I've had seven homes in the past five years,
and seven more in the twenty before that.
I've moved halfway across the world,
given up a culture, language, and world,
not once, nor twice, but thrice.
If home really is where the heart is,
then like the scattered pieces of my heart,
one half of me is eastern, the other western.
One half, the lover in my mother,
the other, the fighter in my father.
I fit somewhere in the contrast
between tears and laughter.
How fitting, that every part of me
should be so entangled in dualities.
But what do I know,
I have yet to live half a lifetime,
I have yet, to live, half a moment.
What I do know is that I am
neither this half, nor the other.
I am neither my mother, nor my father.
I am neither eastern, nor western,
neither a label, nor a description.
The whole of me is indiscernible,
but it is something
beyond words, names,
and the tug and pull of dualities.
I am being taught by contrasting dualities,
by means of opposites
and these wings disguised as halves. *
*Rumi excerpt: "... teaches you by means of opposites so that you may have two wings to fly"
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