Born in the wrong place

It’s bitter. It’s bitter and it hurts. You feel it, it’s right there, the frustration it’s there, and you can’t even do anything about it, because your hands are all tied.

I get it. I’ve been here before. I’ve had this feeling before. When in Norway… “Yes, of course, you are more than welcome to stay here longer.” People wanted you there, but oups, there’s the system that says, well, not possible, go back to your freakin’ school, in your IDONTWANTTOLIVEHERE country and do whatever.

I don’t want you, Romania

Once again, I get it. But it’s bitter. It’s bitter and it hurts to feel like you don’t belong to your IDONTWANTTOLIVEHERE country. I don’t want you, Romania, and I will always run away from you. But I’ll see you soon.

It is what it is. I was simply not born in the right place.

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