Personal Essays

I never think of where I am presently as home. It’s as if a place can only be considered a home once I’ve left it. Only once I am able to look back and see the experience as an outsider, once I can compare it to the others.

In search of childhood memories, I found more than just my past. I found proof that I belonged.

I’ve spent a long time feeling out of place. An in-between. Not quite from Here, but not quite from There. When I think about my childhood, it is disjointed and disconnected, and I crave so deeply to be integrated; to feel whole.