home, a spoken word (2020)

I AM THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY FROM HOME

AND THE WAY THAT I FEEL THE WORD “HOME” IN MY BODY IS LIKE THE WAR MY PARENTS CRAWLED THROUGH TO GET HERE.

HOME.

HOME SHOULD BE SOMETHING WORTH DEFENDING.

THIS PHYSICAL HOME I DEFEND IS NOT WORTH MY SACRIFICE.

PEOPLE LIKE ME, AND THE HOME THAT WE DEFEND ARE USED TO POLITICIZE AND WEAPONIZE AGAINST OTHER COUNTRIES.

WE ARE USED AS PAWNS, OBJECTS OF WAR AGAINST SUBJECTS WHO “LOOK LIKE” TERROR.

AS IF TERROR IS NOT ACTS OF WAR AGAINST OTHERS, AS IF TERROR IS NOT ACTS OF WAR AGAINST PEOPLE WHO SEEK REFUGE,

AS IF TERROR IS NOT WAR AGAINST OUR OWN PEOPLE

AS IF TERROR IS NOT INVADING INDIGENOUS, ENSLAVING AFRICANS, DEGRADING THIS SACRED LAND FOR GAIN

PEOPLE WILL ASK ME WHAT I AM DEFENDING AND I SAY MYSELF.

FROM YOU.

FROM PEOPLE WHO MAKE DECISIONS THAT KILL PEOPLE WHO ARE DIFFERENT.

FROM PEOPLE WHO MAKE DECISIONS THAT KILL PEOPLE WHO THREATEN THEM WITH THEIR EXISTENCE AS A REMINDER OF THEIR WRONGDOINGS

PEOPLE WILL ASK ME WHAT I AM DEFENDING AND I SAY MYSELF. FROM PEOPLE WHO MAKE DECISIONS THAT KILL PEOPLE LIKE ME.

I CAN SAY “HOME” BUT FEELING IT IS DIFFERENT.

HOME TO MY PEOPLE MEANS DISPLACEMENT. IT MEANS A YEARNING FOR A COUNTRY THAT DOES NOT EXIST.

REMINDS ME THAT KUV TSEV NEEG TSIS MUAJ TEBCHAWS TO RETURN TO.

MEANS WHEN PEOPLE TELL ME TO GO BACK TO MY COUNTRY, OR ASK ME WHERE I’M REALLY FROM, IT MEANS THE ONLY HOME I KNOW IS THE GROUND I WAS BORN ON.

THE GROUND I WAS BORN ON TREATS ME LIKE A FOREIGNER MORE THAN A CITIZEN.

DOESN’T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BEETWEEN IMMIGRANT AND REFUGEE;

AND HOW COULD THEY WHEN THE DISPLACEMENT OF BOTH IMMIGRANTS AND REFUGEES HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE COST OF THE UNITED STATES’ IMPERIALISM?

I CALL THIS PLACE HOME MORE THAN IT CALLS ME ITS INHABITANT. MORE THAN IT HOLDS AND EMBRACES ME IN ITS ARMS. JUST ENOUGH TO SQUEEZE PRODUCTIVITY OUT OF MY VEINS.

I CALL IT HOME DESPITE ITS EFFORTS TO ERASE ME, EVICT ME, MURDER ME, AND I CALL IT HOME DESPITE THE WAY IT TRIES TO FORCE ME TO HATE OTHERS HOMES TOO.

DESPITE THE WAY IT TRIES TO FORCE ME TO BELIEVE THAT IT IS SUPERIOR, IT IS MORE DESERVING, THAT IT IS MORE AND EVERY OTHER HOME IS LESS.

BUT WHEN I SEE HOME, IT IS NOT A COUNTRY. IT IS MEMORIES, FROZEN IN TIME.

WHEN I SAY HOME,

IT IS HIS ARMS. AROUND ME.

IT IS MY BROTHERS AND THEIR SMILES.

IT IS THE WAY MY MOM NEVER SAYS I LOVE YOU, BUT THE WAY SHE PUTS FOOD IN FRONT OF MY FACE AND SAYS “EAT”

IT IS THE WAY HMOOB WOMEN HOLD THE ENTIRETY OF THE HMOOB COMMUNITY ON THEIR SHOULDERS EVEN WHEN THEIR TOLD THEY ARE TRAITERS TO THEIR OWN PEOPLE FOR POINTING OUT ITS PATRIARCHY AND DISRESPECT FOR OUR LIVES.

IT IS MEMORIES OF MOV NTSES DEJ (rice with water) AS A MEAL.

IT IS THAUM KUV NTSHAWS KUV NIAM LUB SUAB LUAG. (when i yearn for my mother's laugh)

THAUM KUV POM COV NEEG UA KUV HLUB (when i see the people i love)

THAUM KUV POM KUV COV VIS NCAUS SIB PAB THIAB TXAWB NQA. (when i see the women in my life support one another)

IT IS THE WAY I LOOK AT YOUTH AS REFLECTIONS OF ME, AS THE LEADERS WE NEED.

AND IT IS THE WAY

I MUST LEARN TO LOOK AT MYSELF

If my body is a home.

My dad says that my ntsuj plig is slightly detached from body. It is detached in ways in which I wish my mind could leave on bad days. It is detached in ways that makes me susceptible to sickness, to dab phem. My body should be a home for my soul, rid of traumas.

If my body is my home, it is haunted. And I refuse to vacate its ghosts. These ghosts have become a part of me

and as I dust off the rooms that I no longer visit,

as I unlock the doors I’ve pretended not to notice.

as I get rid of the objects, the memories that no longer serve me, or bring me joy.

as I hold these traumas close to me, thank them for the lessons and let them go,

if these ghosts disappear,

And if I choose to vacate them,

I wonder if I will still be left whole when they leave.