When your home becomes your un-home and they make it clear you are not welcome, that is when you leave. Sometimes things must be broken before they are made whole again. Thus, my relationship with my mother is utterly broken, and I am remaking it, even if it costs her tears.

In that moment, find another place, away from her words and tears you didn’t want. I sit by a glass window in a place full of books and very little noise. It is blissfully silent, with only a few voices. And I read a book of goblins and outcasts and seekings–a children’s book.

Wherevery I go–that is my home. In this way I have become Roma.

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