Who Do I Belong To?

I belong to myself. I mean, of course. 

But there is a part of me that lives in my parents, a part that echoes in my sister, and confettis of me fluttering among friends, passing faces and distant relatives.

There is a part of me that died with my grandparents, a part of me buried in people who were once best friends, and a part of me hidden as giggles in unreciprocated crushes. 

There is a part of me stuck in the fantasies of an earth-toned home with warm lights, a part of me in the shared grocery lists with a husband and a part of me thriving in the joy-laden fatigue of a mum.

There is a part of me I left behind in Valangaiman when we left for Singapore, and pieces of me crystallised in tears every time we left Thanjavur for Singapore. 

There is a part of me that breathes in Tamil, a part of me that thinks in English, and yet another lost in translation.

There is a part of me tucked between the pages of a book I have yet to conjure, a part of me rehearsing for the presentation of my study on Thursday, and a part of me warmed by the sight of white roses yet to bloom.

So, yes, I belong to myself, to this body, perhaps even to this soul.

But my essence lives, in bits and pieces, in what has been, what is and what will be. 

Where it belongs.

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