Burning Beneath

For most of my life, I avoided getting into trouble. I was the good girl, the good student, and I did everything by the book—not necessarily out of virtue, but out of necessity. Maybe it was because I was an orphan living in my grandmother’s house, among her children, witnessing firsthand the consequences of stepping out of line. The household was chaotic, dysfunctional, and survival meant staying unnoticed. I saw what trouble led to—beatings, scoldings, even being chained. So I learned to keep my head down, to stay small, to avoid anything that might invite punishment.

But avoidance doesn’t erase human nature. I remember stealing money from my aunt once. It wasn’t much, but the reaction wasn’t about the amount. My uncle, a strict communist who had seen his own share of hardships, decided to beat a confession out of me. Every ten seconds, a slap. Over and over until I broke. He had been through his own form of torture, and in his mind, perhaps he believed he was simply enforcing discipline. I am not justifying him—if anything, I resented him, as did my younger aunt. We coexisted in the same house, not out of love or respect, but out of necessity, waiting for the day we could leave. She ran away at sixteen. I stayed. Not out of choice, but because I didn’t have the same opportunity or encouragement. So I did the only thing I could—I adapted. I learned how to protect myself, how to live in my own little world, and how to answer every question with a simple, detached “I don’t know.”

Even as I grew older and gained my freedom, avoidance remained a pattern. I lived alone, I worked, I built my independence, but I still avoided the kind of “trouble” that many associate with rebellion or freedom. I never drank. I never did drugs. I never slept around. But that didn’t mean I didn’t live. I traveled. I indulged in innocent pleasures. I spent my money on experiences rather than vices, and I have no regrets. Maybe this is who I am—someone who seeks adventure, but in a way that feels safe, in a way that doesn’t threaten the balance I’ve carefully maintained my whole life.

But safe doesn’t mean small. I have done things others might have considered reckless. I have slept in a cave. I have flown in a hot air balloon. I have snorkeled in the deep sea. I once considered learning how to fly a helicopter, but in a world where men control the rules, that dream was quietly suffocated. And yet, in my own way, I still broke boundaries. I was the first woman in my country to ride a bicycle publicly, defying restrictions that had no logical reason to exist. It wasn’t an act of rebellion—I just wanted to ride. I had loved bikes since I was a child, and one day, I simply decided that the fear of what others thought no longer outweighed my desire to feel the wind on my face.

And then something unexpected happened. After that day, I started seeing other women riding bikes along the seashore. A quiet ripple of change, started by something as simple as a single choice.

People might look at these moments and think they are small, insignificant. But for someone who grew up in a world where tradition and cultural restrictions ruled every aspect of life, these were not small acts. They were everything. They were choices that challenged the limits imposed on me, choices that pushed back against the silent constraints of fear.

So, am I defined more by what I seek or by what I avoid?

At first, I thought my life was shaped by avoidance—by all the things I didn’t do, the trouble I didn’t get into, the risks I didn’t take. But looking back, I realize that every defining moment in my life has come from the things I chose to seek, despite fear, despite expectations. Maybe we are all a mixture of both—the things we run from and the things we run toward. But in the end, I think the choices we make, the ones that ignite something inside us, are what truly define us.

And I have never regretted seeking freedom, in whatever form it comes.