Untitled (2016-08-18)

This is what it means to be the child of immigrants:

You eat the food, but don’t know the language spoken over meals. You have the principles, but not the history behind them. You have the ethnicity drawn out on your skin, but not the land of your ancestors.

You only have half your parents’ culture, desperately trying to fill in the gaps with what you see around you. And so you end up with an amalgamation, not quite Other but still not the same.

When nostalgia is the most positive emotion you’ve had in a long time, you may want to consider a lifestyle change.

But it’s hard to remember what it’s like to not be tired and angry and sad. You find yourself nostalgic for more than just food and places and friends. You find yourself nostalgic for yourself, the yourself you used to be before.

You find that summer makes it worse, the stretch of daylight mocking and cruel. But maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you are just being nostalgic for winter–romanticizing the briskness of the air and the cool rain on a parched land. Maybe you hated the cold wind, maybe you hated the constant damp and you’ll think that you miss the warmth and brightness of summer.

You look out your window and yearn for better days.

This is not your place. A space you rent, a room of your own, but its not yours.

You can hear the snores of other people through your wall, you tread lightly in common areas, only speak when spoken to.

It’s been a long time since you sang out loud and you think that’s a shame.


A/N: I’ve been needing to purge some more negative emotions and also I’m stuck in a car stuck in traffic.

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