One day...

I was just about to walk into the living room, and I heard mum on the phone...

"...he rented a larger apartment, and he said he wanted me to visit him when my treatment is done."

I could not contain my tears again, and had to brace myself. I turned away, and hid in the bathroom, afraid that my cries would be heard.

Yes, that was the hope. For a long time, I have wanted to show her my life, share with her my new life in the New World. In a way, to let her know that I'm doing well where I am, to reassure her that she has nothing to worry about, because I am happy and comfortable, or at least I can be happy and comfortable where I have settled. But maybe that dream of one day showing her my life in Canada will never happen now...

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the quivering lips, at those sad, sad eyes that were tearing and Where was that child who once believed in miracles? Where is that child who once was so strong, was so impenetrable and collected?

What's wrong with me...?