I inhabit a multilingual body, where languages compete for dominance, imposing conflicting ways of thinking and feeling. Regrettably, often, the language I speak blunders me as I speak it. A simmering tension underlies it all. The surgeon said, “Give it six months, and he will be back here.”

I am simultaneously certain and oblivious of language’s determinative power, that the violence embedded in colonialist speech was and is... There is also the feeling of displacement, of being between places and memories, of carrying complicities. Beyond giving form to anxious energy, I erase-over the authority of language to make visible the subconscious structures that shape the space where languages interact, where desire is ambivalent, where postcolonial selfhood is de-structured and reassembled. Foolishly free.