Who am I?

Going inside someone's house is quite a trip. Even if you've olny lived a short amount of time in a house, looking at someone's place is like looking at the world of a person. Like seeing someone from the inside.

I got to thinking about this mostly because I had to find something else as a place for "I" or "me".

Using those words, I could talk about my personality, but that's not really me. I could try to describe my body's atributtes or even my intelectual abilities. But that's also not me.

I am a foreigner, a traveller, an alien, a nomad, an itinerant. Wherever I might be, I feel like an outsider like an outlander. I can't get used to places, or accept that the people before my eyes are necessarily part of my world. I go away never to return again. I disappear, even in plain sight. I stop going to places I used to love. I'm never comfortable, no matter how I try. I try to mimic the behaviour of the "natives", I try to hide this undeniable distance. They don't confront me... Nobody lays their eyes on me enough time to confront me. I dodge proximity attempts even before I notice them: is more than just part of my nature.

This determines me and what I do, what I know, what I like. How I live.

Oh! Even though it might have come off awfully dramatic, this isn't something I strugle with. I live peacefully now, and I like my house.