I have my fathers hands
But I have my mothers touch
I wish I didn’t comprise of a divide so much
This one means a lot to me. There’s a certain feeling of being torn between two people, between two personalities, between two cultures, between two thoughts and all within your one self.
The multicultural person, the biracial one that doesn’t belong anywhere and both places at once. There was a time I felt I had half the pieces of two different puzzles and none of the pieces fit together. There was no picture, it was all just tiny pieces scrambled around.
Best of both worlds is what they say. That’s the mantra, that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s getting easier with time to answer the dreaded question: Where are you from?