America.

I love you like the childhood home we return to as adults. Only to find she’s smaller than we remember, and need a lot of repairs.

After living overseas, I see that America is a box. A box I created because this is where I learned to follow the rules. Follow the rules to avoid bad things.

Overseas, the rules were unknown or absurd to me. I adapted what I wanted and left the rest behind. But that was a temporary world. The consequences were short term. It felt like a grand experiment.

And now.

Now, I’m back in the real world. A world whose rules I know too well. Where women are objects to be used, and I know exactly how. A place where leaders build our trust just to throw it away. This is real.

There is a certain ingnorance to enjoy while living in another country. You are a guest. You can’t vote. Just follow the laws and enjoy yourself.

And now.

The consequences are great. It’s too real. Personal.

Things weren’t perfect overseas. But I was myself.