In mind, I have built a city. It is vast and strange, with towering spires made of words and streets paved with thoughts. Today, I open its gates, wide and welcoming, though I know not all who enter come with open hearts. Some will look upon my world and recoil, for it is not built of the soft illusions they prefer, but of harsh truths sculpted into monuments. Still, I let them in.

I stand at the highest tower, watching as they trickle in. Among them, I see small group, The ones who hates me for thinking differently. They walks through my city, their face twisted in arrogance, unable to comprehend the shape of my reality, Is too confrontational for their smooth, placid world. Yet, they stays. Something holds them here, perhaps the weight of the truth they refuses to acknowledge.

My world reflects everything I’ve ever known. It is a place of shifting skies and constant change, where cultural identity hangs like banners from the rooftops , vivid, proud, and unapologetic. Each banner is stitched with the histories of my people, the struggles we’ve faced, the songs we’ve sung, the battles we’ve fought. But to them , they are mere fabrics, something to admire from afar, never to touch, never to...