I'm speaking my own language, the one I grew up speaking, the one I'm supposed to know the best. But I'm lost in translation, having a very hard time punctuating my mother tongue. I can't match the names with the cities, restaurants, cafes or even drinks. I walk into Starfuckingbucks and stare at the menu forever because I have no idea what the Turkish word for hazelnut is. Everything feels foreign; they ARE foreign. I feel embarrassed not remembering the names and faces of people I should know. Then I realize I haven't met them before; someone I do know just thinks that I have: ''He's been around for a year now.'' They forget that the last time I was here was TWO years ago. It's awkward at first. The person I should know apologizes for causing a misunderstanding, then the person I do know apologizes for forgetting I haven't been around, then I apologize for marching into their lives again. I do it silently, of course, because it's awkward. But then it gets annoying, and then my cheeks start burning up and my blood boils with anger.

I am a familiar stranger.

So are they.

I thought I was coming home. Apparently I came back to what's left of it instead.

This is the third night I'm spending in my old bedroom alone. During the 3 weeks I've been here, I've slept on the floor in the living room, in my mom's bed or in my sister's. First time they let me sink into my own sheets was after my US visa interview. Long story short, I didn't get it. ''Beer?'' my mom said when I walked out of the building and told her the news. It was time for sleep when we got home because when I sleep, I can get out of my own skin. Sleep I did again last night. But tonight, I can't. I'm looking for things that were mine, things that would make me remember who I was, but I can't. There's nothing left of me here except photos. My only belongings are what I've brought with me in my suitcase. And they keep trading spaces as well. I've been the gypsy of our tiny apartment, carrying my PJs and lotions and laptop to a different room every night, not knowing if they'll be in the same spot when I wake up in the morning. My mom says I can put my things wherever I want. My sister says it's okay for me to leave them in her room. My grandmother promises she won't misplace anything...

Nobody seems to be bothered by my tight-space traveling, but I am. Very much.

I'm not the little, weak spider looking for an escape. I'm more pathetic than that.

I'm the big, poisonous spider who knows the way yet can't chew through glass.