everything turns black to blue

Reflecting on my heritage, I unravel the threads of my identity—a tapestry woven in hues of being Black. I was born in Ireland, yet my connection feels elusive, a dance between truth and deception. The slangs I've picked up become fragments of belonging, but my existence is still alien to me, leaving me adrift. Maybe, in the cinematic universe, I find a semblance of belonging, a narrative that resonates with me.

Not long ago, my mom's newfound urgency to unveil our Cameroonian roots emerged, just this year. I grapple with a sense of nonexistence, questioning the sincerity of this revelation. It's a paradox—once discarded as inconsequential. I find it hard to establish a genuine connection; it comes off as elusive, lingering beyond the reach of learning.

A friend had a question while I went on this tangent—why not embrace and learn my own culture? Yet, honesty reveals that even in the purest of knowledge, understanding my roots still eludes me. The skipped journey to Cameroon, a start of something denied.