My parents named me Masha, or Maria, which are the same name in Russian. My given name was something that I lived with for many years, never hating or loving my name, just being ok with it, I suppose. I was also ok with who I was, but not in total acceptance of myself and full of fears and limitations. One day, when I was working at a language school where I got to meet a lot of people from different countries, I met a young woman from Argentina. She came in with her boyfriend ...

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