Home

- Impromptu -

I don’t feel like I’ve ever had a home.

I don’t mean in the physical sense. Even if I did, I never felt this way in any house I ever lived in.

I’ve never felt this in my skin either.

Korean or American?

Neither here nor there.

I thought if I hung out with my own kind I’d stop trying to figure out who I was. But this matter of identity didn’t seem to concern them–if it did they never showed it.

And no matter how I tried to act like them or talk like them, it was obvious I didn’t fit in.

I didn't think like they did.

Honestly, I should have left–but where would I have gone?

Better to put up with the pain than be alone.

But you end up on your own anyways.

It’s not so bad (you find this out later).

You learn a lot about yourself without anything to distract you any more.

You aren’t as bad as you were made out to be.

Different is all.

Different still.

Where is home?

I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

You would think this would make me care less where I live, but somehow it doesn’t.

For example, my wife keeps bringing up this future reality of Taiwan (her home).

But I’d rather avoid going somewhere where I feel even more like a permanent outsider. At least we speak the same language here.

When we were almost done walking the other day, we wanted to see if Winston could lead us back. We let him walk ahead of us and soon we were at our front door.

This is his home.

His mom lives here.

This is where Kingston also lives.

For the longest time, Kasper lived here too. So did Meeko.

I guess I have a home after all.