I'm from a small village, but now I live in the big city.
I'm always trying to be good because I'm inherently such a terrible person, lazy because I'm always busy, panicking because everything is fine, and a dim bulb who is thinking all the time. I'm a stranger that is always confiding, failing because I'm always trying, a selfish oaf who will be your best friend, and a weakling with the strength of 10,000 men.
...something like that.
After 8 years, I recently joined the exodus from San Francisco to Oakland. I live in a beautiful house with a garden, fruit trees, chickens, and a few wonderful housemates that subsidize my cooking habit. They are incredibly interesting creative/intellectual/activist types, and somehow the house is still beautiful and clean. I'm very lucky.
I cook for a living, and feel incredibly fortunate to have a job where I work with my hands. Growing up, my family thought I would be a philosopher, a psychologist, or a teacher. I feel like at times I get to be all three of them. I hope to do big things, but I'd be content living a very simple life too. I can enjoy the sunrise.
Aside from the limerick that is an exaggeration of sorts, all that's written here is true. I may or may not have a conjoined twin fetus attached to my face.