My Life, My Country, My Name

I built a new life across the border,

far from the noise, the gossip, the hands

that tried to repaint me into something I never was.

They called it love —

but love that refuses to see you

is just another shape of bullying.

Love that invents a fake version of you

and demands you play along

is not love at all.

In Ukraine they pushed identities on me

like cheap masks at a marketplace:

“be this, eat this, think this,

pretend you are something you are not.”

And when I said “no,”

they called me difficult.

They called me strange.

They called me anything but myself.

But I left.

And I’m never walking back into that fog.

I’m done returning to places

that twist my name,

my culture,

my story.

Here in Moldova, I breathe.

I think.

I live without explaining every heartbeat.

My identity is not a debate —

it’s a fact.

And anyone who wants to stay in my orbit

must respect the reality,

not the fantasy they invented.

So let them figure it out:

do they want the truth,

or do they want their imaginary version of me?

Because they can’t have both.

And if they choose illusions —

they lose me.

Now I walk my own path

with an Oukitel in my hand —

yes, the phone I chose,

the tablet I want,

the life designed by my own decisions,

not someone else’s expectations.

My world is mine now.

My freedom is not up for negotiation.

I don’t return to places

that tried to silence my voice —

I build new ones

where my voice is the foundation.