Being from so many places at once, you risk being from nowhere at all.
I claim to be from the land where my roots fist spread. I believe that land will never be replaced. The land of my origins.
Leaving is easy and exhilarating. Coming back is what scares me the most. But I can’t help coming back. That’s the only thing in my life I can swear will never change.
I will keep coming back as much as I can hate it sometimes.
I am rooted to a land that is no longer my own. As much as my grip tightens on those roots, my land will keep treating me as a foreigner.
I dread coming back each time, becuse each time my land becomes less of my own.
Miña Terra, I love you, I have left you but not desserted you. Why is it then, that I’m condemned to feeling exiled?