The Lies We Live

land

I keep thinking about that poem about the diaspora blues. I am not from here, I am not from there. My home is here, in this place, but I come from that place. But in that place I have no home. I've always known that preserving culture is important, and maybe that's why we've come to an equilibrium; a mixture of the best parts of home and here. 

Funny how I call it home even though there's nothing that feels like home when we go there. Riddled with jealous relatives who steal and give away all of yours and your mothers' belongings. All your roots entangled in sexism, that you think being dead would be better than being a women. Stuck at inside all day. "Women shouldn't go out alone" they say. Depression settles, just as the dust does, after 5 days stuck in a house that isn't your home. You are no longer guests, but prisoners in this 2 story sight. The in-laws send away the servants and you and your mother take their place. They think it's justice because you come from a country that isn't littered with pollution and corruption. So much so that you re never really able to tell the 2 apart. The lands' polluted because the government is corrupt and corruption makes this place feel as if it's polluted with more than just trash. 

And so you think you can find solace in the west. In the land of the free. But they haven't accepted your kind really, not in their hearts, not where it matters the most. Because for you we are a token of acceptance, a charity that you keep giving in the name of tolerance. Do you think we don't notice your passive aggressive tones, and cold demeanors? I am not from here. I am not from there. I can't wear your clothes or drink your drinks. By doing these things, I'm violating my own rhythm. I was taught humility and accountability. You were taught self expression and forgiveness. Maybe we grew out of our upbringing to become fuller people, but our roots stay where they stand. There is an extent to the ways in which we can relate. 

It takes more than a household to raise a child. They say it takes a village. Only friends who have experienced what I have. Unfortunately, they are far and few apart. Most days I only have myself. I don't belong here, or there.  How do you create identity out of halves of polar opposite cultures? How is that supposed to make you whole? We walk a thin line between this land and the one our parents abandoned. I'm beginning to think the only place I belong is in heaven; if God's mercy is only ever forgiving.