Day thirty-nine

A child divided

Where do I fit in? Neither black

nor white, I'm outside false dichotomies.

Am I the child of three countries? Two

that hate each other, centuries

old grudges? Korea and Japan. I am

American I try to tell myself over

and over again. It's not so simple. I'm expected

to speak both languages, know both

cultures. But nothing's ever perfect. I am

a melting pot of two cultures, inserted

into the bowl of a third. I speak English

like most Americans. Eat fast food

watch television. What makes us

so different? Some people think

I'm hispanic or an ambiguous

race. Does it matter? One day

will there be no distinction? A preacher's

daughter once said that races

were like flowers in the field. If all

the flowers were the same, the

world wouldn't be as beautiful. But,

I said what of hybrids of varieties

of orchids mixed for generations.

Should I attempt to revert back

to my heritage. Be proud of places

and countries unknown to me.
To people who hold ancient

connections with my blood?

Or should I do nothing and attempt

to live my life separated from

all ties of my past? Ancient

cultures crumble, new ones

are born do we hold to them

or are we all just hybrids.

15:01