Most of my life I have struggled with my duality, periodically conflicted with who I should reflect the most versus who I am most comfortable being for myself. I am questioned and judged and even teased by which facet do I feel I belong to the most; the Egyptian facet or the Indonesian facet, and then I am expected to project something else entirely to pleasure all around me instead of project who I became to be after mixing the two. It’s like a roller coaster ride bombard by the bipolar differences between the two cultures because one of them is historically self-loathing while the other is manically cheerful.
I’m still at that stage, still trying to figure this confusion out but slowly believing, and accepting, that I probably belong to neither. Here’s a little something after visiting my mother’s land once again.
Mine is a dual heart, dueling a heavy wear, to remain as one, to remain, is heavier to bear.
This red earth is visited, like many times before, with every embrace, my heart cracks, cracks through the core.
I wander and chew, and wander more amongst the flavors, a halo around my throat, I savor what I can savor.
The clouds blow heat and spice, glistens my eyes, yet not as blindly, than all those lies, all those lies.
If only I can explain, explain what goes coherently, I may not be so lost, translating loss between the three.
One more drag, a drag from a cloved cigarette, sweetens my lips, and perhaps my soul, perhaps it will win this bet.
I am exhausted, exalted beneath the yellow sands, un-dearly departed, undecided, around either demands.