[ I. ] Tattered
I.
Migration is fraught with trauma. Trauma wrought by separation, by dislocation, by alienation.
It's been eight years since I crossed the Pacific Ocean to carve out a new life here. Leave the disfigured old me behind. Migrate to greener pastures; get a second shot at life. Eight eventful years it's been, and yet here I am, still trying to stitch together the tatters of my old life. How do I suture those old, ugly tatters without sullying the beauty of the new life that I am weaving here? Can I do that without corrupting the fabric of my present life? Can I do that without breaking down yet again?
How do I integrate the old and the new? The "here" and "there"? How do I stitch them all together and move on?
Closure. Such an elusive desire.
1 comment:
It's never easy starting over. I'm still trying myself. In the end all we can do is keep moving forward in our lives and try to learn from any mistakes made in the past. I hope your journey continues with smiles.
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