My councilor told me that before I get to the point that I have to rage, I should write down what I feel, when I feel like writing. So here we go. I never do this.

It’s been three years since the last time I visited my home country. If I said I’m dying to visit my family, it would be a lie.  I’ve never felt like I fit in with them. I’m too different from the person I am and the one I become when I’m around them.  The way I speak, the way I act, I feel like my exterior image does a 360 turn when I’m around them. I’m not who I am, I am what they expect me to be.

I was fourteen the last time I visited, so I’m guessing a lot would have changed by now. The way others treat me would be different. But that’s not what I’m most worried about.

When I go back, I would inevitably become the foreigner in their eyes, I even remember my cousin referring to me as “the Canadian cousin” when he introduced me to one of his friends.  It was as if five years of my life that I’ve lived there was just forgotten history. 

But I guess in a way it’s true, I can’t be called an Indian, as I’ve only lived there for five years of my life, and the language I’m struggling not to forget.  I can’t be called a Canadian either; I’m nothing more than an immigrant who is still tied to her own country with the morals and values that was embedded into my brain. “Meet my Canadian cousin,” I can’t help but laugh at that. The more I say it in my head, the funnier it gets. 

I have to tell myself that the trip will be fun, and two months of constant judging by… everyone, talks of marriage proposals that my lovely uncles wouldn't forget to squeeze into the conversation, and head slamming, hopefully will teach me a thing or two about ignoring negative comments and keeping calm in front of public.

The only up side of all of this is the fact that I won’t be here when we get the report card, thus no yelling for me this semester!