It is the evening before I would end it all.
Ever since I was charged as a 15 year old when attempting to leave the country and losing a fair chance for a good education in the process (as a repression by the regime) my world kept crumbling.
I witnessed my parents burying their dreams.
I got pushed around by authorities, also at work.
My questions didn’t find answers anymore that I was willing to build a future on.
Active resistance in the anti government punk scene gave me a platform to express my utter frustration with state sponsored repression, but it also created more friction and danger scenarios.
Around 8pm as I walk home through the tristesse of my town I try to picture myself as an adult - years out. After a 60min brisk walk I stall when I realize: there was not a single happy thought in my mind throughout the entire hour.
Not a single smile or hopeful longing triggered my heart to race.
What will I answer my children when they want to know why I won’t fly the red flag on our window?
Deprived a good education I would always remain dependent on the despotism of the regime. My troubles with them will only mount.
The coal ash laden air on this April evening coats my spirit, suffocates my hope. Again, like many times before I find no smile. This time though the desperation is overwhelming. This time I can’t breathe anymore.
I want out.