Fruit of the West and the East, nor white neither black skin, unrecognized, put down by both parts because I'm not one of each of them entirely; I'm just a mix of opposites that sum up to nothing. Belonging nowhere I am lost and not able to be placed. An eternal war internally and in the eyes of those struggling to see me, all the centuries of military generations contrasting with centuries of peaceful meditative generations, my Western blood and my Eastern body, my golden skin that is no treasure and alien mind that is no leisure. 

The impossible coexistence of the halved being.