Where are you from?

While perfectly fine question for many, for some of us the message that comes with it is “you are not from here, you don’t belong”. A tiny prick. Or a gut punch. Depends on the day.

And how do I answer?

Nowhere? Where I am from.. that place no longer exists. Destroyed. Taken away. Removed. Forbidden.

* * *

Do you want to hear the whole story?

How I thought I was a certain person. I thought I was from a certain place. I thought I knew who "we" were, who “my people" were. We grew up, all of us, with the same books, same movies, same songs. We had the same language. And then it all fell to pieces.

How some decided the rest of us needed to be “saved”, and proceeded to do so by killing people and tearing a country apart.

How one can be ashamed of ones own language. But it is a part of who you are, it is in your brain, it is in your memories. So you become ashamed of yourself.

How you can’t go back. Not even for a short visit. Not right now anyway. But you keep hoping that maybe in 5 or 10 years, maybe one day it will be possible.

* * *

Nobody wants to hear the whole story. So I just smile, name some random city, and move on. It took some practice.

And sometimes you meet people who understand. You know them immediately, because they never ask you ‘where are you from?’. They might say “where you born here?” or “are you from [the city we are currently in]?”. A very subtle shift, but it makes all the difference. Implying that the default is you are from here, you belong. It is a gentle invitation to share your story. And no follow up questions with the word “originally” in them.