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The abandoned half heart

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The whole of today I spent like a pair of pants with one of its legs torn and abandoned in another town. Home sick and nostalgic. I couldn’t get over missing home. The greenery, the beaches, the feeling of speaking one’s mother tongue without shame or odd glances. I felt as though half my heart and soul had been torn out of and kept in the rubber plantations of Kerala. Nobody in my class could understand the undying yearning for the soil of my roots. I had this dull ache in my heart from the moment I woke up. Home, I wanted. I longed for. Home I thought I had found within the green walls and red bricks and the ever raining air.

Then I returned from school. I met my family, my parents. Like giants they stood before me. My breath clouding their steel like bodies every time I took a deep one. My feet stepping on each of their toes every time I tried to dance a bit. Every long stride of mine was blocked by their titanic stomachs or smiling faces. Between them I stood. My breath fogging around me, the oxygen depleting from my little guarded home. I stood their suffocating in the little vacuum which the piece of my heart I had abandoned prepared for me, my fire dull. Flickering. Dying.

 

Honestly if this is going to continue, I am going to run at the first chance I can. Run and never come back.

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