From here to there

My home town is a long way from anywhere. It's on the edge of nowhere, but it isn't quite nowhere.

My new home is closer to somewhere, but it's perched on the fringes. The fringe of a bigger, busier, more crowded somewhere.

Like my old home, to get anywhere from here takes effort.

My new home is half a world away from my old home. And sometimes, that half a world can be a universe of difference.

Some days, nothing is as it should be. The pieces don't quite fit. You're not just an immigrant, you're alien as well. There's a slight skew that trips you up, sends ripples of unease through your equilibrium, makes your breath catch in your throat.

The seasons are the wrong way around here, it makes me feel topsy-turvy. (This September baby will always know she's a spring baby, despite the chill in the air and the crisp crackle-crunch of orange and brown on the ground). My senses are unreliable here, my gut instinct wobbly. I can never be sure of the fundamentals, my givens are not always givens here.

I am always just a little bit outside. I was always just a little bit outside in my old home too.

The difference is I don't ache to shake the dust from here from my feet.