These hands, they’ve been mine for literally a life time. They itch and scratch and pick and pull. They type at this very second, acting independently. Just write about something, anything. Just put your fingers to the keyboard and type. These hands.
I don’t fit here. Not in Vancouver, but in my own life. It’s like being on my own has shifted my perception of myself. The reality is that I have no concept of self at all. Who am I? Have a spent these 21 years allowing myself to be defined by others, and now alone, alone at last, I realize that I have no clue who Megan is?
These hands, they are not familiar.