I visited my hometown in MP recently. Having spent relatively small part of my life there, I have always had this dual feeling about this place, it's not the place that I have spent most of my life at, but has my entire paternal family. I have felt a little alien honestly in my own town, even though I like the food that people like there, prefer to eat the food that is popular in the area but I can never belong there. I would definitely like to give back to this place.
You are not a place to me, you are memories.
Records of my lost tiffin boxes, dirty uniforms them red.
My ancestor's ashes and my father 's playground,
My mother's struggle and my deepest fears.
I kept running away from you but you still remind,
That I have something I can loose.
And you ground me in ways I can barely explain,
With my degrees and knowledge I picked up along the way.
You don't have much, but my early years.
I don't have much, just few days a year.