If your blood doesn’t belong to another country,
you couldn’t possibly fathom the ache,
of loving a place that you do not belong, because it holds the bodies of people that you love,
because you’re thousands of miles away, and you’re out of communication, but there’s a burning in your heart for the family that you’re connected to,
it might not seem so heavy to you, because maybe they’re strangers, but in a sense that’s where you have a piece of home, always, because your lifeline will always be interlinked with theirs.
Because in a country where you have to fight against to hold onto your culture, there’s always an absence for them.
You couldn’t possibly understand how that feels when you’re not the outlier, when you can trace your veins to the soil of where you live, when your family is a car ride or a domestic flight away. When your birthright to be here has never been questioned.