I have confronted the fact that those were fantasies of escaping; towards a new land and only contact the ones I want to, when I want to, connect with back home. The fantasy of having an agreement but not necessarily “real love” with a person who has a foreign background and mother tongue, in a strange place where I cannot honestly call home. I will eat food my culture didn’t feed me and I will not have cravings of which that used to feed me a sense of home. Nostalgia will be the porto that I drink — for the scant moments when I feel dashingly beautiful and invincible.