It is midday and I look on, amazed that I am still wearing the same tshirt from the night before. It is crinkled at the right sleeve, perhaps the result of sleeping on one side of my face. The shirt I still wear today is red, blood red. In an attempt to be a part of the independenceday spirit that my countrymen were all so much a part of, I had rumaged through my wardrobe for something red to fly whatever was left of my nationalistic pride.

You see, I tried. The only red shirt I had in my cupboard proclaimed, in bold text: “Melbourne University”. The epitome of living in diaspora. Thus began my 24hour search for identity, a day’s of agony and an attempt to place and locate myself in this nation. I do have to admit though, that this moment of angst might have been initiated by a phonecall from agoodschool who wanted an interview (but cldnt because of the mini/strygui/delines). 

Why this is even worth a blog entry is because many know me as a patriot. I championed for my nation in Melbourne, stood up and said the pledge, sang the songs and served the country. Oh, of course I knew it was propaganda. But my school did such a good job in singing national day songs, and I was, by nature, a sucker for propaganda, that I loved it.

However, it finally hit home yesterday. I staged a silent protest because of all the surmountable obstacles that have since appeared at my door. It is as if everything I do falls short in the face of this nation. And with every new thing imposed and thrown up, I cannot seem to agree.   So I am trying to make my way cautiously into a future that I do not and cannot see. God give me Faith Faith Faith Faith, and More Faith. What does it mean to have faith? In a future so uncertain, in a promisedjob that has not yet come. I aim not to be discontented in a place where I am situated in, so I have to start looking for something, anything.Supper anyone?