I walked down the street this morning and it felt like something had changed. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The same bits of rubbish still clung to the edges of the street, the buildings still wore the same shawl of dust, the neighbours still eyeballed me as I made my way down the street pretending to be oblivious to their stares. The world was the same, but I was different.

Suddenly I wasn't shuffling along, watching my feet and only looking up to glance at my reflection in tinted car windows. Suddenly I wasn't shying away from the gazes or blushing under the scrutinizing eyes. Instead, I was walking with my head held high, catching their glances and throwing them back, not self-consciously picking at my hair or clothes every time my reflection flashed past, but reveling in it. Damn, I looked good.

These were the same streets that I walked down yesterday, but then they had been unfamiliar, awkward, uncomfortable streets. They were someone else's. Today they belonged to me. I walked down them with a confidence that I didn't know I had.

I don't know where it came from. I don't think it was there when I woke up and tiptoed my way across my apartment, trying to avoid the landmines of clothing. Maybe it flew in with the breeze that is playing on the back of my neck or is stored within the sunlight that is warming my hair. Maybe it descended with the dust from the passing cars.

I don't know where it came from, but I like it. I am taking it as my own. It is mine. You can't take it from me now.