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A friend of mine who had spent six years living in Zambia with his family once told me something that continually emerges into my thoughts from time to time. Whether accurate or not, he told me that 2% of the world’s population pick up and move away from home to live somewhere else. Ex-patriots; they call that 2% of us. I’m not sure if that 2% includes refugees and people who seek political asylum or only people that have intentionally sliced through the roots that have born them.

I haven’t decided if I like fitting into the ‘ex-patriot’ category. ‘Ex’ implies that I am no longer. Tacking ‘patriot’ onto the end of ‘ex’ to me, gives a negative connotation to how I feel about where I came from. Am I not proud? Asking that question then opens up an entire set of new queries. Have I attempted to escape the choking hand of Canadian societal pressure? Am I searching for meaning in a way of life that only my Great Grandparents from Lebanon and the Netherlands would most intimately understand? Am I bitter? Am I grateful?

I wonder throughout all these questions if I am an ex-patriot in any way.

I remember now what I cut off though, when moving to Zambia. I am remembering because right now I am with my family. I’m with my family in Africa which really is such a strange partnership. The place I live and the people I love have now met. They are my roots, my beginning; my definition of what is beautiful about where I came from. What I have cut myself off from is the type of comfort that fills loneliness. It’s comfort that is defined by the same sense of humour and similar physical features like sweet teeth that magnetise towards cocoa bean products. It’s stupid petty arguments and stories about the past and JUST BEING ME and JUST BEING loved for JUST BEING ME.

Yesterday was Canada Day and my Mom brought me a red Canada shirt from home for me to wear. She brought some Canadian flags with her also and they were draped over the couch when I got up in the morning. I wore my Canada shirt all day yesterday. I also wore my usual assortment of African jewelery; rings and bracelets and necklaces and earnings….everything bright and big and beautiful. I think I’ll stick to being somewhere caught in the middle. I think I’ll keep striving for that comfort that family brings. I think I’ll let it push away the loneliness that comes when confusion takes over. I actually don’t think I’m an ‘ex’ at all.