Displacement and Belonging (CatDog)

Sometimes I feel like a cat raised by dogs.

I’ve learned to walk like a dog, bark like a dog, even chase my own tail. I’ve absorbed the mannerisms of the culture around me, almost forgetting there was another way of being. But when I see another cat — or a whole gang of them lounging around — something stirs deep in me. I feel kinship in my bones. I start purring, meowing, pouncing.

You can take the cat out of the street, but you can’t take the street out of the cat.

That’s how it feels to be Asian in culture but raised in the West. My instincts are still there, even if I’ve been shaped by a different environment.

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Other days I feel like a walking wormhole.

When people look at me, they don’t just see me; they see a rip in the continuum. They sense a displacement, a vibration that says: she doesn’t quite belong here. And if they peer closer, they might catch glimpses of another place, another time, something they don’t fully understand.

That’s how dislocated I sometimes feel.

Every. Single. Day.

And when the gap feels too wide, I want to hide away.

But like a stray cat, I never stay hidden for long. There are always people who leave treats out, who extend a hand, who remind me I’m not alone.

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And then, there are the furniture days.

I feel like a chair at the end of the table, or a lamp in the corner gathering dust. No one notices, but I see and hear everything. I wonder: Do I dare use my voice? How strange would it be if a piece of furniture suddenly spoke up?

Displacement, for me, is layered. I moved countries. I carry an Asian upbringing in a Western shell. (Sometimes referred to as a banana) And now I live in Denmark, where sometimes even the way I use my fork and knife, sets me apart.

Yet there are moments when I feel utterly understood. I see gestures, rhythms, unspoken codes that feel like home. I don’t need to translate. I just get it. And in those moments, I feel seen. But even when I see another fellow asian, I know we can't always connect. I was a cat raised by dogs, after all. A little odd. And purebreds won't always get me.

Maybe that’s the heart of it: I am cat, wormhole, furniture. But beneath all that, I’m human — still searching for kinship, still longing for home, still learning how to belong.