In one of my college courses we came across and dissected a noteworthy phrase: entre mundos.
Entre mundos means “between worlds”. You don’t quite fit into the place you’re in. You don’t quite fit into the place you’ve left behind.
Entre mundos is when you’re sitting amongst a group of women discussing if bitter orange tea is the best remedy for colic, when you grew up with doctor prescriptions and biannual dentist appointments.
Entre mundos is when everyone’s talking about the latest pop stars and breaking technology and you’ve barely kept abreast of the current presidential campaign.
Entre mundos is when you feel too little at the adult table and too big at the kiddie table.
Entre mundos is when you try to explain why you don’t “need” a new oven (just kind-of want) to someone who’s debating which big-screen TV they must get this Christmas.
Entre mundos is when you never seem to understand the jokes being told in the language spoken where you live.
Entre mundos is when you insist on using a car seat in a country where no one is the backseat is legally required to buckle up.
Entre mundos is when you’re homesick for a place you’ve never been, where everything is perfect. When we get there, it will be home at last, for God has set eternity in our hearts.
Until then, we’re all a bit “entre mundos”. We are but strangers here, after all.
Photo credit: ”Awakening of the Pilgrim” from “The Atmosphere: Popular Meteorology” by Camille Flammarion, 1888
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