the middle of nowhere

anthropologieIt’s been 5 hours of flying and I’m still hovering over the United States of America. And yet I feel totally detached; detached from the world I left behind and detached from the world that I’m about to enter. I’m looking forward to seeing a wide smile on my Uncle’s face but I’m missing each and every one of the eight cylinders. My mouth is thirsty for golgappas but there’s bruschetta napolitana that awaits me. I can’t wait to share the story of Shah Jahan but I’m missing my Anthropologie pillow covers. There’s a lot of love waiting for me but there’s a lot of love I’ve left behind. This can only mean I’m an international celebrity and the first one on the most wanted list. Yes! My head no longer fits through a standard door.

Where is home? Is it where I originated from, Nigeria? Is it where I collected my childhood memories, India? Is it where my parents are, Trinidad? Or, is it where I live? I want to say I’m homesick but I no longer know where home is.


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