When I went back to Malaysia for Easter break, I developed a sun rash, called Polymorphic Light Eruption. It's different from a heat rash, and usually happens when skin is exposed to sunshine after a long period without sun. According to Patient.co.uk, it is "more common in countries with temperate climates."
Considering that I've now been residing in the UK for 4 years, I guess it's not a big surprise that my skin has gotten used to the weather here, and the tropical sun of Malaysia was enough of a shock that my immune system panicked and caused a red and extremely itchy rash on my exposed hands and feet. Yes, it should not be a surprise.
However, what surprised me was the feeling of betrayal, and of not belonging.
I felt that my body has betrayed my homeland, how it treated the sun that warmed me all those years growing up, as an enemy, as a stranger. I felt that my skin has betrayed me, by being more comfortable in a foreign land than in the land I was born and bred in.
I felt like I no longer belong in my skin; my skin no longer belonged in my home. The discordance and dissonance between my physical being and my emotional state tortured me more than the constant itch of my raw red hands and feet. The sense of rejection by the skies of my childhood was more painful than the scores my nails made in my traitorous skin.
It's the little things like this that make me feel like a stranger in my own home. That new shopping mall where there used to be just empty space, the restaurant that's now my family favourite that I've never heard of, that street stall that was a fixture in the neighbourhood but no longer there, that relative who passed away but I was never told. Little things that are splinters in my heart, small but persistent, so difficult to dig out, running through my veins.
Going home can be a bittersweet experience. But it never changes the fact that my heart and my soul always yearns for that place I call home.
"Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;But when it comes to living there is no place like home.”
Considering that I've now been residing in the UK for 4 years, I guess it's not a big surprise that my skin has gotten used to the weather here, and the tropical sun of Malaysia was enough of a shock that my immune system panicked and caused a red and extremely itchy rash on my exposed hands and feet. Yes, it should not be a surprise.
However, what surprised me was the feeling of betrayal, and of not belonging.
I felt that my body has betrayed my homeland, how it treated the sun that warmed me all those years growing up, as an enemy, as a stranger. I felt that my skin has betrayed me, by being more comfortable in a foreign land than in the land I was born and bred in.
I felt like I no longer belong in my skin; my skin no longer belonged in my home. The discordance and dissonance between my physical being and my emotional state tortured me more than the constant itch of my raw red hands and feet. The sense of rejection by the skies of my childhood was more painful than the scores my nails made in my traitorous skin.
It's the little things like this that make me feel like a stranger in my own home. That new shopping mall where there used to be just empty space, the restaurant that's now my family favourite that I've never heard of, that street stall that was a fixture in the neighbourhood but no longer there, that relative who passed away but I was never told. Little things that are splinters in my heart, small but persistent, so difficult to dig out, running through my veins.
Going home can be a bittersweet experience. But it never changes the fact that my heart and my soul always yearns for that place I call home.
"Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;But when it comes to living there is no place like home.”
-Henry Van Dyke
