miq2k
✚ little pleasures, I am grateful to be alive
- Jul 8, 2024
- 67
[my nails and my palms are brighter than the rest of my skin, and where there are knuckles and bones it is darker, my hair looks short no matter I cut it or not. My cheekbones are placed high on my face, my lips share two colors, from one to other like an ombré, and my eyes and teeth pierce through the darkness of my skin and the surrounding world, because I come from a country where it does not snow.]
Once a migrant; always a migrant.
[I share this pool of genetics with you: you look like me and I look like you and people tell me this is home: Home is.
But where I went, I became exactly like them, so when we share this genetic pool but I open my mouth suddenly I am made different. The words I speak are so morbid on the tongue to you, that you could not endure them written out. Because to the country I went, the peoples skin and teeth and eyes and lips and palms all look the same, to the country I went, it snowed. Suddenly I am shaped unlike you. Unlike you, I am a migrant where I went, and I came back, and I was a migrant here.]
Once a migrant; always a migrant.
This is poetry I wrote about this feeling of alienation and loneliness and disappointment.
To be a migrant means to question how far a country can impose itself onto you, the individual, and the answer is disappointing but so incredibly valid. Every nation has a right to impose itself on itself internally. The people of the Nation choose about their country and they are justified in doing so. (I just want to know why I am not seen as a part of that nation.)
But what do you do when you belong to both or three or however many ethnic identities you have, and none at the same time.
To be me, somebody hated at home1 for being Black-Muslim, Queer, Trans and Atheist, and to also be me, hated in home2 for being "corrupted by the west & Whitewashed", Queer, Trans and an Atheist again, is to always feel the requirement of assimilation enforced upon you.
It is okay that I don't have a country anymore. I am unwelcome as I am and I can live with that. But to not be able anywhere on earth to live my life fully and true to me is simply… painful.
I have made peace with being an enemy everywhere I go but I have not yet with not being able to live out my selfhood.
When I was still a child I believed that I truly belonged to the country I went, I looked at the world around me and it was pale skin and my eyes could only observe what was not me and I thought I was just like them. But I did not know that everyone else around me could see me: and I looked like a stain on their perfect white.
As an adolescent and now, me and my family moved back home for many reasons, but the resentful stare did not disappear, people didn't look at me with that resentful stare anymore because I was black, or because my name was hard to pronounce, but because of the language I spoke, my broken Arabic, my fashion, my mannerism, my ideas. I was a stranger now because I was made into one..
I am now, still questioning if my assimilation to Germany was always wrong, that I should've stuck to what my family and family at home had always told me to be but that too wouldve been assimilation as my atheism and queerness would still be things I would need to conceal. Aside from that, it is also incredibly u fair to expect that of somebody.
And I am still questioning now, If I just assimilate more, more, a little more if I just prove myself enough, will I maybe finally be accepted? But it is not about how German I am or how much I prove I am culturally aligned. I don't look the part. I simply will never be welcome, as a result of how I was born.
I am 3ternally thankful however for the small pocket societies outside of the Mehrheitsgesellschaft (NO idea how to translate that) that always accepted me in Germany. Other queer, trans, third culture kids with the same experiences and interests that showed me, acceptance can be found even when circumstances make it seem impossible.
Thank you 3ternally 2 my friends back home that love me, and to the people I will also find here that will also accept me.
If I made typos forgive me, I kinda can't be bothered.
Once a migrant; always a migrant.
[I share this pool of genetics with you: you look like me and I look like you and people tell me this is home: Home is.
But where I went, I became exactly like them, so when we share this genetic pool but I open my mouth suddenly I am made different. The words I speak are so morbid on the tongue to you, that you could not endure them written out. Because to the country I went, the peoples skin and teeth and eyes and lips and palms all look the same, to the country I went, it snowed. Suddenly I am shaped unlike you. Unlike you, I am a migrant where I went, and I came back, and I was a migrant here.]
Once a migrant; always a migrant.
This is poetry I wrote about this feeling of alienation and loneliness and disappointment.
To be a migrant means to question how far a country can impose itself onto you, the individual, and the answer is disappointing but so incredibly valid. Every nation has a right to impose itself on itself internally. The people of the Nation choose about their country and they are justified in doing so. (I just want to know why I am not seen as a part of that nation.)
But what do you do when you belong to both or three or however many ethnic identities you have, and none at the same time.
To be me, somebody hated at home1 for being Black-Muslim, Queer, Trans and Atheist, and to also be me, hated in home2 for being "corrupted by the west & Whitewashed", Queer, Trans and an Atheist again, is to always feel the requirement of assimilation enforced upon you.
It is okay that I don't have a country anymore. I am unwelcome as I am and I can live with that. But to not be able anywhere on earth to live my life fully and true to me is simply… painful.
I have made peace with being an enemy everywhere I go but I have not yet with not being able to live out my selfhood.
When I was still a child I believed that I truly belonged to the country I went, I looked at the world around me and it was pale skin and my eyes could only observe what was not me and I thought I was just like them. But I did not know that everyone else around me could see me: and I looked like a stain on their perfect white.
As an adolescent and now, me and my family moved back home for many reasons, but the resentful stare did not disappear, people didn't look at me with that resentful stare anymore because I was black, or because my name was hard to pronounce, but because of the language I spoke, my broken Arabic, my fashion, my mannerism, my ideas. I was a stranger now because I was made into one..
I am now, still questioning if my assimilation to Germany was always wrong, that I should've stuck to what my family and family at home had always told me to be but that too wouldve been assimilation as my atheism and queerness would still be things I would need to conceal. Aside from that, it is also incredibly u fair to expect that of somebody.
And I am still questioning now, If I just assimilate more, more, a little more if I just prove myself enough, will I maybe finally be accepted? But it is not about how German I am or how much I prove I am culturally aligned. I don't look the part. I simply will never be welcome, as a result of how I was born.
I am 3ternally thankful however for the small pocket societies outside of the Mehrheitsgesellschaft (NO idea how to translate that) that always accepted me in Germany. Other queer, trans, third culture kids with the same experiences and interests that showed me, acceptance can be found even when circumstances make it seem impossible.
Thank you 3ternally 2 my friends back home that love me, and to the people I will also find here that will also accept me.
If I made typos forgive me, I kinda can't be bothered.