And the movie continues. The smells, the cars’ roaring the voices, outside my window all of it refuses to fit into what I hear. My ears reclassify the sounds just as my stomache refuses to accept the food. This is being an immigrant- where it is not only you miss that specific bakery or your mother’s dish- you breathe the lack all the time. The lack in the air as it feels differently on your skin, the lack in the pace of the traffic as it swerves past your car at a different pace.
Yet simultaneously, it feels like an overflowing abundance. The closer vecinity of people as they notice you and acknowledge you with their kisses, the spices which touch and please your entire stomache, the pace of a day moving with you patiently.
As a foreigner I hold both lenses to a new world.