When I was four, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. "A ballerina", I said with all the confidence I could muster.
Again when I was eight, they asked me what I wanted to be. "A veterinarian", I proudly stated.
By twelve, they were no longer asking "what", but "who". Who do I want to be when I grow up? That question was too complicated for my prepubescent mind. So I settled with, "A good person".
At sixteen, they seemed even more interested in my answer. By now, I'd experienced more than any young woman should. However, an answer was still required. "I want to be anyone but 'her'", I answered dejectedly.
When I turned eighteen, I ran out of time. But it didn't matter. I knew. With tears streaming down my face, I whispered, "I want to be free".
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