As a Soutie, I can't move home. Home isn't a place. It feels more like a state of mind. Of heart. One of my feet sits on a muddy island that was once a magical and scary place beyond the Empire. Then briefly the head of an Empire. The other sits in a country on the southern tip of a vast continent that is waiting to roar. Both are having raw identity crises. I don't want to be defined by a place. Anger rises at the thought of being defined by borders and separateness. Born in Apartheid, the boiling point of my blood is division, suppression, and disempowerment. I will never be defined by a team. For me, home isn't the edges. It is the engine. Home doesn't contain me. Home releases me. I can't move home. Home can only move me. Home doesn't contain us. It empowers us.
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