In one of the international calls that I had with family back home, my mother told me about a dream she had about me. She said that I eventually returned home, but that I was very sad.
Living abroad, whether in the midst of people of the same nationality, or even of close kin, I still can’t help but be homesick. And even if I go back to my homeland, I will still be alone. A single life is both blessing and curse in a way. A cursed life, the only recompense is the freedom singleness brings.
I could feel that people sees the worst in a weird or atypical person like me, and the good things are blurred on the background of assumptions and impressions. And I feel that men will only see the physical remnants of my beauty and nothing more. And I feel that my co-workers will only tolerate my sullenness because of my latent intelligence and perseverance.
I just know, all the decisions I made which I thought would help reach my deepest dreams, would just accomplish others’ goals.
I might even just toil and sweat in foreign lands for several gruesome years, might be decades still, then I’ll come back in an empty house as an empty shell, stripped of many thing by others. A ghost, a walking dead, a wisp of air.
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