As I stuff two years worth of accumulated junk into a giant suitcase, ready for my next big move, the question of nationality has hit me with full force. It’s something I’ve thought about for a while, but now that I’m moving to the the country of my forebearers, it has taken on a greater significance.
What is my nationality, how deeply am I affected by it, and is it even important?
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There are some moments in life that stick with you, and at the time they really didn’t seem consequential at all.
One such encounter that I often come back to happened when I was 18. I was having drinks with some friends (for lack of a better word) from work and there was one guy who came along who, to be honest, I’d kind of been avoiding. Of course it turned out that he chose to sit by me. As I was trying to find an escape route he asked “What scene do you belong to?”.
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