I finally decided: I’m going home. No more straddling the border, no frantic vacillations of national belonging, of global displacement… I’m admitting to myself what I don’t have yet. Not just as an immigrant, but in remembrance of my old family, my abandoning of which is the matter of contending loyalty, towards a new family. That somewhere out there I will feel safe and relaxed. My position as a vagabond has perhaps always been cemented but it’s a title I have feared to claim, not just for what it means to me but now what could happen. I’ll just wait out this panic of total detachment in the same way the time will pass anyways. FInding your way is just keeping up in pace. It’s to look upon the horizon line and understand that that too is a border… and then to watch the sun enter and exit. It’s to allow yourself to be guided, to remain on the path. It is to choose, deliberately, towards a future.