Having a history is nice. But it’s only now that I
appreciate the footings of my forefathers.
Being here in Vietnam, a million miles away from the culture
to which I am used, all that’s left is a certain amount of shell shock. Shell
shock surfacing as disdain.
Previous entries here pay testament to that. It’s always the
absurd, the irritating and the downright alien that I pick holes in. But is it
fair? Probably not – but this is beside the point.
What I wish to convey is that I’m no longer ashamed. I miss
home. There I said it. It’s a comforting feeling having roots. I am known by my
family and the city in which I was born, they are in turn defined by me - it’s
a continuing cycle that has run and will run for a time yet.
And you know what? It’s a pretty good cycle as well. Or,
maybe just being ‘known’ somewhere is good. Either way I can’t quite define it.
