I wish I have a calendar nearby.
Has it been more than a week already since I got back here, in this place where the ashes and bones of my ancestors lie?
Must be a week.
I carved a hole in my heart and placed memories there, then I covered the hole and tamped down the dirt around it. Later, when the time is right, I shall come back and dig the memories out and mourn all that I’d left behind.
But not yet.
I can’t afford anything that I want, anything that I see from shop windows and roadside stalls. I can’t afford life.
My diaspora has begun again. Dutifully going through the motions of self-exile. I still miss people, but I am better now at hiding how I truly feel.
It’s time to put on the warpaint.