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Native H AMANDA ENAYATI Perhaps it’s from having spent a lifetime on the outside looking in on those fortunate enough to belong. Perhaps it’s best to follow the advice of those who, through the years, have spat at me “Go back to where you belong!” (Where is that?) Perhaps it’s the failed marriage made of legendary love but too many differences— cultural, racial, national, religious— to be bridged. Too young to be embittered. Too idealistic to be cynical. Too hopeful to be in despair. Hoarse from hollering that the commonalities trump the differences my limbs ache from pointing at the successes and predicting the moment of critical mass. When will we reach it? 306 AMANDA ENAYATI I need a home, but my map to get there is blurry. Every day I have more trouble and I could never read maps anyway. The home I left doesn’t want me back. And if I were to return my old home wouldn’t unlock the gate for me. It wouldn’t recognize me. My elements changed along the path. My new house is no home. I realized a bit late— it has conditions I do not meet. Now, I feel like a stranger all the time. Afraid to impose, afraid of breaking something. Everyone’s paradigm shifted, but mine only taunts me, revealing the potential and possibilities only when no one else is looking. So I bid the demons goodnight and go to sleep only to meet them again. In the morning, I awaken fresh, young, idealistic and hopeful. I brave my new house and continue reading the map home. I await—anxiously—that critical mass. NATIVE 307 ...

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