Sometimes I feel like the city has made me hard. Maybe California just made me soft. I find myself wondering what happened to the nice girl I used to be. Maybe she never really existed at all. I wonder what happened to the child who always had change to spare, who would buy food for the beggars if she had time, or at least whispered “sorry” as she passed and felt guilty for it later. How did that girl turn into the woman who boldly says “no” as she passes without slowing, just shakes her head or sometimes doesn’t even look. Maybe I was trying to prove something.
There is a part of me that still likes to believe that gods walk among us, disguised in human form to test and to reward or punish. I guess I like to believe that good deeds are worth something and the cruel are given what’s coming to them, but living in the city teaches you that nothing is ever that pure.
I guess growing up is hard.
