Some people place them in the pigeonhole of
Religion, ethnic group or nation.
For two years they have constantly asked me
about my nationality,
my ethnic group
and my religion.
The answers are always the same,
and the looks that I receive are also the same.
Some show curiosity
and want to hear more details.
Details that change nothing.
I am weary of these repetitions.
Some prefer to be silent,
but their eyes betray them.
The matter is much simpler.
I believe that I belong to myself.
Why don’t we ask each other
at the first meeting what we love,
what we want to do, what we want to become?
No one asks me at a first encounter:
What were your experiences, how do you see the world,
how does the world see you?
I am what I love.
I am what I experience.
I am what I do not experience.
I am what I expect of the future.
I am my dreams and my disappointments.
I consist of all joys and pains that belong to me.
I feel in a way that belongs only to me.
I am an independent being.
And it is enough for me to believe in myself alone.
In my identity.
