By Lyana Farooqi
Walking into a room as a four year old isn’t a particularly exciting memory. Of course it depends on the room, and in some cases, the walk… I’m sure an image popped into your head. Perhaps of a younger version of yourself, walking into a room with a weighty four years of experience in this chaotic world.
The room I imagine is a classroom. The first one I had at my first school. I don’t particularly remember my first day, nor most of those in my first year. I remember sitting at a table with two boys and two girls. I was the fifth, the odd one out. Little did I realise then, that this would be the start of a pattern. This was the start of the life I would lead, standing in the middle of the divide between boys and girls…
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