My home town, not my homeland

I should be entirely ashamed of my feelings. I should repent the way I feel.

I was driving back to the my home town, to see my family. I do that every other weekend.

The minute I entered my hometown, instead of feeling nostalgic I felt alienated. I cursed my home town.

I cursed my home town.

Kos o5tek yaft ‘lnsari.

I cursed my home town.

I hate you.

I hate everything here.

(Except my family,

and my childhood memories.)

My home town…

Where people spy on each other.

Where people talk shit about each other.

Where people kill each other… over money and honor.

My home town…

where people are extremely religious, and live back in the 15th century.

And where girls, my age, younger and older, look the fucking same.

Same hair, same jeans, same t-shirt.

And I look hideous in my sweats and my Amsterdam t-shirt.

With my untamed hair, and brain.

I flew outside of the city to find another place in which I can feel comfortably alienated.

 

March 3, 2018

4 thoughts on “My home town, not my homeland

    • Thank you so much my friend. I’m glad you liked it, and I’m touched by your compliments on my writing. And thank you for the reblog.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s