In a completely empty room, I am screaming at myself in front of the mirror. Except I don't see my body and there is no mirror. The scream is happening within me and has gone beyond my physical surface and under my skin. It is as if two seemingly identical skulls are engaged in a conflict with no resolution to ever be reached due to their differences. The only way to tell them apart is to look into them, into the eyes, to reach the memories and experiences that are causing this conflict.
One skull is the past. It is the shape of the soul and nearly all the memories. You can see a diplomatic and international perspective. Languages with completely different letters and sounds than my own. Smells of food enriched with fruits that do not grow in the soil of my home. Scenery of peaks that do not compare to the flatness of my land. Throughout this whole past, I swam in a pool of culture. I was able to make meaningful connections with people without the use of speech and I was able to indulge myself in traditions and experiences that the other skull will never be able to see. I remember one time my family and I went on a hike. The hike involved hours of walking and though I am sure that during this time I had plenty of conversations with my family, the only sounds that I can remember are the crunch of the fall leaves beneath my feet and the subtle chirping of birds. I will never remember what I said that day but what I heard will never leave my conscious mind. Near the end of our hike, we soon decided that it was time to go home, yet as if through some kind of silent agreement we walked a few more meters and what we saw then was a sight that will stay with me forever. A small home, a seemingly abandoned stone and wooden house in the middle of an orange, yellow and red forest with a well right beside it. It seemed to exist in a land of its own. That walk taught me to hear with my soul and see with my heart because the sounds that I heard and the views that I saw were not just sounds and views, they were the embodiment of a wonderland that accepted me as one of their own.
This is where the other side becomes enraged. I mentioned my own, my home, my land, but am I allowed to? Can I call this land that I want to be part of so much my home if I have not done the duty of paying it the respect that I want it to give me? I have not been on this ground for over eight years. I do not speak the language or know the history as well as other people of my age. I do not think and dream in the language of my mother tongue. But I think it’s time to accept that this conflict is personal and not with my home. My home has accepted me, just like the other places have.
I used to be embarrassed but now I am proud. I can see beyond the surface of a person because the surface does always reflect the soul. I can learn from any perspective because there is always something to hear. I can speak in four languages, I can understand without the use of words, I can make a picture with the use of thread, I can make a hat out of flowers. I love of my home, it's just great to know that I have multiple.
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