African Girl in An American World

It doesn't happen as often but it happens. This feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and treading water. Sometimes someone leads me here and gets me good and comfortable then abruptly leaves. Other times I lead myself here and stay here until it is time to come to the shore again. It's never done willingly. I feel myself "going there" and can pull back and stay in the wonderful reality that is my life.  I'm not always fortunate enough to catch it in time the same way I am learning to catch when a migraine is coming and deterring it. I see changes in how I deal with it.  In the past I stayed there and and went under. I'd come undone and watch as I went deeper.  I'd eventually get tired and frantically find a life jacket or life ring to desperately hold on to till the raging thunder ran out of rain. These days I tread water and reflect.  I don't fight it.  I don't like being here but I know it's necessary. It is a par

It happens to everyone.  That shiny brand new thing one day becomes dull and boring. It all fades away some days.  The beautifully manicured lawns you once admired on TV and on postcards beckoning you to come are glorious and divine to look at now that you live here but some days you long for the grass you saw outside your window growing up. This land of plenty and choices galore make you appreciate that you have a choice most days but some days you long for the simplicity that ONE thing brings. And when you voice your longing and say you miss home you are not met with empathy but instead by the dreaded "Why did you come here? Go home to your country." My younger self would go to that place full of anger and explanation but these days I have nothing.  I just don't have the energy. Yes, this is the land of the free and the home of the brave BUT I have a home.  I have made this my home but home will always be home.  Don't mistake that. Why do people do that?