As I board the vessel, leaving the place I long to be, to return to the place I yearn for, I am back where I belong. In between. The fading smell of chalky, wet concrete, now replaced with undertones of burning turf. How can I feel at home and homesick at the the same time? This obsessive attempt to prove to myself something I already know to be true. I know I belong, I belong somewhere that doesn’t exist. I belong to a place I  have to create myself.

 

Once again, I find myself longing for in-between.

 

In-between homes.

In-between countries.

In-between entrance and exit.

In-between cultures.

In-between feelings: Longing and contentment, always wanting the place that’s just out of reach. How can the thing that connects us also be the thing that separates us? Can I not stay here? How do I make the journey never end? Or is in-between the issue? Will I ever experience anything again if I am stuck in-between?