On the whole, having dual citizenship is like cognac after a perfectly balanced meal; not necessary, but like an underbelly rub with a velvet handled feather.
And yet, sometimes, when you have to drive, that last drink can push you over the limit. Remember childrens, you shouldn't drink and drive.
Thus is line I walk currently. Should I stay or should I go? For several years, every time I took a "trip" for several/six weeks I would return several/six months later. My vet came to know my family well, Nixon became part of a broken home like some cast off child of a heroin addict in search of her next fix; for clarification, fix=travel if your are a bit slow up top. The London School of Economics is whispering to me in soft soothing tones that it will coddle me in next phase and launch me successfully into my so called life after one quick year with a well-earned masters. My Mary -- my confidant, my friend, my grandmother -- has aged a bit in the last 18 months and I am reticent to commit myself so far from the motherland lest the next few years steal our late night boozy chats for an eternity.
The globe beckons: there is Spanish to secure, French calling out for fluency and Cantonese to learn, amongst others. There are old friends to visit and new ones to meet. The tango to learn, salsa to perfect, the bachata to lure...
Oh, life. How bittersweet you can be with your bountiful options.
No comments:
Post a Comment