Night falls and the words emerge, pushing sleep to the boundaries of irrelevance. When the fireflies dart across the sky, the katydids start to sing, and the dog enters her impenetrable dreamworld, that is when my words come out to play. They exist mostly beyond my grasp, outside of consciousness. Molded by dreams, warped by memory, they exist in a parallel universe where time is suspended and reality has no meaning.
Words crossfade in an endless stream of surreal concepts, hoping for sense to promptly follow suit. Yet sense hardly ever responds to command. Words demand unlocked inspiration, freedom and the perfect alignment of the planets.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Sunday, July 01, 2007
All Over the Map
It's not just my heritage that's all over the map. My feelings are scattered about who I am, who I come from (you read that right), and where the country of my soul is. The reality is no less confusing. I'm a South African with German, Dutch, and French Hugenot heritage, living in the US.
The duality of dual citizenship, leaves me torn between two continents, two hemispheres, and the stark contrasts of third vs. first world existances.
While I love being immersed in America, and have my future here, my past lies in Mother Africa's womb. The cradle of existance, the country of my birth. I'm forever tethered to her by my childhood, my family, my language and my culture. The umbilical cord of twelve generations ties me to her. She is in the memories of smells and the faces of fellow Africans I meet.
Even as I witness myself becoming more American each day, I long for the sting of the African sun on my skin, the sounds of huge family get-togethers, and the ease of not having to explain myself, my name, my being or my birth country's horrid past.
The country of my soul has no border, no government, no allegiance. It is a passport-free, bureaucracy-free zone straddling generations of migration fueled by persecution, a longing for freedom, and a Babel of languages.
I am neither here nor there, neither African nor American, and yet I am the sum of these disparate parts.
The duality of dual citizenship, leaves me torn between two continents, two hemispheres, and the stark contrasts of third vs. first world existances.
While I love being immersed in America, and have my future here, my past lies in Mother Africa's womb. The cradle of existance, the country of my birth. I'm forever tethered to her by my childhood, my family, my language and my culture. The umbilical cord of twelve generations ties me to her. She is in the memories of smells and the faces of fellow Africans I meet.
Even as I witness myself becoming more American each day, I long for the sting of the African sun on my skin, the sounds of huge family get-togethers, and the ease of not having to explain myself, my name, my being or my birth country's horrid past.
The country of my soul has no border, no government, no allegiance. It is a passport-free, bureaucracy-free zone straddling generations of migration fueled by persecution, a longing for freedom, and a Babel of languages.
I am neither here nor there, neither African nor American, and yet I am the sum of these disparate parts.
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