Susan LaffertyThe realtors come to look at our house. Consider its selling features. Advise on what we must do as we get ready to place it on the market.
We know we need to clear the clutter. But their first comment? “You sure have a lot of books.”
Why, yes. Yes we do.
Then comes the directive.
“Clear out this bookcase and that one and that one. Go ahead and pack those books. Store them out of sight.”
“Is your arm hurting?” she asks. Yes. The broken bone near my shoulder is healing. Slowly.
It’s 2015 and Manga is prepping me for physical therapy at a hospital in Malaysia. “Be happy!” she says. “Think positive thoughts. Then you will not be hurting.”
I smile. She’s friendly. Gregarious. Her speech and ways and dress make me feel at home.
South Asian home.
We move across the world. Connect with new cultures. Plant our lives in soil so different from what we’ve ever known before.
Where is home?
The question crosses our minds. Simmers. Hangs in the air.
If we put down roots here, what happens to the other places we’ve called home?