Three words that have been said for centuries, that have gathered different, more eligible meaning over time. They’re said to you when you’re nervously fumbling with your fancy outfit’s fabric, waiting for your date to arrive. Your mother told you these magical words when she tucked a napkin in your new uniform’s pocket and kissed you goodbye, while you wondered if you’d be able to make a single friend that day. Your father patted your back and whispered these words as you entered the doors where three people could get you your dream job. History has taught us that these words are supportive, they’re suppose to make us feel imperterbable, dawn us with a sudden epiphany and show us the way. But when I come to think of it, it is rather a very ironic phrase. Can you really be yourself? Don’t you have to still think before you speak, act poised, be reasonable and not do something batshit crazy? Hell, do we even know who the fuck we are and why do we exist, really? Dealing with puny problems all our lives, most of which we invent due to ourselves, I wonder if you too, feel all itchy and just want to elope with those rare shooting stars and never return to your skin again.