Culture is a loaded word.

It conjures different images for different people.

For me, it brings me to a faraway land.


Bustling streets of busy people

Motorcycles and angry drivers

Dark clouds of smog looming over city towers

But there is beauty in the suburbia.

Views framed by rain-satiated forests, green leaves lush with life

The old street food vendor with crinkly eyes and decades worth of skill

The first bite of fruit from the platter afixed by my grandmother.

It takes time to realize that culture is synonymous with home.


This poem is about: 
My community


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