almost home.

Almost home.
It’s always there
never here
full bodied Italy
a bit of home
not quite home

Complex exchanges
misunderstood glances
a bit of home
not quite home

Gender directives
emptied and refilled
a bit of home
not home

Clearly led
sorely follow
a lot of Taiwan
a bit of home.

I’m almost home, but not quite. This is a steady thread throughout my experience. A bit of familiarity, a bit of home, yet not quite there. Just a tad, an itty bit, a smudgin.

I’m at a wine tasting bar above the Taipei train station. I just left Dou Liou and in search of a quiet place to rest and to reflect. I’m not quite ready to head back to my grandmother’s house where I will stay for 2 days before I leave for AMERICA. Before I leave for home.

When I first stepped foot into the bar I felt relieved. There was an aura of familiarity, giving me great comfort as I was ordering. I thought to myself, I know western alcohol – or I can at least read the labels and the menu. Melbourne, Chile, Shiraz, Red, White, oh and they have cheese here. I haven’t seen cheese in 2 months. Sweet.
Negative.
2 hours have passed, and I still don’t understand this place and what I ordered. The exchange was entirely uncomfortable. I’ve spent 30 dollars and my face isn’t even red.

This is Taiwan to me. The people, the food, the culture and even the nuances and stigmas - it’s almost there, vaguely familar, sometimes very familiar, but not quite right. I am frustrated that it’s so hard for me to feel at home at a place that seems so close to home. Why doesn't it just fit - black pepper in my rice porridge here tastes the same as black pepper in my rice porridge there, right? This should and could be home as well, right?? But…

I don’t want it to sum up as simply fitting in, or not fitting in. It’s more than that to me. It’s intrinsic for me to be here, I have centuries of ethnic origin. I have small feet. And on the opposing side, I have years of western ideals and tendencies implanted in my brain with a hybrid of cultures from my international experiences. So if I can’t fit in at a wine bar in a metropolitan Taiwanese city, then where the fuck do I belong and what the fuck is wrong with me and who the fuck am I? It’s Denominazione di Origine Controllata wine for godsake. I've even lived in Italy longer than I have lived here. I drank 4 days a week in my adult life. If I don’t fit in here, or at least the idea of me, than I’m fucked, I really am.

The greatest realization is that in 3 days I am given what feels like one last chance to try and call a place home. I am going to be in AMERICA. And in a month I will have to call not just America home but TUCSON, Arizona, America home.
And I can predict it.
My small feet won’t quite fit there as well.
Fuckedy fuck I’m fuck.
Wait.
Fuck is universal right?