I am writing this in my new apartment in Tel Aviv – a space I kept looking at and constantly wonder how I can ever afford to live in. I have to take this opportunity to apologise to those who have been reading this blog for years: I went into a make-believe world of ‘quit your job to travel the world’ but I really didn’t.

First, I never had a real job. I have always been a freelancer (at the time, in fashion) who made ends meet. I never had to walk into my superior’s office and tell to his face that I’m done. It’s time to move on. At a very young age, I have always been the person who unconsciously decided that she wanted to live on her own terms – no bosses, no offices, no grueling commutes.

I could’ve reworded that ‘quit my job to travel’ propaganda to ‘quit my life to travel.’ What I really left behind was a life I couldn’t bear living in a place where I felt like I lost my competitiveness and worth. It’s sad that place is somewhere I grew up and first sewed my dreams in but it happened. I also found myself in a humbling circumstance when I was sitting on a mountain of debt. I kept dating the wrong men: the married, dickhead, full of themselves, I-promise-to-move-mountains-for-you type of men. I thought I was cursed. But this is what happens when you are in your early 20’s and exploring the many versions of yourself. I had to leave that life. That life was ‘the office’ I made a hasty exit from.

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