Foreign, Foreigner

 I'm not sure what kind of person it takes who will leave everything familiar and beloved, like family, to go live in a foreign land. To be a foreigner, where you don't really fit in. You may speak and understand the language but not like a native. Where, by nature of the many differences, you will live in relative isolation, despite the friendliness of strangers.

I've asked myself this question many times. What is wrong with me that I'm okay with this? That even at home in America among my loved ones, I long to return to Mexico? 

Sometimes I think it might be because it's where Bruce and I were so happy, before he got sick in America and died.

 I do feel close to him here. I wish he were with me. Sometimes I think he is.