Who am I?
When I’m home I feel the most myself. The accumulated belongings are what built me and the things I threw away are what I no longer am. When I’m home I feel calm, meanwhile, when I travel far, I am lost and uncomfortable in my skin. In the tropics, in the park, or with friends I am a stranger who bought an oversized costume that drags at my feet. At work, with family, or on a bus, I am suffocated by my character, restraining who I am. If I did not have a home, would I lose myself? Meandering and molding to my surroundings. I would not have a self; I would be the perception of others. This is why I dislike when people come to my house, I feel them loosen my anchor and shake my reality.
Who do I become? I’m home yet there is an intruder, it’s as if the person has their fingers in my brain and with all their strength, they’re ripping it in two. I think about all this as I watch my house burn.