My country is a scattered vicinity. Its state of mind, speaking on its behalf, is not at peace. In the continuance of my mental journey, through the essence of essence itself, I’ve been blasted with a muskets bullet. I’m having trouble depicting the beauty of my land, because my land has been disjointed into several different sectors, and I’ve fallen astray of Somalia’s actuality. My mind is roaming the blank pictures, and it’s flipping through the slides of nothingness; my country is solely losing its stamina. I need you. I need you like my soul needs its physicality, like the depth of my longing needs it’s needs, like my prodigy-like brain needs it’s structure. I need you. The white man asked me my ethnicity, and without hesitation, my lips created a hollow frame, and my tongue assisted my words and I immediately said, “Somalia”. Right after his final words, after completing my sentence, I lost it. The mind-boggling words, the erratic things he said, I couldn’t believe it. I asked myself if the beauty of my land has lost it’s meaning, or if I was just in a state of abnormality. I smiled while re-winding myself back to his question. I smiled because I know there’s only one beautiful place which I belong to, and I smiled because Somalia is MY LAND . The question. It’s replaying itself over, and over, and over again. He asked me if I was from Somalia or Somaliland. Is this what the world has come to? Has this absurd controversy come so far, that even the outsiders no longer know what to believe in? And that’s when I smiled merrily and said “Somalia is MY land”.