner of war. She has never held an axe, knife or a sword and the bare thought of her fighting seems absurd. Sure, she was in the resistance and so was my father, bless his soul. He was the one with the sword and the lectures on freedom and prosperity. My mother tended to the wounded and prayed. She prayed even as they dragged her away from my father's mutilated body. They tortured her for information, even though she was heavy with child. They killed her sons, my brothers, to put an end to our fight. They would have killed me to if I was born with a different set of reproductive organs. Apparently, females can't fight. I will make them realize that mistake.

Today, the new king will wear the crown. He is even worse than his grandfather who in his final years waged war on my people. Freedom is a word kings cannot bear to hear. I guess that's why they hate us so much. His son promised peace. That was before he died suddenly on hunting trip. Oh, to think what might have been. Now madness and cruelty rules us yet again.

The bells atop the temple mark the beginning of the ceremony. I have to go into hiding. When the bells toll again, I will be hunted. 

Knowledge used to be empowering. Knowledge brought power over others and power over yourself. The leaders of today are stuck in an ignorant sleep while the people have woken up. 

The people however are divided. We the people are reluctant to unite under one voice. Our knowledge varies depending on what individual perspective you hold as your own. 

From the moment people learned how to read they started to educate themselves. Unfortunately each and every individual life-experience grants us all a unique perspective on how we perceive this knowledge. 

Knowledge is never good or evil. Human intelligence however is a blurred spectrum tainted with our emotions. Feelings of good and evil. Joyful and depressing. 

The knowledge of the elders contradicts the knowledge of the youths. The knowledge of the religious differs from the knowledge of the atheists. 

Do you know your history? Does it make you richer or poorer? Humanity has done some unspeakable sins towards its own brethren. Slaughter, distrust, greed and mutilation. We can choose to blind ourselves with ignorance over our history or gain knowledge from it. 

In society today we have to be critical of everything we read and about everything we're taught. We have to keep an open mind and accept the uncomfortable fact that gaining knowledge can chance our perspective. To survive the monsoon of research and information we the people have to be strong enough to always choose to express love towards our brothers and sisters instead of choosing to hate our differences. 

I see a woman walking down the street. 

She proudly states that she is turning twenty-five for the forth time in May. She gets a steady paycheck every month from a job she's too qualified for and has no one to spend it on but herself. 

She drinks wine she believes is fancy because it costs more than the crap she drank as a teenager. She drinks it with her girlfriends talking about getting married, having kids someday and how the world turns little pink baby girls and little blue baby boys against each other and about dirty jokes told by old men at the office. They laugh. 

As they go out onto her balcony, each person sucking on a cigarette, they praise each other for not ever using any drugs. They have another sip of wine. 

Her apartment is far from the screeching sound of cop cars and glass breaking during drunken brawls yet she believes that the street violence is increasing. She learns about it from biased articles on her phone at lunch and one time she saw a brown kid in a hood walking down HER street. It's getting out of hand. She does not get the promotion because they need someone who is dependable. She might want to start a family soon. 

I know nothing about her.