Just kidding.
This is now old news, but I let the thing molder in my drafts, afraid of something. Afraid of you.
I crossed the ocean to live permanently in the US. The point of no return was this January when I didn't renew my teaching contract in Morocco.
I had things to do:
make more money
be away from an inherently sexist culture (Sure it's bad here; it's worse there.)
be accessible to my family
engage in a culture
I hope this ordering of priorities is not accurate.
This land, this land that is yours and mine, has been mysterious and painful to me as I returned to it. For all I can tell over the past four months, the good things happening were not caused by me, and the bad things happening were not my responsibility to fix. My whole responsibility, especially this summer, seemed to be to watch and listen.
Watch at the Starbucks outside of JFK, where the plain-clothes cop raised his arm to get the creamer, and revealed his handgun sticking out of his jeans.
Listen to my niece's stories about our family over the last year.
Watch as traffic moves in a slick rhythm on a very fast highway.
Listen to the radio announcer tell who is to blame, and understand every word. Understand nothing.
Watch as the people I love reach out, and out, and out. And reach back. Tentatively at first.
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