been thinking about belonging

and what that means. I'm suspicious of the longing to belong anywhere, because it always seems to require the drawing of lines. I belong here, which means, not there. I am this, which means not that.

When various communities claim me - Kenyans, brown Kenyans, progressive Indians, Asian Americans, Diaspora South Asians, the queer community, the Bay Area :-), Patels - it's both heartwarming and unnerving. The joy is knowing that my work is of value, that it feeds people. The fear is that the act of claiming is also a kind of investment, with expectations attached. That it draws lines around me, oversimplifies.

From Invocation to Durga, Dreaming In Gujurati)

Name the first hunger.
That of the belly and mouth.
Name the second hunger.
That of the heart for a home.
Name the third hunger.
That of the fingers to shape
what they touch; that of the hands
to imprint the world.

Name the final, deepest hunger.
That of the self we dare not name
to be without limitation:
leaf and stone, sky and bone,
fruition, destruction, a greed no smaller
than infinity.

My perennial question, for myself and others, is not
Where do you belong?
but
What do you do? In your work, in your life, in your daily actions and choices, what do you put into and take out of wherever you are? How do you draw on everything you are, all the ways you belong or don't, all the places and peoples and movements that claim or reject you, to be fully present in your physical time and space?