I am homesick for a place and era I haven’t lived, lived it only through the stories of my ancestors. I reside in my Grandmother’s room, my refugee place, in my family’s house where I grew up and found myself to be.
A place where my heart is full, my body loved and other half existed. I find my space in her room, I breathe when I step inside her world. I exist in every corner of her room, of my family house, the corners that soaked up my years and I was molded through the layers of its dust and painted cracks on the walls.