of the bittersweet irony

~ whalestales ~ Leave a comment

It is strange that

My heart yearns for home

Every time I return

To everything I have ever known

Where everything has changed

 

I want to go home

I want to go home

I want to go home

The words echo

Each time louder than the last

 

All I know is that

Home is not where I am

Always made as less

Than what I believe myself to be

Perhaps nothing has changed

of a yellow speck on a white page

~ whalestales ~ 2 Comments

he asked where i was from

and although i had no desire of being so

i wondered how he knew

that i did not belong

before he knew my name

 

he asked how it could be

because he had never needed to understand

that there was a difference between

a race and a nationality

and so i answered with a perfectly rehearsed

combination of sentences

that i have had to repeat

more than i had ever expected to

 

she asked if i was here to study English

and my instant reply was that

although i was fond of literature

and found great satisfaction with eloquent strings of words

i took greater pleasure in solving

tiny fragments of the universe’s mysteries and

it was not until my response was greeted with

her momentarily stunned silence

that i realised that she had meant

if i was here to study it simply

as the language

she had assumed that i had not been speaking

for my whole life

 

they screamed for me to return to China

from a car with blaring music

intermingled with their laughter of mockery

it happened within seconds and

i wished that i could explain

that i had never once been

as they drove down the road

towards the world class university

that i had worked so hard to be at

 

my friends said that it could not be the truth

as i spoke of my experiences

and while their genuine disbelief

was only incurred by well intentions

i wondered how they could be so sure

with light skin and golden hair

that had never once been met

with scrutiny, ignorance and discrimination

and had never once be fulminated against

 

and when i spoke of my concerns

someone suggested

that perhaps it was simply that

i did not find security and comfort in my own race

which led to my irrational, unrealistic conclusions

and so i was baffled into silence

as to insinuate that racism is caused or conjured

by the victims themselves

was worse than every mockery, slander and jeer

i had ever received

of home, which was with you

~ whalestales ~ Leave a comment

i miss and had missed home

with a surreal, everlasting ache

that is and was always present, albeit sometimes disguised

and that is and was always inexplicable

to any one who had never really left, anywhere;

but i was wrong to think of home

as solely the concrete walls surrounding

and the red brick roof hovering over

both my favourite and worst memories

because home is different now and

what was home feels foreign sometimes –

home is not where

my father’s footsteps

are accompanied by the dents made

by a walking stick

and it is not where

i am able to be surprised by

the contents of a drawer;

 

but sometimes the comfort of familiarity hits again

when Beethoven’s notes from the next room

sneak their way into mine

or when the house is inundated

by waves of full hearted laughter

while reminiscing over past memories

with those whom I have known for the entirety of my life

 

i suppose growing up means

detaching home from the idea of a tangible place

but finding it in significant experiences and memories

of joy, of comfort, of love and mostly of you

because i built my home in your heart

and i tore my home apart

and so i suppose this all means

finding a home

simply within my bones

 

 

*written when I was.. “home”