the unsent letters

How can a person be at home and feel unhomely at the same time?

No, this isn’t about Bhabha’s theory. Of course. 


No, this isn’t the first time. It’s beyond my count. It’s happening all the time. 

Whose fault? No idea, deary. All I know is that I keep trying my best though I also know that isn’t best-est enough. Clearly, the blame is on me like, forever. 

Don’t you think it’s funny that you keep doing good and (of course) expect others to do good to you, too, and feel sad when the expectation is far from reach? 

It IS funny.

I can hardly laugh. 

I once neglected that feeling. I thought it was me who would never be good enough for the home the God placed me but turns out, I want to be right. I want to outburst what is in my mind, I don’t want to be a hostage for myself, not anymore. 


I could never be right. 

This isn’t about territory. This isn’t about who gets more food. This isn’t about right or wrong.
This is about how to respect someone who, turns out, is in the home.

How to comfort them, even at the unexpected condition. How to control the voice through every mood. How to listen someone’s opinion instead of alienate him or her when he or she did something wrong. How to understand it is rain that grows flowers not thunder.

I don’t know what makes it hard to do such good things. I ain’t angel but I knew those things are happening every second, minute, hour, day, year, in the home God placed me. 

How should I speak my feelings in the home where I’m being alienate from?

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