Counting Days

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.

For now.

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.

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