Belong, Not

I come home and step into the society I was born in, grew up with, but they ask me: are you local?

Am I?

Aren't I?

"but you're... Different."

I suppose it can only mean that I come from a plane of existence known only to me, that I have lived 20 long years inside a world of my own creation and have developed into an odd two-legged creature who hasn't a place in what's known as the real world.

But is it necessarily a bad thing? I sit now in a wooden pondok erected out of place on a slope surrounded by oil palms for botanical research purposes, the cacophony of human chatter and shrill laughter behind me, in reality.

There are ducks waddling in the pond after the rain. It is hot again.