crooked legs

Can we escape the grip of the homelands that dwell within us and pursue us for our guests? From those educated cells we inherit with all their burdens? How do we cast off the shackles of subservience to traditions deeply rooted in time? Sarah opened her eyes. The child, fortunate enough to absorb the teachings of another world, soon read disappointment and defeat in her eyes. The clash between them pained her; a closed character, trapped in a cocoon. Rebecca opened a crack in that cocoon. There, for the continuation of the past year. The simple description: a little courage, a little strength, required from certainty, to demolish the solid wall that encloses the pre-prepared harvest. Can we escape the grip of the homelands that cling to us, no matter how hard we try to distance ourselves? Can we rid ourselves of the weight of those exhausting legacies we inherited with all their baggage? How do we free ourselves from the shackles of clinging to deeply rooted traditions? Sarah opened her eyes. The young woman, who had stumbled upon the wisdom of another world, glimpsed the disappointment and despair in the eyes of those close to her. It pained her to see them reach a dead end, trapped in a snare. But Rebecca had found her way through that very trap. Another life was always within reach. The recipe was simple: a little courage, a little strength, and a generous dose of unwavering determination to demolish the formidable wall that dictated predetermined destinies.