I wasn’t born to be thinker, a leader or idea-maker, though I think I would’ve been good at it if I was. People listen when I speak, so I try not to. I want to be good at what I am.

I was born to be a worker, a follower, a cog in the machine. I’m grateful every day that I’m not the worst, but I’m still bad at it. It’s no secret. I think my body rejects the line; I fall ill and injured all the time when others in my horde do not.

My mam keeps telling me it’s because I’m wishing things were different, that I had been born different. She says if I would just be happy in my place and try to be the best cog, my body would be well. I have to eat supper in the dark again today. Mam says my body shows when I’ve been dreaming, and that’s how she knows to isolate me, to not rub off my ideas on others. I think she reads my journals.

I wasn’t born to change the world.

And so, the world stays the same.

I was born a billionaire, so where is my money?