For all the problems that we are facing in this nation, I insist on loving her.
I came to the United States in my teens--the possibilities not clearly marked--there was sadness and growing up to finish. And growing through. Learning a profession and then another. Being uncertain I could do anything well. This big place offered so many ways to think about the world, in small towns as well as in cities like New York, wildly rich with new ideas. Americans from all parts of the world rubbed against each other and created something new.
Even as I grow old, this sense of possibility—an open door—the undefined—is what thrills me about living the United States. Do I notice it more because I am an immigrant? I see en mi patria—my motherland of Panama—that some expectations are required, a tiny pebble in my shoe, directives—still—in how to live. There is also comfort in this, comfort in the group's consensus. I am lucky to have both.
Sorry folks—have I gone off the deep end with this mini-soliloquy?
Now I will jump off the high trampoline. What might represent this feeling for the undiscovered…? The answer comes easily. Adventures of the soul with books. I threw some of my favorites on the floor, a great many written by immigrants or children of immigrants. Some are translations of writers from other nations.
Where is Jhumpa Lahiri's In Altre Parole - In Other Words? —an act of rebirth in another language. I didn’t find that one.
Thank you for hanging in here, dear friend.
(Talk to me in “Comments" below.)
A new Soy/Somos is coming! A rich conversation with painter, Lourdes Sanchez whose parents arrived from Cuba in 1961.
Hasta pronto! We will see you soon.
I loved the mini soliloquy and will pay attention to the titles 😘
Travel outside US makes me more aware of my great good fortune in living here. Thanks for emphasizing the positive.