Ouds lined up in a shop like bottoms.

Strolling down Rabat's palm-tree lined main boulevard this morning, I caught myself looking up at the window and balcony of a cheap hotel I stayed in a few, three, years ago. I was considerably poorer then, and definitely insecure, unsure, and paralysed by the feeling that I wasn't quite good enough, as a journalist and as a person. I spent a lot of energy then trying to impress other people, a futile exercise.

I felt like kicking myself this morning for having tried so hard to be something I wasn't quite, yet.