I am searching for Home.
I straddle between east and west and belonging has always been evasive.
I am an outsider here but I do not feel so, until they tell me.
It is the same sun that sets in Islamabad and rises in Toronto, isn’t it?
The same sun that kisses my skin but scorches the earth.
So I continue searching.
I have only found comfort in anonymity—
in the sense of security when no one knows my name.
It seems displacement has become a familiar feeling
an existential anxiety that only recognizes a feeling of Calm amongst utter chaos.
I have been searching for Home
and am beginning to realizing
I will only find it within me.