it is not easy growing up as a diaspora. we are those individuals who search for a place we can call home but at the end of the day, as we lie down to rest our aching bones we find solace in the night away from their withered words.
we are that generation where unlike our parents our mother tongue is half-born, we cannot accustom to the lands of where our blood originates from yet we cannot build a home in the land where we took our first breath.
so, here it is i present to you, raw with a little bit of salt, the tales of those whom carry honey and gold within their bloodline.
i hope you find some solace somewhere in between these words.
