If my birth country is the motherland, what do I call the land that’s been home to me for the past 25 years?
I belong neither here, nor there.
Too haram for the Muslims and too halal for the rest.
Rejected by some for not being fluent enough in the mother tongue that was ripped from me when I was ripped from the motherland. Rejected by others for not being into Stanley cups and neutral lounge wear. Can you tell which one stings more?
I belong nowhere but I’m here to stay. My soul hovers just above the motherland and my heart flutters closer to where I physically am. I am torn across dimensions and oceans.
My soul is thirsty for the language I was born into. My body craves the comfort of the life I have built abroad.
I am caught somewhere in between.