I was not asked. No one handed me a contract before the first cell split, before the first breath burned my lungs. I arrived like a guest at a party I never RSVP'd to, handed a name, a language, a country, a wound.
So I sit here, between the PDF page and the pale light of morning, and I do not erase these words. Not because I have found an answer. But because somewhere, someone else will read this and think: "Oh. It’s not just me." Toi uoc Minh Chua Tung duoc Sinh Ra Pdf
And yet… I write this down. Which means some part of me still wants to be heard. Some part still hopes that by speaking the unspeakable wish, I might loosen its grip. I was not asked
Maybe that is the cruelest irony: even the wish to have never been born requires being born to wish it. So I sit here, between the PDF page