Thursday, 10 August 2017

On always on the outside looking in

I make a lot of jokes about the fact that I'm technically speaking an immigrant in all countries but recently I've started feeling a stronger desire to belong somewhere.

I am always an outsider. The wall is made of a glass that I can never break.

I am never enough of anything to be considered a whole, I am always half. A label I wish to wear with pride not with fatigue. I am tired.

I work more than I should, always working towards some end goal. Telling myself that I only have to put up with it another year and then I'll have some freedom. If only I can work hard enough, save enough, hold it together enough. The money that I make, that I don't let myself use, for fear of running out. Fear of being back in that dark hole of poverty keeps me from ever getting enough sleep.

I know I belong with my friends, all of them, all over the world. I love you all more than I am any good at expressing. I know I belong with my family, a section of my life slowly healing after years of being slightly torn.

I know who I belong to, but not where I belong.

As if I have enough wanderlust to ever cure my loneliness.