Кадр выше наш. Полное медиа с Facebook запрошено — подставим его сюда, как только приедет.
In the video, I'm crying. But these aren't the tears you think they are. This is the first time in two years I'm crying not from fear. Not from exhaustion. Not from not knowing how I'll make it to the end of the month. These are tears because it's finally over."** My name is Hinemoa Tahuri. I'm 27 years old. Two years ago, I left everything. My job, my flat, my city. I broke up with my boyfriend after three years — I won't explain why, it just had to be done. I moved to a city where I didn't know anyone. Starting from scratch. I thought — a fresh start. That's how it works in movies. You lose everything and then you find yourself. In reality, it looks different. The first few months I stayed with a friend — on an air mattress in her living room. Then I found a job at a hotel on reception. Then I found a room I could afford. Small. With a wall separating me from the kitchen where my flatmate cooked at six every morning, including weekends. I got used to it. The hotel pay — not much. You
