Hibernating in May
Documenting an identity crisis
14 months into the pandemic and nearly 3 years into my immigration experiment, I’m e x h a u s t e d.
I am longing for something, for some part of me that used to enjoy life, that used to do belly laughs and stay up late chatting. There was a part of me that was expanding and inhaling life, like in those cheesy yoga ads. I know I’m romanticizing it to some extent, but it was there.
Now It just flickers on really sunny days, for short moments.
Not sure where most of it went.
Was it killed in the attempt to start from scratch in a new place?
Did I smother it by trying too hard to build this new identity of the international I-have-my-shit-together-yeah-Im-so-confident adult… person?
Was it the fact that I found myself stuck somewhere without the possibility of that quick flight back home whenever nostalgia would gut-punch me?
Or is that part of me just hibernating in May?
I wonder if there’s ever an answer to the question of where one belongs. Only now, as I’m quietly riding out these waves of inertia-nostalgia-vertigo is this word really sinking it. Belong. Be — long. I long to be less volatile.
Yeah, I’m super fun at parties.
