“Your life is fucked up. Totally fucked up. Let’s give up – you can’t change anything. The spirit of the city is dead, and you have no choice but to live as a slave. A slave to money, to mortgage, to the fucked-up government, and to your bosses. If you put an end to this fucked-up life, you will be free. Just pray that you will live in a rich and democratic Western country in your next life.” Chants that creepy little voice in my head.
“Yes your life is fucked up, but no. Maybe you should stay a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer. Don’t you want to visit Scotland, watch a match at the Arsenal stadium, learn how to skate, master two more languages, and make friends with foreign people? Yes none of these have been achieved at the moment, but perhaps you could wait and see what happens in the next few years. Nothing is guaranteed, but you shouldn’t ditch all your efforts and struggles in your entire life with a stupid free-fall.” Argues another voice. This voice is sweet, but with hesitation and uncertainty in its speech.
Thus ends my daily struggle. And it repeats every single day.