I want to move out of the dark, cold cave where I currently live and onto the island, where the sun kisses my forehead every morning at six.

I want the island sun to linger on my skin, embracing me in its warmth and welcoming me back home.

I want to hear the clear ocean water and see the white sand from my backyard and

I want to laugh until I can no longer breathe in the living room of my own house with my family and friends.  As our conversation leaks outside through the slightly ajar door, I want the cool breeze to consume us because the air inside is too tight with heat.

I want to have a community at my fingertips.

I want to be surrounded by rice and flying fish and bakes and more

and eat them until my stomach screams it can’t contain them anymore.

I want to be welcomed and embraced by my people.

I don’t want to stand out because I’m “too foreign”
because I don’t understand a cultural reference that “everyone here understands.” 

I want to feel like I belong.

I want to belong.