In the words of writer Maryum, this poem is an amalgamation of the enigmatic experience of raw emotions associated with having lived in three countries, speaking three languages, but belonging nowhere.
mother, you tell me
to study well, eat well, and sleep well
forget my old life-this is for the best
but it is hard
harder than I imagined
seems like
I’m far more sentimental
than I’m willing to admit.
existing in my body is still uncomfortable.
The first night in my own room
I don’t sleep at all
it feels so foreign
without the snores,
without the pulling of sheets,
with all the space to myself,
I cry
flowers could grow underneath my bed
from all the tears
I water them every night.
I’m barely 16, yet I feel like
I have lived long enough; no more.
“you’re so mature for your age”
I try to rationalize it
“I’m a couple months older than my peers”
hoping graciously that it is enough
what a silly attempt.
It takes strength
to convince myself
that I’m not a fraud,
and my achievements aren’t a fluke
I fight against myself
I’m deserving of my opportunities
but perhaps someone else
could do so much more I feel like a child.
It is a jarring experience to see
old people at work
putting themselves through
the same physical strain as me
they remind me of my sweet grandma
I can’t help but be helpful.
I find it more jarring
to see their surprised faces
at my attempts to be helpful
I wonder if I’m rude for that? but it seems cruel to me
to make one’s elders struggle
for, my sweet grandma
passed away at only 52
although I didn’t realize then
how short her life was
mortality upsets me.
I suppose, things are different here and
such is just the way of life
in the land of the sheep.
no longer confined to boxes
of what others perceive
skeletons of femininity
I’m free
I embrace it-I’m finally myself
I stay in my own bubble.
nonetheless, an identity crisis is due
a rite of passage
for I never really belonged anywhere;
my place of birth, and neither
the place I grew up in.
I have no evidence to show
of my life in those places in my memory
just my mother tongue, and
the generational trauma
of my parents
it ends with me.
