i do not belong anywhere but my mother's house. i am an amalgamation of worlds; a mutt- an outcast of purity. they looked at me funny in her motherland. too white they said, funny eyes, strangely tall nose. 'you're mixed, aren't you?' 'you look more like your dad.'

i do not belong anywhere but the room that i call home. i am an object to be looked at and picked at and compared. i am flayed by their eyes and my peach-colored flesh grows red. 'which of us looks more asian, me or her?'

i do not belong on refined ground. oh but i do, i do, i do. i want to belong, but i am stuck in the space between cultures and ethnic traits and languages and it is war. it is beautiful.

i belong in the comfort of my mother's home. i belong with the scent of separate dishes cooking; one for my father and one for the rest of us. i belong with the exchange of words and the translation that comes with it. i am wrapped in the stinging affection of confliction; it is warm and i am safe. and i belong.