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Dear M.,

I have always examined you, physically, and most of all emotionally. I have always tried to understand your decisions, which made perfect sense. However, I felt they were correct, but not true to you.

Your decisions were the right ones, the right ones for the others, for the ‘people’s mouth’ to remain shut. People could always say anything positive, but, never ever something bad, something that could be taken as gossip. This was the perfect metric to scale your happiness.

Somehow, your lifetime looked perfect, always improving, always achieving a new milestone. And always losing something, somehow being away from your true identity, your true desires. I felt like you were hiding your soul from the rest, not to hurt them and not to be seen as weak or vulnerable.

You had worked a lot to build your image, your strong personality: a tough woman (and I know it wasn’t easy to fight against mentality, legislation, corruption, lots of men who didn’t believe that a woman can be so determined and can succeed, but I will come back to this, to remind you about the fucking transportation association), and a lovely mother. Yes, that kind of mother who doesn’t want her kids to make mistakes, at least not the same mistakes as you thought you did.

OMG, this fucking mindset based on right and wrong and no mistake! Fuck it! All had to be perfect, to learn only from good examples and from books, fuck it!

You have always wanted to prove to your mother that you were better than the others, than your siblings, that you overcame your condition, which you did so well. And I perfectly understand why.

In a family with 13 children, anyone would want to ‘escape’, let’s say it this way. Even though your parents took care of you all and provided you a good education and tried to ensure a safe future for all of you…

But, I feel you, that was the perfect ground to build your determination; the perfect reason to tailor a perfect attire.