It’s not fair.

I’m not her, I say. I am not her.

But still, she looks at me, fists balled and eyes wide. Wild.

You may not think it, she replies, but you two think the same. I know that. You’re not any different from each other. 

So when I say I want to travel, want to spend a few years abroad, want to explore and breathe something that isn’t quiet, comfortable Mississauga, it means that I, too, am trying to run away from her.

It’s not fair that she looks at me and still sees the shadow daughter.

I am not her.