Immigrant

There’s a steep, roundabout turn right before getting on to the international airport freeway at home. As the car slows down and crawls around the 270 degree turn I’m always filled with a mix of emotions seemingly picked from a random bag of thoughts; dread, giddiness, hurt, sadness. It’s usually a sad turn.

It didn’t use to be; back then, it used to mean new possibilities and frontiers, new choices and the ship leaving the safe harbor it was never meant to linger on. But as life would have it, things shifted, and it turned into the rise to the part of me that’s always sad and longing for the land that nourished my roots. Like a foreign species thriving in foreign earth, I blossom, but never shall the dirt taste as sweet as that which raised me.