“I know you don't think that any tongue I speak is mine; it must be rented. I am always denial, or pretense. A child born mid-flight has no nation. I can pull on either culture, but they always melt like a dream, trickle away, water on the oiled pelt of foreign.” PoetryPoliticsRaceIdentityIgnoranceEnvyIsolationObjectificationMixed RaceNationhood Author:Jasmine Ann Cooray