I’ve been meaning to write about this for some time now, I just didn’t have the time, nor the mood. I’m at work now, it’s Saturday, it’s cloudy, the office is warm like a home now to me and I can’t stop thinking that my story here, my life as I have it now, started 10 years ago on the 6th of October. It was the first day of school. I was alone in a huge town (coz it seemed huge at that time). My heart was still at home: my boyfriend was there, my parents, my friends, my pink bedroom. Here I had a cold big house, a tiny room in the attic, a sick aunt, an egoist uncle, a shallow cousin….nobody. I remember I was even crying when I was alone.
Still, I believe my beginning here was fortunate. My luck was meeting people I could rely on, people who helped me tremendously and to whom I am grateful to this day. I learned to love this controversed, sometimes dirty, sometimes glamorous city and I am not sorry I made this choice.
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You describe it vividly and it strikes me you still remember the precise date: 6th of October. You are lucky to have met good people and I guess they would say the same bout you.
I remember it vividly because those days from the 1st of October (the official opening of the university year) to the 6th of October(first day of actual school) were actually terrible…