My roots are buried in two different
countries that I call home,
in two different
languages I call my tongue.
Perhaps this is why I’m always so torn
between who I am
and who I am meant to be.
It’s Sunday morning and I am strolling the beach in Sri Lanka. I watch the laughing children at play and parents holding their kids as they stand on the shore watching the waves. Life somehow seems simple and uncomplicated at that moment.
I feel a tinge of nostalgia pass me, I miss being able to do this. Maybe I am getting more melodramatic because my vacation is soon coming to an end and it is time to face the challenges that will come my way.
Part of me is so torn and I want to move back here and enjoy the simplicity of life, but the other part of me is scared. I constantly question if I am ready for that leap yet? Am I ready for the clash of the 2 cultures I often find myself torn between?
Rationally, moving back should not be scary. After all this was and is home to me. The place I belong, even though I am technically considered a tourist. At the end of the day no matter where I roam or lay my hat, when someone asks me where I am from, my immediate response is Sri Lanka.
I can adjust and adopt a different accent, carry a different passport and live my life in a different part of the world, yet, this is where my roots begun, this is where the seeds of who I am were sown and therefore, there is no escaping the harsh reality of the truth of who I am, but constantly wonder who I am meant to be.