A Child of Diaspora*

What is home? A word I can’t define.


We appreciate your struggles. Everything you’ve done for us, your sacrifices don’t go unnoticed.


Leaving home, because it ‘would be good in the grand scheme of things’

Leaving home, because we’d definitely have a ‘better life’

Leaving home, so that we could get the best education. Right?


So I’m away from my home, but where is my home?

Because I’m unsure where I truly belong; I’m unsure who will accept me wholly.


My birth place, my forgotten home. You don’t recognise me now. I look different. I dress different.  I even smell different.


I want to come back to you, but you don’t know me. And I don’t know you.

How could we be so unfamiliar? Has it really been so long?


Do you even want me back? Do you hate me for leaving?

Are you ashamed of what I’ve become?


I am a child of the world.


We are all children of this world.

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