Embed Notice

There’s a world in which these other places are places I don’t have to explain. Where I just exist in those spaces. Where I don’t have to define myself as who I am not.

Here, my immigrant identity is front and center in everything that I do. That’s tiring. Sometimes I just want to shoot the breeze and talk about ghost stories with people from the places I have called home. Where we seem to have a shared vocabulary and love for the things we know: food, family, social expectations.

And I am never needing to explain anything about anything.

I am always explaining, here.