In this day and age it is rare, marginal and anomalous to find any traces of reality. And to think that we are there, here in the world, but still far removed from as it is, and we are, within our individual cultural contexts, in no position to decipher what, if anything, is real, let alone a trace.
For myself, be it that my experience is peripheral, I have discovered that even if we habit the same places, we have found there through different routes, with different navigation systems and with maps we can scarcely recognize as referring to the same world. Thus we are not here, for here is different for each of us.
Maybe this peripheral discovery has brought me to the margins of the real state in that I have an idea of the cultural entropy that divides our position into fragmentary dimensions. But as I came to realize this fragmentation of reality, I also had to admit that, like mine, any experience had to be isolated to specific and equally isolated contexts which can in no way be called collective, and that thus there is no reason to assume that any experience is more real than any other. Maybe it is only my perception that is thus fragmented, and it is only me that have lost my bearing, and this is the reason why the world, the people and their actions seem so disjointed to me.
Yet I do have a memory, an experience, of a home where we knew our position, our place close to each other. Be that as it may, for me reality is a distant place, but whole as such, and if my memory serves me right, I can call it home, And if I find it, I know where we all are. And I know because, by definition, whatever reality is, we share it collectively, and by finding it, I would find you, the world and my family.