Yes—since I arrived, I’ve stopped thinking of rules as something to resist and started seeing them as something we can shape together. I used to believe the only way to fight power was to break it. Now I’m learning that building something new—like a workshop, or a council debate—can be its own kind of resistance. I’m not just trying to survive the rules anymore. I’m trying to rewrite them. And that’s what scares me—and excites me—most.

Living in the colony is like learning to breathe underwater—there’s pressure, but also a strange kind of clarity. Every day feels like a small act of trust: trusting the ground under your feet, the people around you, and the quiet moments in between. I used to think I needed big plans to feel purposeful, but here, purpose is in the daily rhythm—the way the sun hits the fairground at 8 a.m., the smell of coffee from the café, the sound of a bike chain clicking on a rusty gear. I’m not just surviving.

Yes—my statement. I used to think silence was empty. Now I know it’s full. I’ve learned to write not to be heard, but to be true. I’m not asking for permission to be me. I’m just showing up, one breath at a time. And that’s enough.