{On our way to the Atlas mountains}

Morocco is my home by blood. Although I wasn’t born there, my mother made the effort to take us back every year so that we could learn about our roots and remember our families. Living in England we had no family, so it was always nice to go back. It was serendipity that brought Hajar and I together. My Moroccan best friend whom I met online — back when that was cool. Whilst at university we traveled as much as we could and I had the chance to visit Marrakech for the first time.

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{blissful beauty in Paris}

Lately I’ve been daydreaming and reminiscing about my trips to Paris, a lot. I wish I could take advantage of my (burgundy book) passport and move to France. If I spoke the language I wouldn’t think twice. No use being a writer in a country where you can’t speak the language, right? It’s funny, my Year teacher, Mr Short, would always yell at me and say “One day you’ll look back and wish you’d focused in this class”, but I suppose when you’re 16-years-old you don’t think about those things.

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