When I watched myself talk about the transition period between leaving my home country Lebanon, and moving to the US, I could hear my voice choking in the background...
All of a sudden, you are no longer under mom and dad's wings, surrounded by their love, and protected by their system...
All of a sudden, it is you, yourself, and you.
Most and if not every immigrant would have a special memory for the time when they first moved to a new country. The moment where home starts to get a new definition. The moment where the American Dream turns into the American Reality!
In the beginning of that period, it is incredibly foggy, busy, noisy, and genuinely painful. It hurts so much to leave the place you happily grew up in, that you become numb for the first couple years.
A couple years later, fog starts to settle and reality starts to simmer
As you get used to the new life in your new "diaspora home", you get this -hard to get rid of- bitter feeling in your heart.
Why couldn't I start my life journey in my home country?
Why couldn't I start writing my story on the land where I was born and next to the people I love the most?
It feels like the aftertaste of a sour patch - just hard to understand!