I stop thinking about where I come from. I stop praying like I do at home. I start wanting things I don't actually want. I start being someone I don't actually am.

My mother noticed it last time I went back. She said I had a different face. Not angry or unhappy—just... a mask. Like I was wearing someone else's skin. That hurt to hear because I didn't realize I was doing it. I thought I was being strong and capable. Turns out I was just being lost.

The village keeps me real. The land keeps me real. When you live close to the earth, close to seasons that actually matter because your food depends on them, you can't pretend anymore. You can't pretend to be something you're not when you're pulling potatoes from the ground with your own hands. Reality is right there in front of you. 🕊️

Now I'm trying something different. Even in the city, I'm trying to stay connected to who I really am. I pray the same way. I keep the same rhythms. I remember my family not as people I left behind but as people who are part of my bones.

How do you keep yourself when the whole world is trying to reshape you into someone more convenient?