This place where I was born and raised. This place that saw me come to birth. My parents met here. Their parents died here. In this place, not beautiful, just easy on the eyes. 

Once an oasis now an encroaching desert. Almost overpopulated, already full of pollution. All sorts of pollution. Forgotten virtues, praised vices. Yet full of warm hearted people. Kindered spirits. Beautiful souls. Kids with promising futures. Wisened old folks. Ride or dies. Friends for keeps. The realest  people are found right here. 

Dreamers too.

But this is not a place for dreamers. Nobody dares to dream anymore here. Dreams bring heartache. This is the place where dreams come to die. The pollution in this place kills dreams. Kills them slowly, like a cancer. And you have no choice but to let it die, watch it die, sit by it’s bedside and hold it’s hand as the light in it’s eyes go out and you too die a little inside.

You have two choices here :

  1. Don’t dream and stay.
  2. Dare to dream and leave.

How can you leave home? If it is toxic you leave. With your dream dead and your heart broken, it’s easier to leave this place where dreams come to die.


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