fear

Like Riding A Bike

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I never learnt how to ride a bike as a child. The older I became, the more the two-wheeled enigma became an impenetrable fantasy mode of transport, and the more estranged I felt from “normal” people who took this skill for granted. But my god, the rush when I managed to peddle for the first time! I screamed inwardly, “I’m a cute girl in an A-line smock riding a bicycle in Berlin!” and, with the stupidest grin plastered across my face, cycled for about three metres – before crashing into the side of a stationary car.

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Making a run for it

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The first time I left home, I was seven years old. I was so mad. I have no idea what I was mad at, but my god, it was shocking. I made a Vegemite sandwich, packed my favourite yellowed teddy bear in my Space Jam backpack, took one last wistful look at the rest of my toys, and I was gone.

I made it less than a block.

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