Limbo

I am always stuck in a limbo. Yearning for a far fetched world while my feet are tangled into the veneers of reality. As a child, yearning to grow up and be an adult; as an adult, yearning to achieve one shiny object after the other. I wonder why the human mind is designed to traverse from one achievement to another, one place to another, one little possession to another bigger and better. Who indoctrinated us to be materialistic mongers?

I have yearned for so many things in life and achieved them or negotiated peace and moved on. What I have yearned the most in life is love. I have never settled with the love I already had for a moment, satiated, content and fulfilled. 

I remember, as a child looking at my friends' fathers warmly snuggling, holding and even kissing their children at the bus stop to school, while I felt empty. My mother never had the time to smother me with kisses, or hug me for nothing at all. In fact, as much as I remember the chastising, surprisingly I don't remember any love unless I achieved something, I won a shiny object or travelled through continents into a country where nothing feels like me, and no one feels like a safe company. It's baffling how you can have every worldly possession and yet the lack of love can leave you hollow from within. 

I tread through life with a heart full of yearning and nobody fills the void. It feels like an eternal limbo of no-strings-attached. I left the country, my home feeling like it could never give me the love and warmth I deserved only to immigrate in a country that discriminates against my skin color, race and religion. I am a immigrant in a country where my own countrymen feel unwelcoming. I am a refugee by choice, for I belong nowhere. 

It's like a whole empty well in me. No matter how much it rains every year, the summer of grief will still dry it out. No love is enough to fill this well, no human ever born can. I wonder what God makes human beings like me out of, what chords he disintegrates, that every day of their lives they crave for more and more and more of love, relentlessly like a black hole.

"They rain love on me 

for every year 

my empty heart brims up

and overpours trickly tear 

Until the void in me dries at once 

The summer of grief is again here."