My Australia. My Australia has more wonders than the sea or the sky. It goes with my heart for the right age and time. Of course, everything has got a time to exist and persist. If our life is criminally interrupted at a late age, whilst we were still recovering, from previous crimes, there is not much which is left for a poor woman to do in this World. Unfortunately, in Brazil, every male is a coward, a rapist, a women's free loader. In Brazil, especially in Rio, no dictionaries contain the word honor, for shame of the lexycon writers that the referent would never actually refer to something which exists. My Australia was chosen by me via severe and intrincated multi-valued analysis: several factors made to it, all matching me in that point in time and age, matching the World as it was, and myself. Thieves, in Rio, there are plenty. But someone who is 32 would never expect to be further abused, especially inhabiting in the other side of the Globe. Some say everything passes, everything goes, that nature finds its ways. This sentence is true, given the ceteris paribus condition related to the laws being fully obeyed by every person involved. When the laws of well-living together are breached, it does not really matter for how long, or which, as they say about the sins in the Bible, as seen before God's eyes, the sentence is not valid anymore. If nature cannot go in its own ways, we are stuck in a bubble of mistakes, World mistakes, from which we can only depart/find escape, if finally deceased, or forever away. Life is priceless, as long as it is used by the owner of it. Freedom is priceless, in a World where the governmental theory matches practice. In a World where the laws are a World apart, just like Mathematics is seen by some, close in its own perfection, there is no hope for anything to be told to be priceless. Priceless is not being in that World anymore. There is a limit for how many laws may be breached in relation to the same victim. I have reached my limit already in 1999, when I finally made my final move towards my happiness, getting out of a place I infinitely despise, with which I never felt any connection whatsoever, in any possible sense. However, as many other women, victimization by Brazilian cariocas is never enough. We always escape from it, do all we can, but suffices that we recover from a single damage they have already artificially provoked in our so perfect nature, that the so coward and repulsive Country of monsters will attack us via backstabbing once more. I lived in a Country of `sluts', where only few women have value, and those who have it, soon leave it, or are always trying, until they finally succeed. I was raised amongst worse-than-monkeys people, people who are so primitive as to being able to read all their constitution and, yet, never understand its value. I worked amongst vagabonds, who think that `servants', their own chosen denomination for public jobs, are not there `to serve' the public, but to `be served' by the national economy. I was never a slut, never a worse-than-monkey, never a thief, or parasite of existence. I was never a vagabond either. But because I was born a woman, they now victimize me for 36 years in a row, for no Brazilian from Rio would ever let a woman be happy, it does not matter where, or how far, they escape to. Cariocas are so coward at a point of bashing women up when they do not want sex with them. I never wanted to come back or visit, God knows what is this: the certainty you cannot cope with a single more visit... Obliged, victimized since Australia, by the own cariocas, without ever having a clue, I visited the horrendous city, which always caused me fear, horror, trembling, to end up (may believe it or not) SLAVED at the late age of 32, so that I would loose my every achievement on Earth, in every possible level, in order that prostitutes, frigid old women, parasites, vagabonds, would make a living at the expense of even my internal organs: all against my will and every possible law, especially Brazilian. That is the fate which awaits every possible extraordinary woman who falls into the trap of being born in Brazil. I never chose it, my mum did. It was never my fault, or karma. Mum needed me, and, because of that, I was never allowed to live or enjoy, not even my most basic constitutional warranties. In Brazil, it is never enough. It does not matter what a woman does, or how relevant she is: if she is not a repulsive and filthy slut, they will never let her succeed. One must always remember Carmem Miranda, who only was not in my case, because she was already internationally famous, whilst I was just climbing my mountain, when visited. From eggs to lettuces... Poor Carmem, one of the wealthiest icons in the World, living overseas, where people are finally civilized, visits the absolutely stinky city, to have the worst aggressions on Earth simply for being singing... God... I could have pity on Brazil, but that would be just public evidence of full insanity. What could, possibly, save those I want to be saved: the good, the valuable, the beautiful, the perfect, is obviously their extermination (cariocas). What do we do with the roaches? Quick answer: we smash, double check, smash once more, just to make sure. Some alcohol over them, burn, so that there are also no eggs... That's it. Save the World...by burning their kids.