This is the kind of writer I want to be when I grow up. This is an extraordinary piece!
It’s 2018 and a long time now since I was a child, but my young self is written into my adult life like a secret I can’t shake off…
I watch my first episode of Popeye at home on a black and white TV. Dad laughs more than Mum and I do. Olive Oyl makes me think of the sadness of mown flowers, while Popeye’s can-like muscles remind me of Dad’s rhyme about Jim, the softness of tomatoes and how they don’t hurt a thing unless thrown while still wrapped in a tin![i]
Though life changed after my diabetes diagnosis last year, I think I still love laughter. But I know already that I see things differently to other seven year olds. I decide that I must be adopted and my real name’s Penelope.
I don’t realise it yet, but subconsciously I’ve started to construct my identity in…
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