I Don't Know What Comes Next

I Don't Know What Comes Next. I don't actually know what I'm doing right now.

There. I said it.

No inspirational speech. No perfectly organized five-year plan.

No beautifully color-coded vision board waiting somewhere to tell me that everything will be fine.

I have absolutely no fucking idea. 😂

I don't know what the future has for me. I don't know where I'll be.

I don't know what my life will look like six months from now.

I don't know which doors will open. I don't know which ones will slam directly into my face.

Apparently, the universe has decided to keep the itinerary classified.

Very professional. Very reassuring. 😂

All I know is that I'm standing in the middle of a mess I never planned for.

And honestly?

Some days I look at it and think: What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this?

There are things I can't fix today. Things I can't control. Things I can't understand.

Things I wish had gone differently. Things I wish I could rewind.

And there are questions I still don't have answers for.

So I'm going to stop pretending I do.

Maybe I don't need to know the entire road.  Maybe I just need to see the next few steps.

That's it. One step. Then another.  Then another.

Slowly. Painfully.

Sometimes angrily. Sometimes while crying.

Sometimes while laughing at the sheer fucking absurdity of my life.

Because apparently my character development had to come with unpaid overtime. 😂

If this mess is somehow part of something bigger waiting for me...

Fine. I don't understand it.  I don't like it. I certainly didn't order it. 

But I'm here.

So I'll walk through it. Slowly.

I don't need to sprint toward the light.

Hell, some days I'll be happy just to locate the damn tunnel. 😂

Maybe the light at the end isn't some spectacular transformation.

Maybe it's simply waking up one morning and realizing:  “Oh. I'm okay.”

Maybe it's having my own money.

Maybe it's building something that belongs entirely to me.

Maybe it's travelling somewhere I've never been.  

Maybe it's snow. Obviously, there better be snow. 😂

Maybe it's sitting in a café somewhere far away and realizing I haven't thought about the things that once consumed me for an entire day.

Maybe it's laughing without remembering why I used to hold it back.

Maybe it's wearing whatever the hell I want.

Maybe it's having people around me who don't make me question whether I'm allowed to be myself.

Maybe it's simply becoming someone I actually enjoy being.

I don't know.

And for once...

I'm trying to be okay with not knowing. 

Because I've spent enough time trying to control outcomes that were never mine to control.

Some things are ending.  Some things are beginning.

Some things are still sitting awkwardly in the middle like they forgot to read the script.

That's life, apparently.

A badly organized production with no rehearsal and a budget that disappears whenever you need it most. 😂

So I'm not going to demand that I understand everything tonight.

I'm going to take the next step. Then the next.

I'll carry what I can.  I'll leave behind what I can't.

I'll cry when I need to. 

I'll laugh when something is ridiculous. I'll rest when I'm exhausted.

I'll keep building.  I'll keep looking.

And if I can't see the light yet? Fine.

I'll keep walking. Because maybe the point isn't knowing exactly where the tunnel ends.

Maybe the point is realizing that I'm still moving.

And as long as I'm moving, this isn't the end.

It's just the part of the story where everything looks fucking terrible before the plot finally makes sense.

So here I am.

No map. No guarantees. No idea what comes next.

Just one stubborn woman, one uncertain future, and an unreasonable amount of faith that somewhere ahead...

there is a life I haven't met yet.

I'll get there. Slowly.  Messily. Probably with coffee.

Definitely with sarcasm. But I'll get there.

I don't know what's waiting for me at the end of this tunnel.

Maybe that's okay. 

For now...

I'll just keep walking toward the light.

I Have Absolutely No Fucking Idea What I'm Doing

I would like to formally announce that I have absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing with my life right now.

None. Zero.

My brain has apparently resigned without submitting a notice period.

And honestly? I don't blame her. 😂

I don't know what the future has for me. I don't know where I'll be.

I don't know what I'll be doing. I don't know what happens next.

At this point, my five-year plan is basically: “Let's see what happens.”

Very strategic. Very mature.

Harvard will be calling any minute now. 😂

The funny thing is, I've spent so much time trying to figure out what went wrong that I haven't had much energy left to figure out what comes next.

And now I'm standing here looking at my life like someone dumped a box of 5,000 puzzle pieces on the floor and casually removed the picture from the front of the box.

Good luck, bitch. Apparently this is character development.

Could've developed my character through a pottery class, but no.

Life chose emotional demolition. How thoughtful. 😂

I don't know if this mess is leading somewhere.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

Maybe one day I'll look back and finally understand why everything had to happen this way.

Or maybe I'll look back and say: “What the actual fuck was THAT?”

Honestly, both seem equally possible.

But if this mess is part of something bigger...

Fine. I'll walk through it. Slowly. One step at a time.

Even if some days the step is embarrassingly small.

Even if some days all I accomplish is eating something, answering one message, opening my laptop, or getting out of bed without conducting a three-hour philosophical debate with myself.

I'll take it. Because apparently survival doesn't always look heroic.

Sometimes it looks like: “Congratulations. You showered today.” 👏

Gold star. Employee of the month. 😂

I don't need to know the entire future right now. 

I just need enough light to see the next step.

And if there isn't any light yet? Fine. I'll keep walking in the dark.

Hopefully without walking directly into a wall.

I've done enough of that already. 😂

Maybe someday I'll understand that this wasn't the end of everything.

Maybe it was just the ugly middle. The chapter nobody wants to read while they're living it.

The part where everything is uncertain and nothing makes sense and you're basically improvising your way through your own life.

And maybe that's okay. Because I don't need to have all the answers.

I just need to keep moving. Slowly. Messily. Probably sarcastically. Possibly with coffee.

And definitely with several inappropriate thoughts about the universe's questionable management style.

If this is leading somewhere bigger...  

I'll get there. I don't know how. I don't know when.

I don't know what I'll find when I arrive.

But I'll keep walking until I can finally see the light at the end of this fucking tunnel.

And if the light turns out to be another disaster?

Well. At least I'll have something new to complain about. 😂

For now...

one step. Then another. Then another.  That's all I have. 

And apparently... that's enough.

I Have No Fucking Idea What's Happening

I don't know what is on my mind right now.

Which is impressive, considering my brain has apparently been running 24/7 without producing a single useful answer. 😂

I don't know what the future has for me. I don't know where I'll be.

I don't know what my life will look like six months from now.

I don't know which doors are going to open.

I don't know which ones are going to slam shut.

I don't know whether I'm walking toward a new life or simply wandering around the emotional equivalent of a badly designed IKEA showroom.

Where the fuck is the exit? 😂

And honestly?

I'm tired of pretending I have a plan.  I don't.

I have fragments. Ideas.  Dreams.

A few half-formed plans. A laptop. 

An internet connection. A ridiculous amount of emotional damage.

And apparently enough stubbornness to keep going.

So... That's what I'm working with.

Excellent.  Very professional.

Someone give this woman a grant. 😂

Maybe this mess is part of something bigger. I don't know.

Maybe one day I'll look back and understand why everything had to fall apart the way it did.

Maybe I'll say: “Ohhhh. THAT'S why.”

Or maybe I'll look back and say:  “What the actual fuck was that?”

Honestly, both outcomes feel equally plausible. 😂

But if this mess is part of something bigger waiting for me... 

Fine.  

I'll do it. Slowly.

I don't need to understand the entire fucking plot right now.

I just need to survive the current episode.

One step. Then another.

Then another.

Some days that might mean building something.

Some days it might mean sending an application.

Some days it might mean figuring out money.

Some days it might mean making another AI video at an unreasonable hour because apparently my emotional breakdowns now have a production schedule.  😂

And some days? It might mean eating something, taking a shower, and going to sleep.

That's it.

No transformation.  No breakthrough. No inspirational montage.

Just: Congratulations. You survived Tuesday.

Gold star. 👏

Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel isn't going to arrive dramatically.

Maybe there won't be angels singing.

Maybe a billionaire will mysteriously appear and say: “Dika, I have reviewed your suffering and would like to deposit $10 million into your account.”

Rude, honestly.😂

So I guess I'll have to keep walking.

Fine. I'll walk.

But I'm not walking beautifully.

I'm walking with emotional baggage, questionable decisions, sarcasm, snacks, and absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing.

And I'm okay with that. Because I don't need to see the entire road.

I just need to see enough of it to take the next step.

Maybe the next step leads somewhere better.

Maybe it doesn't. Then I'll take another one.

And another. And eventually, something has to change.

Because standing still has never gotten me anywhere except deeper inside my own head.

And frankly? The rent in there is already too fucking expensive. 😂

So I'll keep moving. I'll keep building.

I'll keep trying. I'll keep writing.

I'll keep making things. I'll keep looking for work.

I'll keep figuring out money. I'll keep dreaming about snow.

Because apparently my current financial situation and my future travel itinerary have decided to exist in completely different universes.

But we're working on bringing them together. 😂

I don't know what comes next.  Maybe that's terrifying. Maybe it's also freedom.

Because if I don't know what's coming...  then the future hasn't disappointed me yet.

There are still possibilities I haven't seen. People I haven't met.

Places I haven't been. Versions of myself I haven't become.

Maybe somewhere ahead is a life so different from this one that I'll barely recognize the woman who was sitting here wondering how the hell she was going to get through it.

Maybe she'll have money.  Maybe she'll have a car.

Maybe she'll be driving through some ridiculous snowy country with a suitcase in the trunk and an overpriced coffee in the cup holder.

Maybe she'll stop somewhere beautiful and think: “Holy shit. I actually made it.”

And then she'll probably ruin the moment by saying: “About fucking time.”  😂

So no. I don't know exactly what is happening right now.

I don't know what the future has for me.

I don't know whether this is the worst chapter or simply the chapter with the most aggressive character development.

But if this mess is taking me somewhere...

I'll go. Slowly.

One fucking step at a time. 

And if the light at the end of the tunnel takes too long to appear? Fine.

I'll keep walking until I find it.

Because I'm done waiting for someone else to come rescue me from a life I haven't finished rebuilding yet.

Maybe the light isn't coming toward me. Maybe I'm the one who has to walk toward it.

So Here I go.

No map. No guarantees. No fucking clue.

Just me. 

Still standing.  Still moving. Still ridiculous. Still alive.

And apparently...

still writing the next chapter.

The Day I Finally Leave

The Day I Finally Leave. 

One day, I know exactly how this is going to happen. 

There won't be a dramatic announcement. No goodbye party. No emotional Facebook post.

No airport tears.  No final phone call where someone says, “Are you sure?”

Yes. I'm sure. I'll just wake up one morning and know:  Today. I'll shower.

Put on something ridiculous. Pack one suitcase. Maybe two.

Let's not pretend I'm suddenly a minimalist. 😂

I'll put my passport in my bag. My phone on silent. My favorite perfume on my skin.

I'll walk out of the house with a coffee in one hand and the keys to my own car in the other.

And for once... nobody will be waiting for an explanation.

I'll get into the car.  Close the door. Start the engine. 

And sit there for a second. Just listening to the sound of it.

Because that sound will mean something to me.

It will mean: I can leave.

Not because someone told me to. Not because someone pushed me out.

Not because I need to escape a person. Because I finally have somewhere else to go.

I'll pull out of the driveway. And I won't look back.

Not dramatically.  Not sadly.

Just forward. The city will disappear behind me.

The roads will get longer. The buildings will become smaller.

And somewhere between one highway and the next, I'll probably start laughing.

Because after all those years of feeling like my life was happening to me...

I'm finally the one holding the steering wheel. Literally. 😂

I'll drive until the scenery changes. Until the air changes.

Until the language on the signs changes. Until nobody knows my name.

And eventually I'll arrive somewhere cold. Really cold.

The kind of cold that makes you question every decision you've ever made.

Perfect. 😂

There will be snow.  Actual snow.

Falling quietly outside some enormous hotel window.

I'll check into a room that costs an amount of money that would once have made me physically ill.

I'll hand over the card without flinching. “Enjoy your stay.”

Thank you. I intend to. I'll walk into the room.

Drop my suitcase. Open the curtains. And there it will be.

Mountains. White trees. Snow covering the streets.

A world that looks like someone erased everything and started again.

I'll stand there for a long time.

Maybe I'll cry. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just laugh.

Because somewhere underneath all that snow will be a woman who spent years believing she had to make herself smaller to keep a life intact.

And she will finally understand:  That life was never the only life available to her.

I'll order room service. Something completely unnecessary.

Dessert first. Obviously. I've suffered enough. 😂

Then I'll put on a coat and walk outside.

No destination. No schedule. No one asking where I am.

I'll walk through the snow and let strangers pass me without knowing anything about me.

And that will be its own kind of freedom.

Nobody knows my history. Nobody knows my mistakes.

Nobody knows who I used to be. Nobody knows what I lost.

Nobody knows what I survived. 

To them, I'm just another woman walking through a winter evening.

Maybe I'll sit in a café. Maybe someone will start talking to me.

Maybe we'll become friends. 

Maybe we'll spend three hours talking about completely meaningless things.

Maybe I'll never see them again. And that's okay.

Not every person has to become permanent. Some people can simply become memories.

Beautiful little accidents. 

The kind you remember years later and think: I'm glad I was there that day.

And I'll keep travelling. Another city. Another train. Another hotel.

Another ridiculous meal. Another coat. Another passport stamp.

Another morning where I wake up and have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

And instead of panicking...

I'll smile. Because I don't have to know.

I'll decide tomorrow tomorrow. What an obscene luxury. 😂

And yes— I want the fancy version. I'm not going to lie.

I want business class. I want beautiful hotels. I want private transfers.

I want rooms with ridiculous views. I want dinners where I don't look at the price first.

I want to order the dessert because it looks pretty. I want to buy the coat.

I want the expensive coffee. 

I want the stupidly overpriced train ticket because the view looks incredible.

I want to spend money on experiences that become stories. 

Not because money is going to make me happy. It won't.

Money doesn't repair a broken heart. It doesn't undo the past.

It doesn't give you back years. 

But money can buy something I've wanted for a very long time: choice.

The choice to stay. The choice to leave. The choice to go somewhere I've never been.

The choice to wake up on a Tuesday and decide I want to see another country.

The choice to say: “Actually, no.”

And not have to explain myself for six hours afterward.  That's the wealth I want. 

Not diamonds. Not status. Not impressing people.

Freedom. The kind where other people's opinions become distant background noise.

Someone doesn't like my clothes? Okay.

Someone thinks I'm travelling too much? That's adorable.

Someone thinks I'm wasting money? 

They can write a strongly worded letter to my accountant. 😂

Someone thinks I should behave differently? 

Oh, sweetheart. That subscription has been cancelled.

I'm not shrinking anymore. I'm not editing myself anymore.

I'm not asking: “Is this okay?”

I'm asking: “Do I want this?”

And if I do? Yes. That's the whole answer.

One day, I'll be driving through some unfamiliar country with snow falling against the windshield.

Music playing. Coffee in the cup holder.

Suitcase in the trunk. And absolutely no idea where I'll sleep tomorrow.

And I'll look at the road disappearing into the distance and think: Holy shit. I'm free.

Not because somebody saved me. Not because somebody chose me.

Not because I found another person to build my life around.

Because I finally built a life that belongs to me.

And maybe that's the plot twist nobody saw coming.

I thought my escape would be about getting away. But it won't be.

It will be about finally having somewhere worth going. So I'll keep driving.

Past the mountains. Past the cities. Past the places I thought I had to stay.

And when I finally stop somewhere beautiful, I'll step out of the car, breathe in the freezing air, and look at the snow falling around me.

And I'll laugh. Because there was a time when I thought my life had become very small.

Turns out... I just hadn't reached the part where the road opened up

Dream Escape Route

My Escape Route

One day, when I can finally drive a car without looking like I'm negotiating a hostage situation with the steering wheel...

I'm going to disappear. Not dramatically.

Well.  Actually, who am I kidding? Extremely dramatically. 😂

I'm talking about the kind of disappearance where nobody gets a farewell speech.

No emotional announcement.  No “I'm leaving because...”

No twelve-paragraph explanation. No committee meeting. No family consultation.

No permission slip. Just me. 

A suitcase. A passport. A ridiculous amount of money. And a car.

Finally.  A fucking car.

Because apparently one of the great tragedies of my life is that I cannot currently drive myself away from anything. 😂

But one day? Oh, one day I'll be able to.

And when that day comes, I'm not going to Bandung.

I'm not going somewhere five hours away so I can return home by dinner.

No. I'm going somewhere with snow.

I want to see a landscape that doesn't look anything like the life I knew.

I want mountains covered in white. Trees covered in snow. Cold air hurting my face.

My footprints disappearing behind me.

I want to stand somewhere so beautiful that my problems look embarrassingly small.

I want to look around and think: Nobody here knows me.

And for once that will feel fucking wonderful.

I want to be anonymous. Not because I'm ashamed of who I am.

Because I want to experience what it's like to exist without a backstory.

No one needs to know what happened. No one needs to know who left.

No one needs to know who stayed silent. 

No one needs to know how many nights I couldn't sleep.

No one needs to know how many times I questioned myself.

No one needs to know how many pieces of myself I had to collect.

I'll just be a woman in a winter coat who has absolutely no idea where she is going tomorrow.

And somehow that's the dream.

I want money. And I don't mean: “I can pay my bills.” I've done that kind of money.

I'm talking about fuck-it money. 

The kind of money where the question isn't: “Can I afford this?”

It's: “Do I want it?”

And if the answer is yes? Booked.

Business class. Beautiful hotel.  Ocean-view room. Mountain-view room.

A stupidly expensive dinner. A train ticket because I suddenly feel like seeing another city.

A private driver. A spa. A ridiculous coat I will wear exactly four times.

Why? Because I fucking can. 😂

I want to experience luxury without guilt. Not because luxury will heal me.

It won't. A hotel cannot heal heartbreak.

A business-class seat cannot repair a marriage.

A designer bag cannot resurrect a version of yourself you've lost.

But there is something delicious about finally being able to say: “I want this.”

And simply having the freedom to have it.

I want to wake up somewhere I've never been.

Order breakfast in bed. Open the curtains. See snow. Drink coffee.

And spend the entire morning doing absolutely nothing productive.

Nothing. No deadlines. No obligations. No emotional emergencies. 

No one needing an explanation. Just silence. And snow. And room service.

Heaven, apparently, has a minibar. 😂

I want to meet strangers. Real strangers.

People who know nothing about me. Maybe I'll sit beside someone in a café.

Maybe we'll start talking. Maybe I'll make a friend.

Maybe I'll never see them again. And that's okay.

Not every connection needs to become a lifelong relationship.

Some people can simply exist in one beautiful moment of your life.

A conversation. A laugh. A meal. A shared train ride. Then goodbye.

No complicated history. No emotional archaeology. No excavation required.

Just: “It was nice meeting you.”

And then you disappear into different directions. How fucking beautiful is that?

I want to drive through unfamiliar roads. Stop when something looks beautiful.

Take pictures. Get lost. Find another road. Stop for coffee.

Buy something completely unnecessary. Drive again.

Maybe cross a border. Maybe cross several.

Maybe wake up one morning and decide:  “I don't like this city anymore.” 

Fine. Next city.  That's the level of freedom I'm talking about.

Not freedom from one person. Freedom from having to explain my existence.

That's the part I want. I want to stop living like every decision needs to be justified.

Why are you going there? Why are you wearing that?  Why are you spending that?

Why do you want this? Why don't you want that? Why are you changing?

Why are you leaving? Why are you staying?

Why? Why? Why?

One day I want the answer to all of it to simply be: Because I fucking wanted to.

And that's enough.

I want to become so financially secure that other people's opinions become background noise.

Not because I suddenly stop caring about everyone.

Because I finally stop confusing being considerate with being controlled.

There is a difference. 

And I want to learn it so thoroughly that nobody ever has to teach me again.

I want my own life. Not a life borrowed from someone else's expectations.

Not a life designed around keeping another person comfortable.

Not a life where I constantly wonder whether I'm being too much.

I want to be too much. Too loud. Too curious. Too adventurous.

Too expensive. Too spontaneous. Too ridiculous. Too alive.

Whatever.

I'm tired of being appropriately sized for other people's comfort.

Let me be fucking enormous. 😂

And maybe someday I'll sit in some beautiful snowy place, wearing a ridiculous coat, drinking an overpriced coffee, looking at my bank account and realizing: I did it.

Not the marriage. Not the perfect life. Not the happily-ever-after I originally imagined.

Something better. Something mine. I built a life I don't need to escape from.

And maybe I'll laugh. 

Because the woman who once thought she needed someone else's permission to live...

ended up buying a plane ticket and leaving anyway.

No dramatic goodbye. No revenge. No replacement. No grand romantic rescue.

Just me. A passport. A suitcase. A full bank account. 

And absolutely no fucking interest in explaining myself. 

And if someone asks where I'm going? I'll smile.

Because for once, I don't know. And I don't need to.

Maybe somewhere with snow. Maybe somewhere I've never heard of.

Maybe somewhere nobody knows my name.

Maybe somewhere I'll meet people who become stories.

Maybe somewhere I'll finally meet the version of myself who was waiting all these years.

And when I find her? I'm taking her with me.

Because this time... I'm not leaving myself behind.

My Escape Route

My Escape Route

One day, when I can finally drive a car without looking like I'm negotiating a hostage situation with the steering wheel...

I'm leaving. Not running away.

Leaving. There's a difference.

I'm talking about the kind of leaving where I have enough money that I don't need to calculate every decision against somebody else's opinion, somebody else's schedule, somebody else's expectations, or the horrifying question of: “Can I actually afford this?”

I want money that feels slightly irresponsible.  

The kind where I can look at a flight and think: “Business class.”

Not:  “Maybe economy if I don't eat for three days.” 😂

I want to travel somewhere with snow. Real snow.

The kind that makes everything look quiet and expensive.

I want to wake up somewhere cold, look out the window, and have absolutely no idea what day it is.

I want a beautiful hotel. A ridiculous room. A bathtub I don't technically need.

Room service I absolutely don't need.  

Coffee delivered to me because apparently I have finally achieved my final form:

spoiled woman with excellent views and no emotional obligations.

I want to rent a beautiful car and drive through places I've never seen.

Slowly. No destination that matters. No one asking when I'll be home.

No one waiting for me to explain where I've been. No one telling me I'm too loud.

Too much. Too emotional. Too ridiculous. Too anything.

Just me. And the road. 

And probably a playlist that is wildly inappropriate for the scenery. 😂

I want to meet people I've never met before. 

People who know absolutely nothing about my history. 

They won't know who broke my heart. They won't know what I survived.

They won't know what I used to tolerate.

They won't know the version of me who spent years wondering whether she was allowed to be herself.

I'll just be some woman they met in a snowy country who talks too much, laughs too loudly, orders too much food, and somehow always has a giant tumbler.

Perfect. Let them meet that woman first. 

I want conversations that don't come with history attached.

Friendships that don't require explaining the previous ten chapters.

Strangers becoming dinner companions. Random invitations. Unexpected cities.

Beautiful mistakes. 

The kind of stories that begin with: “I don't know why I did this, but…”

Those are usually the good ones. I want to travel beautifully.

Not necessarily because I need luxury.

Because for once, I want to experience what it feels like to choose something simply because I fucking want it.

A beautiful hotel? Book it.

A train ticket to another city? Buy it.

A ridiculous dinner? Order it.

A spontaneous flight? Why the hell not?

And if I want to sit in a café for four hours doing absolutely nothing? 

Congratulations. That's the itinerary.

No productivity. No guilt. No explaining. No justification.

Just existence. What a revolutionary concept. 😂

And maybe the biggest luxury won't even be the money.

It will be the absence of fear. Not constantly calculating.

Not worrying about what happens next month. 

Not wondering whether someone approves. Not trying to keep everybody comfortable.

Not shrinking myself to fit into somebody else's idea of what a woman should be.

I want enough freedom that other people's opinions become background noise.

Someone doesn't like my clothes? Okay.

Someone thinks I'm travelling too much? Interesting.

Someone thinks I'm too loud? Tragic.

Someone thinks I should settle down? They'll survive.

Someone has an opinion about how I should live my life? Excellent.

They can write it in their diary. Preferably in someone else's handwriting. 😂

Because I spent too much of my life thinking about how my choices would affect everyone else.

One day, I want to wake up and realize: Nobody gets a vote anymore.

Not because I don't care about people. 

Because I finally understand that caring about people doesn't mean handing them the steering wheel.

And yes, I know. This sounds wildly dramatic.

But have you met me?  

Apparently subtlety died somewhere around the second emotional crisis. 😂

I don't want to spend the rest of my life proving that I survived.

I want to live. I want snow. I want airports.

I want strange cities. I want expensive coffee. I want beautiful hotels.

I want new friends. I want ridiculous clothes. I want long drives.

I want mornings where nobody needs anything from me.

I want nights where I don't know where tomorrow will take me.

I want to sit somewhere on the other side of the world and suddenly realize: Holy shit. 

I'm here. I made it here. And nobody gave me permission.

I just went. Maybe that's my real escape route.

Not disappearing. Not revenge. Not finding another person to build my life around.

Building a life so completely mine that I don't need to escape from it anymore.

And when I finally have the money to burn? Oh, I'm going to burn it responsibly.

In business class. With travel insurance. And probably an unnecessarily expensive pastry.

Because apparently even my rebellion needs good financial planning. 😂

Until then... 

I'm working. I'm building. I'm saving.

I'm learning to drive. 

And I'm keeping one ridiculous little dream alive:

Someday, Dika is going to look at a snowy landscape through the window of a beautiful hotel, take a sip of her coffee, and realize she no longer has to ask anybody if she's allowed to be there.

She'll just be there.

And honestly? That's the kind of rich I'm after.