There's a review on Hope Away from Home at The Book Buzz. I wanted to say thanks to Molly for her kind words.

I find it interesting whenever I hear of how readers read/respond to a given work.

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This afternoon, I was able to connect with Evelyn Miranda-Feliciano, and I'm very pleased she's finally getting an internet connection. There's also been some feedback coming in with regards to Hope Away from Home, and also with regards to the "My Skin, Us" piece (published both in HAH and Route).

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When I wrote the pieces included in Hope Away from Home, I had no idea they would land within the pages of a book. To me, these pieces were part of a letter I was writing to myself. I needed to make sense of the pieces of my life, and to understand everything I'd experienced. Not everyone has had the same experience I have had, but I think that for everyone who's experienced uprootment, there is a point of recognition.

The story I wrote is the truth of my experience. There are readers who may say there is a lot of negative in my story. And I think, yes, it is true. The experience of uprootment, of losing yourself, of going through discrimination, of knowing humiliation, these are not positive things. And yet, the positive thing I see in all of these is how I needed to go through all these experiences in order to see and to discover this God who burns away everything that is extraneous and unnecessary so that I depend on him alone.

It is through this experience that I am able to embrace the truth of my failures, my loss, my homesickness, myself. It is through this experience that I am able to look at the people in this society and understand that underneath it all, we are all the same. We all ache, we all grieve, we all experience loss, and we all know what it means to be a stranger.

(I am no longer afraid to engage God in conversation because I know that it is in engaging him, it is in discussing my life with him that he becomes truly real. I do argue with God, who doesn't? Is there a rule against carrying on discussions and disagreeing with what's going on in your present life? If there was some rule against it, then God would have created robots instead of beings with free will. )

Struggle continues to be part of my life as a migrant. In a society where we are constantly made conscious of our "allochtoon" identity, it is impossible not to struggle against being othered.

While I am proud of being different, I am also afraid of that difference. We live in a world wherein those who are different are often rejected or outcast. So, I have taught my son to speak up for himself--to say clearly and firmly when he does not like certain things. I have taught him to stand up and speak out against bullying and being bullied. I have also reminded my son that there is nothing wrong with being just the person who he is.

And while I am thankful that he is well-liked by his peers, I am well aware that he has been teased by his classmates for having a mother who is different, who speaks different, and who says words different.

The way I see it, what others think of me and what others think of us isn't important. What matters to me is being able to bring up my children with a sense of self and a recognition of their true worth in the eyes of God. We were all created equal.

Woman is not man's subordinate. Brown skin is not less than white. And because I come from a third world country and speak another language doesn't mean I am of lesser worth.

(to be continued...)

wat ik eigenlijk wou zeggen

En het verschil in cultuur en daaruit voortvloeiende verschillende opvattingen m.b.t. omgangsvormen hebben naast een regelmatig terugkerende taalbarrière weleens gezorgd voor miscommunicatie en soms niet begrepen worden of het begrijpen van Nederlanders. Dit bemoeilijkt het maken van vriendschappen en daarin begrepen worden.-extract uit een brief met betrekking tot het vertrek van een allochtoon familie uit een gemeente-

Deze taal, ik niet begrijp. Zo koud. Gevoelloos. Weet niet wat ik zeggen moet. Je begrip, mijn begrip. Wij anders dan jullie. Ja zo. Nederlanders zijn nederlanders en wij allochtonen...wat dan?

Je moet haar eens ontmoeten, zeggen ze. Zij is ook allochtoon.
Zo ben ik verdeeld in een vakje.

Ik niet begrijp. Misschien mijn kleur spreekt meer dan mijn tong.
Nu spreek ik apen taal.

Niet goed. Niet goed genoeg voor nederlanders.

Niet willen begrijpen. Of niet begrepen willen worden. Ik ben niet begrepen. Mijn taal slipt door...mijn tong slipt door...Ik zeg de woorden verkeerd. Ben ik? Ik ben? Wat ben ik?

Allochtoon.

Mijn naam, betekent buitenlander, buitenstaander, iemand uit een ander land, iemand die niet echt bij hoort.

Weet niet wat ik daarmee moet.

Hoor eens, hoor eens.

Ik zeg, geen zand erover.

Wij praten. Niet zwijgen. Niet je rug naar mij toe keren.

Ik ben. Ik ben ook mens. Ik ben ook mens net als jij. Misschien donkerder, misschien anders, misschien trager, misschien gevoeliger, misschien... misschien... misschien...

Er is geen genade hier.

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It's amazing how prejudice exists in sacred spaces. Here, where allochtonen (foreigners) are grouped together and somehow exist alongside society or community instead of inside of or as part of. It's especially frustrating when this exclusion takes place within the community of the Christian Church.

The above is a rebuke. Here above, I sometimes deliberately use incorrect Dutch because it emphasizes my struggle with this culture.

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Translation:

This language, I not understand. So cold. Feelingless. Don’t know what I must say. Your understanding, my understanding. We, different from you. Yes, so. Netherlanders are Netherlands, en we foreigners...what then?

You must meet her, they say. She is also foreigner.

So, they put me inside a box.

I not understand. Perhaps my color speaks more than my tongue.

Now speak I, monkey language.

Not good. Not good enough for Netherlanders.

Not want to understand. Or not wanting to be understood. I am not understood. My language slips…my tongue slips…I say the words wrong.

Am I? I am? What am I?

Foreigner.

My name means outsider, someone from another land, someone who doesn’t belong.

Don’t know what I must do with that.

Listen, listen.

I say, no sand spread over.

We talk. Not silent. No turning your back on me.

I am. I am also human. I am also human like you. Maybe darker, maybe different, maybe slower, maybe more sensitive, maybe…maybe…maybe…

There is no mercy here.