impossible

He thought of himself as a true victim of his family, his peers, his immigration. He felt betrayed to the bone and every word, sentence, paragraph, and conversation wreaked of his stature. He longed for the country that accepted him in the presentation of his personified grandiosity that he had mastered on and off stage. He had tried to present a normal life, but it was nothing of the sort and so he also mastered his disguise through secrets and manipulation. The people back home loved it; loved him.

He pined for that adoration and the fulfillment of being rooted for, especially because he believed that all his fans secretly felt the same way. He walked on stage with that secret in his heart and everyone present fell for it, and they knew not why.

Oh, he needed to get back to the old country as soon as possible so that he could prove his value and worth as a martyr and sacrificial lamb. He imagined everyone waiting for his arrival, his sing and song, and his vitriol. Sharp words, short and rude statements. His people frothed at the mouth right along with him and he was happy.
His wife left him years prior, and yet he pretended to care for his two children that she supported. She tried to include him, but it was impossible. No one wanted his company. So, he left the country and returned to his original consciousness, slipping and sliding in ignorant glory.