Learning to write in a second language is not easy, let me tell you. I have this world built on my first language. A world with it’s values, expectations, and defined roles of its people. I hadn’t come to good terms with the conflicts in me reacting to this world when I pack my suitcase and enter another world.

The language of this new world were not entirely alien for me. It was on the surface of my consciousness and without my knowledge had built a kind of world, of imagined values, expectations, and defined roles for me.

This world of second language, American English, was easier to live in until I noticed that I also changed. It’s like I was a red apple tree replanted on the same looking dirt, but then the the new apples now has a hint of blue in it. Purple apples. 15 different shades of purple. What do I do with these fruits?

Me, knowing for sure I want to write is one of those purple apple.

Learning to write in a second language is not easy. How do you digest new concepts unknown to you in the first place? How do you, having this fancy new tools of this second language, try putting untranslatable yearning, things, stuff,  born from the first language?

Building my world, in this world, with the memory of my old world is just beginning. Writing this down to you is like inviting you to taste my apples: most of them are purple.