Sometimes when you’re living abroad a sense of unreality takes hold of you. You can’t remember your old home clearly. Your new home is temporary, but your mind won’t grasp that fact. You’re afraid no one will remember you back home, but in your new home you fear you are not connecting on any significant level. You know that, as a woman getting older, you are less and less powerful/desirable/lovable, but you deny that time is passing. You are both terribly happy to have some fun, and miserable when the fun is over. You feel guilty that the kids are unhappy, but try to justify it by saying it’s good for them, and you can’t live your life through your kids. Am I rambling? This is what it’s like to be on the other side of the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment