stefanie says

I am the girl on the morning bus, hair still knotted and unkempt from rolling around in bed until the last possible moment.

I am the girl sitting alone with the strawberries and Vietnamese rolls, pen over notebook, in her favourite break spot. My legs already ache at 1.30pm.

I am the girl alone in the shop, disorganized and disheveled in the late afternoon, a million things still to be done before I can lock the doors. Coffee machines and cutlery and cigarettes and customers that come in right before 5.30pm are my new enemies.

I am the girl who squeezes onto the 5.45 train just in time, on the same carriage and in the same spot by the train doors every day. I have learnt to fall asleep standing in this very spot, half leaning against the glass door with the reassurance that the push of other people in the packed carriage will prevent me from falling.

I am the girl who gets off the bus last at the end of the day, no longer surprised at finding bruises and cuts and burns that I don’t remember getting.